!Caramba! by Nina Marie Martinez

• Interviews & Essays
• Read an Excerpt
• Read a Sample Chapter

Interviews & Essays

Q:When did you first start writing?
A:I am a high school dropout with a Bachelors degree in Literature. I always loved books, but didn't come to consider myself a writer in any shape or form until I was in college.

Q:When did you begin working on ¡Caramba! and where did the idea come from?
A:I wrote the first ¡Caramba! chapter in 1995. It was and still is entitled "The Big Five-Four" and it appears in the novel virtually unchanged from the day I wrote it. It was one of those wild and spontaneous things. Actually, that isn't entirely true because Natalie had been talking to me for a while. Kind of strange, but that's how it happened. Then one day I just sat down and started writing about her and Consuelo. In that chapter most of the main characters of the novel either appear or are mentioned. So that's what really set it up and charted the course for the book.

Q:When did you decide to make ¡Caramba! an illustrated novel? And tell us a little about the Lotería cards and how they came to structure the novel.
A:I had first intended to write a book with one traditional main character at the center of things. But I have seen lots of Mexican cowboy movies and one thing I know is that your protagonist needs a good sidekick. Enter Consuelo. Pretty soon I was just as smitten with Consuelo as I was Natalie. I really liked the idea of "like-minded individuals." So that's how they became equals. They had a friend named Javier who was a Born Again Christian mariachi with whom I immediately fell in love. I wanted to know how he had chosen his station in life and what it entailed. I asked myself, "What does aBorn Again Christian
mariachi do? My answer was, "Go on soul-saving serenades, of course." Before I knew it, Javier had met some more interesting people and all of the sudden I was writing a novel with six main characters, give or take.

As residents of Lava Landing, many of whom knew one another, the characters and their stories were linked, but I wanted something more. I had long been enamored of the images within La Lotería to such an extent that I have #41, La Rosa, tattooed on my right arm and it's the only one of my tattoos that I haven't grown to regret over the years.

It was a goosebumps moment when I realized that within La Lotería there were images and dichos (wise, pithy sayings that accompany the cards) that fit perfectly with the tale I was trying to tell in ¡Caramba! I also thought it would be fun to tell the story as if it were a game, and that these cards were being drawn from the deck by an anonymous, but divine hand. Since the idea of fate or destino, as we say in Spanish, is an important theme in the novel, I thought this was especially appropriate.

Q:Incorporated throughout the novel are what you call artifacts--newspaper articles, maps, letters, diagrams etc. You have said that these artifacts prove "That these characters, although fictional, really do exist." Can you elaborate on that idea?
A:For me the artifacts serve two purposes. On one level, they tell a part of the story in a way that straight up traditional text cannot. Take for example the Guide to the Rockola at the Big Five-Four which was the first artifact I conceived. It lists all of the songs on the jukebox at The Big Five-Four, one of Lava Landing's hottest night spots. Music is of particular importance to me. While writing the book, there was always either rockabilly or mariachi music playing in the background. I think if the reader knows the music on the jukebox, then he or she will come away with a better sense of place. And if the reader doesn't know the music, but takes the time to peruse the titles on the jukebox, at the very least he or she will discern that The Big Five-Four is a place where all of the songs on the Rockola are in Spanish, except for three that are country 'n' western tunes, and two that are Christmas songs. I think that in and of itself says a lot about the place.

On another level, in part, being a writer is similar to being an archeologist in that we dig up the "histories" of the people we're writing about. I guess with the artifacts I'm saying, hey look, these people really do exist. I have the proof. I have material evidence in the form of handwritten letters, shopping lists, and newspaper articles amongst other things.

And it may seem crazy, but all of my characters really do exist for me even though I made them up.

Q:As the daughter of a first generation Mexican-American father and an American mother of Germanic descent, how were you drawn to writing a story that is very much a tale of homelands and borders?
A:I think coming from two very different cultures makes you more acutely aware of both, and it also causes you to question your own cultural identity more than you otherwise would have. It also shows you how important the idea of "home" really is. By that I mean not just as a place, but in terms of religion, culture, race, language, and nationality. I think many of my characters and their dilemmas address these issues.

Q:At the heart of the novel is the wonderful friendship between two young women, Nat and Sway-- two "like-minded individuals" who have been compared to Thelma and Louise. As we follow Nat and Sway on their adventures—of the road and of the heart—one is reminded of the power of those perfect, fierce friendships. Was friendship a theme you set out to explore?
A:Growing up, it seemed like just as soon as I was comfortable in a place and had formed solid friendships, we moved. So I never experienced a Nat and Sway kind of friendship. Lots of children have imaginary friends, but I find as an adult I forged an imaginary friendship in the form of Natalie and Consuelo. They represent that fierce friendship I never had.

I didn't consciously set out to write about "friendship" as a theme, but I did want to write about "like-minded individuality" i.e., people being liked-minded, but also being individuals, in essence, equal but different.

Q:It is almost as if you have created a new language in parts of this novel—part English, part Spanish, part slang, part song . . . where did your love of language and your desire to sort of experiment (for lack of a better word) with it come from?
A:I find writing especially exciting because I am working with at least two live languages. I would even argue that by virtue of this very fact, many other languages are created. The great thing about a live language is that it is pliant. It moves and bends with change, but doesn't break.

I learned to speak Spanish as an adult and I speak Spanish and English on a daily basis. I find that both languages influence one another and that sometimes things come out fairly funky, but in a good way. I think this happens to people all over who speak two or more languages with almost equal frequency, and I think it is a wonderful tendency. As a child, I remember loving the way my Mexican grandmother spoke English up to a point, but inevitably always reverted back to Spanish, but did it in such a way that even if you didn't speak Spanish, and I didn't at the time, you could still get at the essence of what she was saying.

My other set of grandparents is from the mid-west and they too have a wonderful way of turning a phrase. As a child I must have internalized this, because Natalie and Consuelo have a sort of twang that I can't attribute to anything else in my linguistic experience other than listening to my grandparents speak.

I don't think I was experimenting so much as I was trying to replicate and combine and mesh these different ways of speaking into a rhythm and language that was specific, but not entirely unique to Lava Landing.

Q:Is the town of Lava Landing inspired by any particular place? There is so much history, real and imagined, and culture, and folklore in this novel, did you have to do any research before you began writing?
A:Lava Landing is an amalgamation of perhaps a half dozen small, California farming towns that I know and love. So much of the novel was written by the circumstances created in naming things. Once I knew my town was called Lava Landing, I knew it had to have a volcano. Then I had to do some research on volcanoes.

Also, if you consider hanging out and having a good old time at places that are like El Aguantador and The Big Five-Four, then I did tons of research. I learned the language and the customs of Lava Landing by hanging out in places that would later be the models for Lava Landing.

Q:Okay I have to ask: Where did the idea for the Born Again Christian mariachi band come from?
A:My characters came to me first as quirks and then as dilemmas. The Born Again Christian mariachi idea arrived in one of those weird moments where everything seems to make sense. Then I had to ask myself, "How does one get to become a Born Again Christian mariachi in the first place, and what does that entail?" In the course of answering those questions, Javier's character emerged and with it, some of the key themes of the novel. A mariachi is known for being fiercely passionate towards his country, his woman, and quite often his bottle of tequila. All of these characteristics are at odds with the idea of a Born Again Christian. Javier is a missionary, and a mariachi, but he is foremost a man. His character allowed me to explore what all of these roles mean, not just in and of themselves, but in opposition to one another.

And I have to tell you something else about Javier... I made him up just like I made up all of the characters in the novel. I had never heard of a Born Again Christian mariachi, and I haven't still, even though I did a lot of research trying to find one. But one day I was at the flea market in San José. I was walking toward La Plaza del Mariachi. I noticed that one of the men in the mariachi was not wearing his traditional traje de charro. I immediately became angry. I, like Javier, consider being a mariachi a serious station in life. It wasn't until I got closer that I noticed what the man's t-shirt said. He was a trumpet player and his shirt read: I blow the horn for Jesus. See, I told you. Javier does exist. Perhaps he goes by a different name and doesn't drive a 1976 Chevrolet Monte Carlo, but he's out there.

Q:You have a wonderful passion for fashion; a passion that is clear from your wonderful descriptions of your characters outfits. And of course a passion that many of your characters share. A couple questions for you on this front: How long have you been interested in fashion (and shopping!) and tell us a little about your business dealing in vintage clothing?
A:Since I am interested mostly in vintage clothing, I prefer the term "hunting" as opposed to "shopping". When I was in college I discovered a place where I could buy clothes for a dollar a pound, shoes for a dollar a pair, and where the merchandise is changed twice daily. I started lining up at this place twice daily and still do. I unearth wonderful treasures and sell them to the "buy, sell" trade stores up in San Francisco. I really enjoy my work and feel that it's good for the environment. And these clothes do have a history that needs to be preserved.

Q:When it comes to your novel, is clothing as important as setting? In other words, do clothes really make the man/woman?
A:I don't think clothes make the man or the woman, but for me they set the scene. Since ¡Caramba! is about six main characters, it is largely episodic which means there is a lot of setting the scene. I am much more interested in what people are wearing than the weather or nature. For me, clothing provides a sense of the character's style as well as their socio-economic position or even their sensibility.

Q:Throughout the novel you employ the ® registered trademark for brands. Why?
A:Similar to above, I think we live in a society where we are, for better or worse, defined by the products we consume. In college, I read a lot of Marx and became interested in his ideas about commodities and how they become, in his terms, "fetishized". As he so astutely points out, all commodities are the result of two things: labor and material. As such, everything should cost the same, yet it doesn't. I think he was getting at something that is very much a part of our society. Products do have a mystique, a life of their own. That was my thinking in using the ® registered trademark.

Q:So I know your first ambition was to be the play-by-play announcer for the San Francisco Giants. You still holding out hope or are you going to stick with writing? In other words, what is next for you?
A:I am currently working on my second novel. But for me there are two times of the year: baseball season and the off-season. I am afraid I would never make it as a play-by-play announcer simply because all great announcers have to demonstrate, in the very least, partial impartiality, which is to say, it's ok to let your allegiance to your team come through at times, but for the most part, you have to be impartial.

I cannot show impartiality when it comes to my team and what's more, I would never make it as a play-by-play announcer for the same reason I would never make it on Jeopardy! It's not for lack of preparation or ability, but because I get too damned excited and start screaming and jumping all over the place. Then again, I do hold out hope of being a guest commentator on a show such as Baseball Tonight or ESPN Deportes. I think establishing myself as a respected author could only help me toward this end and I am quite encouraged by the fact that women are finally getting into sportscasting.

So to answer your question if I haven't already, writing is a priority for me.

Read an Excerpt

Chapter 1

LIKE-MINDED INDIVIDUALS

Natalie and Consuelo were best friends since the second grade when the latter stuck a piece of ABC gum in the former's hair while they were engaged in a fistfight over a boy whose name neither of them could remember. When Natalie had to cut her then waist-length hair up to a chin-length bob, Consuelo followed suit. Both girls realized at the early age of eight, a man is the last thing that ought to come between friends.

On a Saturday night Consuelo called Natalie, not for any of the usual reasons, but to inform her that she had just killed a man. This scared Natalie even more than the time she was shoe-jacked by a mental ward escapee who made off with her favorite pair of black platform slides. Consuelo forwent the details, but implored Natalie to "come quick."

Natalie ran to her closet and pulled out her favorite dress, which was long and black with spaghetti straps, and her favorite sweater: a pink mohair cardigan with pearly buttons. She threw on a strand of faux pearls she had bought after watching Breakfast at Tiffany's on late-night TV -- trouble she normally wouldn't have gone to, but it was a Saturday night, and if it really was true, if Consuelo really had committed the crime she had spoken of over the telephone, then it was all the more reason why the girls ought to have a good time while they still could.

On the way to Consuelo's, Natalie considered herself lucky to have eight cylinders on her side. She had worked every summer between the second and ninth grades either picking or cutting apricots, and sometimes both, in order to earn enough money to buy the car of her dreams: a 1963 convertible Cadillac El Dorado. As she pulled into Roscoe's to fill up, she was struck by a sense of pride and sentimentality. In that day and age as well as any other, a girl needed all the advantages she could get, and Natalie was happy to have a car that was on the one hand beautiful and elegant, and on the other, responsive and powerful -- characteristics she strived for in herself. With that sentiment in mind, she eased into the full-service island and said to the attendant, "I'll take a tankful of Super Unleaded, and be sure to top it off, please." Common sense and the movies told her that when two girls go on the lam, a full tank of gas is an essential starting point.

The dust followed Natalie down the back roads while Eydie Gorme y Los Panchos hummed "Mala Noche" from the AM radio. When Natalie arrived, she was surprised to see Consuelo sitting on the wooden steps which led to her front porch, idly smoking a cigarette. Consuelo did not appear the least bit vexed, her composure failed to resemble that of a murderer or even a man slaughterer. With her long black hair parted down the middle and sectioned into two neat ponytails, she wore a white tank top and a pair of red terry cloth shorts.

As Natalie approached Consuelo, she looked into her eyes and tried to find the dancing devils Consuelo's mother insisted dwelt within, but all she saw were two mossy puddles. Consuelo claimed her mother was crazy, a point Natalie wouldn't argue against, but the fact is, most Mexicans don't get green eyes, so when one does, it's a big deal.

Natalie remembered something Consuelo once told her. When Consuelo was four years old, she met her tía Concha for the first and only time. Taking the child's chin in her hand, Concha looked into Consuelo's eyes saying, "You only get one life, chica. Live it up." With those words, claimed Consuelo, it was as if Concha had planted a seed within her, then, momentarily opening her up, she had shed sunlight and rainwater upon it, causing it to grow and grow, wrapping its vines around her innards, seeking its escape.

Consuelo considered this her most formative moment. She would always remember her tía with a strange mixture of reverence and fear, as if Concha were a member of the clergy who commanded respect while inciting fear, and was so close to something so powerful and irresistible, it could not be overcome. It might have been completely coincidental, but Concha had single-handedly been responsible for the de-frocking of seven priests in her hometown of Culiacán, which is in the Mexican state of Sinaloa. A devout sinner, but a Catholic, Concha believed in confessing her sins as well as the other Sacraments. It might be relevant to mention, Concha also had green eyes.

"Consuelo," said Natalie taking a deep breath. "I got a whole tank of gas if you feel like gettin on out of here."

Consuelo took a long drag off her cigarette. Natalie scooped up the soft pack of mentholated Marlboro®s, removed one, and let it dangle from the corner of her mouth. A nonsmoker but a fidgeter, it gave her solace to have something to chew on.

"I may have gotten you more worked up than the situation calls for," said Consuelo. "Not to say that it ain't shockin, because it is. Only it ain't probably nearly as bad as you're thinkin."

"Give it to me straight and start from the beginnin," said Natalie, tossing her long, naturally curly and naturally auburn hair.

"¿Promise not to laugh?" Consuelo began.

Natalie crossed her fingers, held them up, and nodded, then sat down on the steps next to Sway.

"A few days ago I decided to start exercisin. In case you haven't noticed, I'm growin quite a gut and I just can't imagine givin up the finer things in life such as menudo or carne asada." Consuelo pinched her abdomen and held it. "So, I figured I'd start out slow. Maybe just walk around the block or somethin. It's hard for a girl like me to know where to begin when it comes to a thing like physical fitness. For starters, I ain't got no walkin shoes, so I put on my most comfortable pair. ¿Member them suede platforms I got on sale last spring at Leroy's?"

"Think so," said Nat.

"Well I don't own no sweats either, so I put on a pair of cutoffs and a T-shirt. No makeup mind you. You might say I was keepin a low profile. I'm about to walk out the door when I start hearin the voices." Consuelo scanned Natalie's face for a reaction, seeing none, she continued. "¿You ever hear voices, Nat?"

"Not usually. Which isn't to say I haven't, because I have. Only mostly I don't usually hear voices unless somebody's talkin to me, and even then it's questionable."

Consuelo moved closer to Natalie and lowered her voice. "Sometimes I hear voices, and usually it's my momma that's speakin. My tía Lila says it's a gift, the voices that is, but I'm not so sure about that. I'm on my way out the door when I hear my momma as if she's standin right behind me and she's sayin, 'A girl dressed like you can't have no good intentions, you little sinvergüenza.' It shocks me, but only for a second, because it ain't the first time I heard my momma say that, and it don't matter that she's gone to that other world either."

"Geez, Sway, that's purty incredible and a bit creepy if you don't mind my sayin so," said Natalie.

"Not in the least. The best things in life are just a little creepy," said Consuelo. "I walk out the door and around the corner. Purty soon I notice this guy slowin down in his car to take a look, but I don't pay him no mind because I'm thinkin about all them calories I must be burnin. Plus I got my Jackie O shades on, which always makes me feel sorta protected. The eyes bein the windows to the soul and all, I prefer to keep the shades drawn. I was mindin my own business."

"And the world would be a better place if everybody did the same," contributed Natalie.

"Out of nowhere there's a screechin of the brakes, and the next thing I know, there's a dead man in the street," said Sway. She bit her bottom lip, then elaborated, "There was this little old guy tryin to cross the street and he got himself runned over because some pervert was busy checkin out my nalgas. He was even usin the crosswalk." Consuelo dropped her cigarette to the dirt, stretched out one of her long long legs, then extinguished the Marlboro® with the wedge heel of her sandals.

"¿That's it, Sway?" said Nat.

"I'm afraid so," said Consuelo. "¿Were you expectin somethin more action-packed?"

"Oh, no," said Natalie swatting at the air in front of her. "Well I hope you're not feelin bad about it, because it ain't by any means your fault. That's just the price of bein purty."

The girls sat silent for a moment staring off into the not so distant fields where a slight breeze rattled the pepper plants.

"You know it's funny," said Nat. "People turn the wrong way down one-way streets all the time, but that don't always spell disaster."

"No it don't," said Sway. She knew precisely what Nat meant: that the world was a place where anything could happen and everything did, and that even the most simple and well-intentioned acts could provoke disaster.

"May the good Lord rest that poor man's soul, but it's Saturday night, and I was just wonderin, ¿what's the plan, chica?" said Nat.

"Was thinkin maybe we could head on out to the racetrack for some watch and wager horse racin," said Consuelo.

"¿You feelin all the sudden lucky?"

"Not hardly, but that ain't never stopped me before. Wait on me while I go in and change," said Consuelo rising to her feet.

"Before you go, I just want you to know that you really scared me there for a second," said Natalie waxing suddenly sentimental. "I figured you'd be sent up and I'd be lucky to see you maybe once or twice a year. And with your fear of public transportation and long car rides, you might go crazy on the bus ride over. It ain't often a person runs into a like-minded individual, least not as like-minded as I consider you."

"Don't worry about a thing," said Consuelo. "I ain't goin nowhere except to change, then we can hit the road. Chin up, chica," Consuelo shouted as she ran up the steps and into the house.

Read a Sample Chapter

Chapter 1
Tabla 1

An Introduction to the Players

LIKE-MINDED INDIVIDUALS

Natalie and Consuelo were best friends since the second grade when the latter stuck a piece of ABC gum in the former's hair while they were engaged in a fistfight over a boy whose name neither of them could remember. When Natalie had to cut her then waist-length hair up to a chin-length bob, Consuelo followed suit. Both girls realized at the early age of eight, a man is the last thing that ought to come between friends.

On a Saturday night Consuelo called Natalie, not for any of the usual reasons, but to inform her that she had just killed a man. This scared Natalie even more than the time she was shoe-jacked by a mental ward escapee who made off with her favorite pair of black platform slides. Consuelo forwent the details, but implored Natalie to "come quick."

Natalie ran to her closet and pulled out her favorite dress, which was long and black with spaghetti straps, and her favorite sweater: a pink mohair cardigan with pearly buttons. She threw on a strand of faux pearls she had bought after watching Breakfast at Tiffany's on late-night TV-trouble she normally wouldn't have gone to, but it was a Saturday night, and if it really was true, if Consuelo really had committed the crime she had spoken of over the telephone, then it was all the more reason why the girls ought to have a good time while they still could.

On the way to Consuelo's, Natalie considered herself lucky to have eight cylinders on her side. She had worked every summer between the second and ninth grades either picking or cutting apricots, and sometimes both, in order to earn enough money to buy the carof her dreams: a 1963 convertible Cadillac El Dorado. As she pulled into Roscoe's to fill up, she was struck by a sense of pride and sentimentality. In that day and age as well as any other, a girl needed all the advantages she could get, and Natalie was happy to have a car that was on the one hand beautiful and elegant, and on the other, responsive and powerful-characteristics she strived for in herself. With that sentiment in mind, she eased into the full-service island and said to the attendant, "I'll take a tankful of Super Unleaded, and be sure to top it off, please." Common sense and the movies told her that when two girls go on the lam, a full tank of gas is an essential starting point.

The dust followed Natalie down the back roads while Eydie Gorme y Los Panchos hummed "Mala Noche" from the AM radio. When Natalie arrived, she was surprised to see Consuelo sitting on the wooden steps which led to her front porch, idly smoking a cigarette. Consuelo did not appear the least bit vexed, her composure failed to resemble that of a murderer or even a man slaughterer. With her long black hair parted down the middle and sectioned into two neat ponytails, she wore a white tank top and a pair of red terry cloth shorts.

As Natalie approached Consuelo, she looked into her eyes and tried to find the dancing devils Consuelo's mother insisted dwelt within, but all she saw were two mossy puddles. Consuelo claimed her mother was crazy, a point Natalie wouldn't argue against, but the fact is, most Mexicans don't get green eyes, so when one does, it's a big deal.

Natalie remembered something Consuelo once told her. When Consuelo was four years old, she met her tía Concha for the first and only time. Taking the child's chin in her hand, Concha looked into Consuelo's eyes saying, "You only get one life, chica. Live it up." With those words, claimed Consuelo, it was as if Concha had planted a seed within her, then, momentarily opening her up, she had shed sunlight and rainwater upon it, causing it to grow and grow, wrapping its vines around her innards, seeking its escape.

Consuelo considered this her most formative moment. She would always remember her tía with a strange mixture of reverence and fear, as if Concha were a member of the clergy who commanded respect while inciting fear, and was so close to something so powerful and irresistible, it could not be overcome. It might have been completely coincidental, but Concha had single-handedly been responsible for the de-frocking of seven priests in her hometown of Culiacán, which is in the Mexican state of Sinaloa. A devout sinner, but a Catholic, Concha believed in confessing her sins as well as the other Sacraments. It might be relevant to mention, Concha also had green eyes.

"Consuelo," said Natalie taking a deep breath. "I got a whole tank of gas if you feel like gettin on out of here."

Consuelo took a long drag off her cigarette. Natalie scooped up the soft pack of mentholated Marlboro®s, removed one, and let it dangle from the corner of her mouth. A nonsmoker but a fidgeter, it gave her solace to have something to chew on.

"I may have gotten you more worked up than the situation calls for," said Consuelo. "Not to say that it ain't shockin, because it is. Only it ain't probably nearly as bad as you're thinkin."

"Give it to me straight and start from the beginnin," said Natalie, tossing her long, naturally curly and naturally auburn hair.

"¿Promise not to laugh?" Consuelo began.

Natalie crossed her fingers, held them up, and nodded, then sat down on the steps next to Sway.

"A few days ago I decided to start exercisin. In case you haven't noticed, I'm growin quite a gut and I just can't imagine givin up the finer things in life such as menudo or carne asada." Consuelo pinched her abdomen and held it. "So, I figured I'd start out slow. Maybe just walk around the block or somethin. It's hard for a girl like me to know where to begin when it comes to a thing like physical fitness. For starters, I ain't got no walkin shoes, so I put on my most comfortable pair. ¿Member them suede platforms I got on sale last spring at Leroy's?"

"Think so," said Nat.

"Well I don't own no sweats either, so I put on a pair of cutoffs and a T-shirt. No makeup mind you. You might say I was keepin a low profile. I'm about to walk out the door when I start hearin the voices." Consuelo scanned Natalie's face for a reaction, seeing none, she continued. "¿You ever hear voices, Nat?"

"Not usually. Which isn't to say I haven't, because I have. Only mostly I don't usually hear voices unless somebody's talkin to me, and even then it's questionable."

Consuelo moved closer to Natalie and lowered her voice. "Sometimes I hear voices, and usually it's my momma that's speakin. My tía Lila says it's a gift, the voices that is, but I'm not so sure about that. I'm on my way out the door when I hear my momma as if she's standin right behind me and she's sayin, 'A girl dressed like you can't have no good intentions, you little sinvergüenza.' It shocks me, but only for a second, because it ain't the first time I heard my momma say that, and it don't matter that she's gone to that other world either."

"Geez, Sway, that's purty incredible and a bit creepy if you don't mind my sayin so," said Natalie.

"Not in the least. The best things in life are just a little creepy," said Consuelo. "I walk out the door and around the corner. Purty soon I notice this guy slowin down in his car to take a look, but I don't pay him no mind because I'm thinkin about all them calories I must be burnin. Plus I got my Jackie O shades on, which always makes me feel sorta protected. The eyes bein the windows to the soul and all, I prefer to keep the shades drawn. I was mindin my own business."

"And the world would be a better place if everybody did the same," contributed Natalie.

"Out of nowhere there's a screechin of the brakes, and the next thing I know, there's a dead man in the street," said Sway. She bit her bottom lip, then elaborated, "There was this little old guy tryin to cross the street and he got himself runned over because some pervert was busy checkin out my nalgas. He was even usin the crosswalk." Consuelo dropped her cigarette to the dirt, stretched out one of her long long legs, then extinguished the Marlboro® with the wedge heel of her sandals.

"¿That's it, Sway?" said Nat.

"I'm afraid so," said Consuelo. "¿Were you expectin somethin more action-packed?"

"Oh, no," said Natalie swatting at the air in front of her. "Well I hope you're not feelin bad about it, because it ain't by any means your fault. That's just the price of bein purty."

The girls sat silent for a moment staring off into the not so distant fields where a slight breeze rattled the pepper plants.

"You know it's funny," said Nat. "People turn the wrong way down one-way streets all the time, but that don't always spell disaster."

"No it don't," said Sway. She knew precisely what Nat meant: that the world was a place where anything could happen and everything did, and that even the most simple and well-intentioned acts could provoke disaster.

"May the good Lord rest that poor man's soul, but it's Saturday night, and I was just wonderin, ¿what's the plan, chica?" said Nat.

"Was thinkin maybe we could head on out to the racetrack for some watch and wager horse racin," said Consuelo.

"¿You feelin all the sudden lucky?"

"Not hardly, but that ain't never stopped me before. Wait on me while I go in and change," said Consuelo rising to her feet.

"Before you go, I just want you to know that you really scared me there for a second," said Natalie waxing suddenly sentimental. "I figured you'd be sent up and I'd be lucky to see you maybe once or twice a year. And with your fear of public transportation and long car rides, you might go crazy on the bus ride over. It ain't often a person runs into a like-minded individual, least not as like-minded as I consider you."

"Don't worry about a thing," said Consuelo. "I ain't goin nowhere except to change, then we can hit the road. Chin up, chica," Consuelo shouted as she ran up the steps and into the house.

CONSUELO'S DILEMMA

Consuelo's given name was Consuelo Constancia Gonzales Contreras until, when she was eighteen, she legally changed it to Consuelo Sin Vergüenza. She had been told so many times that she was shameless, which is what sinvergüenza means, that not only did she believe it, but she came to consider this alleged shamelessness her most admirable attribute.

Her most practical problem in life was this: She was afraid of public transportation and long car rides. With Natalie behind the wheel, Consuelo could get into the Cadillac and go around the corner to the grocery store, or across town to the flea market. She could make it to bingo, to the baile, or anywhere else, just so long as it was within her thirty-mile travel zone. Why she was even known on occasion to hitchhike. But board a bus, never. Much less a train.

Consuelo's father, Don Pancho Macías Contreras (Q.E.P.D./R.I.P.), was runned down by the midnight freight train from Guanajuato. He drove a white Chevrolet pickup truck he called El Caballo Blanco to which he sometimes sang the legendary song of the same name. Like any complex character, Don Pancho was filled with contradictions. He loved his wife, but not nearly as much as the collective charms of his many mistresses. Seven days a week he worked hard, long hours at numerous jobs, only to gamble his money away. He was concerned with physical fitness, ran several kilometers a week, yet he undermined his health by drinking every night.

To get right straight to the point, Don Pancho was a real parrandero-he liked to live it up drinking, dancing, womanizing, gambling, and barroom brawling.

One evening, while on his way home from the cantina, Don Pancho forgot to cross himself as he passed the village church. He was sure this would bring bad luck, so he stopped quite literally in his tracks. (The realization of his oversight occurred just as he attempted to cross the train tracks.) Don Pancho put the Chevy in reverse, but it didn't wanna go backwards. He put it in first gear, but it didn't wanna go frontwards either. It didn't wanna go at all.

DP didn't get out, pop the hood, and try to figure out what was the matter. Nor did he push-that truck was far too heavy for just one man. Going for help crossed his mind, but he had heard enough corridos to know that a real man never leaves his horse, and while the only horse he'd ever had he'd lost in a poker game, he still considered his trusty white Chevy the next best thing. So instead of getting out of the saddle, he took off his sombrero, set it on the bench seat beside him, killed the engine, then began to sing. He sang "El Corrido del Caballo Blanco" over and over. Drunk as he was, it wasn't long before he fell asleep. Nor was it long before the train swept him away.

Back home, Don Pancho's wife, Doña Luisa, was fast asleep in bed. In dreams Don Pancho came to her. "Forgive me, vieja," he said with his sombrero in hand. "I always loved you more than any of the others. Leave me where I have fallen. I don't deserve more."

Doña Luisa knew something was up, because Don Pancho spoke to her in English, and she understood every word of it. She also knew that her husband was gone for good, as opposed to just spending the night with another woman. So when the men showed up at her doorstep with Don Pancho's lifeless body dangling over the back of a burro, Doña Luisa told them to take him back where they found him, and that he had wanted it that way, then she went back to sleep. Don Pancho might have been the father of her six children and the one on the way, but it's hard for a woman to get all broken up over a man who spends most of his time and all of his money womanizing. And besides, Doña Luisa needed her rest. She was less than a month shy of her due date.

Don Pancho had it his way. He was put under with little ceremonia in approximately the same spot where he had taken his last breath, but he really didn't know what he was getting himself into. In Don Pancho's home state of Sonora, a man buried in unsanctified ground without the benefit of a priest saying fancy words over his body is known as a tiradito, and some tiraditos can perform miracles.