|
"The hell with BrownEver since the rubber boats he's been missing all the shit storms
Martinez fingered his belt"Martinez goddam good scout, okay," he said proudly"Brown good boy, but his nervesI'm with old squad, okay?"
"The new one's gonna have it easier
Martinez shook his headNo fuggin good, don't like it He tensed himself with the effort to put his feelings into EnglishThe argument had validityAnd yet he knew how frightened Martinez wasSometimes at night Croft could hear him groaning from a nightmareWhen he put his hand on Martinez's back to awaken him, Martinez would spring up like a bird startled into flight"You really sure, louis cartier Japbait?" Croft asked
Japbait was a good old boy, Croft thoughtThere were good Mexicans and bad Mexicans, but you couldn't beat a good one"A good man'll hold on to his job," Croft said to himselfHe felt a surprising flush of warmth for Martinez"You're a good old sonofabitch," he told him
Martinez lit a cigarette"Brown scared, Martinez scared, but Martinez better scout," he said softlyHis left eye still quivered nervouslyAnd as if his eyelid were transparent, it seemed to reveal his heart beating behind it in anguished sudden ambush
The Time Machine:
JULIO MARTINEZ
SHOEING THE MARE
A small slim and very handsome Mexican with neat wavy mulberry bayswater bag hair, small sharp featuresHis body had the poise and grace of a deerAnd like a deer his head was never quite stillHis brown liquid eyes always seemed nervous and alert as if he were thinking of flight
Little Mexican boys also breathe the American fables, also want to be heroes, aviators, lovers, financiers
Julio Martinez, age of eight, walks the festering streets of San Antonio in 1926, stumbles over pebbles, and searches the Texas skyYesterday he has seen an airplane arching overhead; today, being young, he hopes to see another
(When I am big I build fly-planes
Short white pants which reach the middle of his thighsHis white open shirt chanel handbags collection shows slim brown boy-arms, his hair is dark and clustered with ringlets
Teacher likes me, Momma likes me, big fat Momma with the smell; her arms are great and her breasts are soft; at night in the two little rooms there is the sound of Momma and Poppa, shlup-shlup, shlup-shlup, giggle in your pillow(When I am big I build fly-planes)
The Mexican quarter is unpaved, and little wood lean-tos sag in the heatYou can always breathe earth-powder, always smell the kerosene, the cooking grease, always sniff the mangy summer odor of spavined horses drawing carts, barefooted old men sucking at pipes
Momma shakes him, talks in SpanishLazy one, get me a dolce gabbana handbags pepper and a pound of pinto beansHe grasps the coin, which is cold against his palm
Momma, when I am big I fly plane
You are my good smart boy (the wet pungent smack of her lips, flesh smells), now get what I have sent you for
There are many things I will do, MommaYou will make money, you will own land, but now you hurry
Little Mexican boys grow up, have hair creep like minuscule vines across their chinsWhen you are quiet and shy it is hard to find girls
Ysidro is your big brother; he is twenty and slick dresserHis shoes are brown and white and his sideburns are two inches longGirls with plat'num blondeAlice Stewart, Peggy Reilly, Mary gucci g watch Henness |
| 