But First, Tortillas
602 Words
Chancho awoke to the rhythms of the earth, aligned with the sun and moon and stars as if he had lain with his eyes open all night memorizing their heavenly courses. In fact he’d slept more soundly than he could remember, and he awoke before the sun feeling invigorated. Lying with his back to the earth, absorbing its nutrients, feeling its connection, he became a part of it.
Cosmic strings drew him and bound him to all creation, including his fellow man. An unseen calling ripened in his gut. This very moment it arrived on the verge of seed. He stood and stretched his legs. He ran his hand along the stalks of cáñamo as he walked barefoot down the furrow. His thoughts burst from his mind. Embracing greatness, they swelled to fill the earth.
Communing with all God’s creation, the Alpha and Omega, the Beginning and the End, he grew giddy with revelation. All of the land belonged to God. Chancho was, and always had been, free to roam it. No rinche could take his home away from him.
He stamped his bare feet in the soil between two furrows of cáñamo, shaking the dirt from his bare butt. He raised his hands up over his head. Declaring victory, he shook his fists at the heavens while clenching his cheeks at the earth. “¡Buenos días, El Chupacabra, heraldo de la nueva vida!”
As he lavished praise on the fictional beast for the new life it brought, a jealous sun pierced the horizon with delicious beams of orange light. He held the pose for a few seconds, a scene worthy of classic literature, until his stomach growled ferociously.
But first things first. I’ve got to get dressed and find some breakfast. After dispelling fluids from his bladder while humming the tune of la cucaracha, he held a short wrestling match with his pants. Finally he trotted off toward camp. It pleased him that on this day, the day of his greatness, he remembered to tend to such simple things as clothing and food.
When he arrived at camp, Muddy stoked a small fire for coffee as Nena stitched up her favorite pair of shoes.
“Buenos días, mis amigos.”
“You’re dressed, that’s good.” Nena didn’t look up from her work.
“So, you noticed? I was rather proud of that myself.” Chancho spun himself around even though no one was watching. “What is for breakfast, my good man?” He did his best impersonation of an Anglo accent, the sort he imagined a stuffy, city slicker would use—continually morphing between a doodlebug Yankee and an Irishman.
“Coffee, but not yet.” Muddy added more grounds to the kettle.
“Oh, in that case, I’ll help myself to some tortillas and butter. Do either of you want anything while I’m at it?”
Nena said, “Could you bring me some more bacon and eggs? That is, if there’s any left.”
“Ay dios mio.” Chancho stopped in mid bounce. “You had bacon and eggs without me?”
“She’s just pulling your leg.” Muddy tried not to snicker.
“I knew that.” Chancho slapped his leg, frustrated with how easily he’d fallen for the joke. “But while you devils sit around devising ways to trick me, I have been up for hours preparing for greatness! Well, for the last fifteen minutes, at least.” He waved his arms dramatically. “This is the day we usher history into the present. The day we harvest the energies of the earth with the energies of man and in so doing proclaim our liberties under the sun! You, my dearest compadres, are you with me?”
“Yes, yes. To the end, rah rah, and all that.”
“¡Excelente!” Chancho turned toward the chuck wagon. “But first, tortillas.”
- Writer
