I made pozole for the old gringo yesterday. Okay, Luz and I made pozole for him. It's incredibly complicated. First you have to soak the corn in lime, then take the skin off with your hands! Talk about labor intensive. It's so pretty though when it "flowers," and the texture of the hominy is superb. Meanwhile, you have to prepare the meat: a little pork tenderloin, half a pig's head and a few neck bones. Then you grind the serrano chiles for the salsa, and finally you chop onions, slice radishes and avocado, shred lettuce, and make lime wedges. All of that is for the garnish, which you put on to your taste after you're served. We were hard at it all morning. Dinnertime (comida) was set for half past two, and I barely had time to shower and change before our guest arrived.
It was worth it. Actually, it was fun working alongside Luz. She's never quite figured out who I am, beyond "rich gringa," but I think most of the reserve and suspicion she had in the beginning is gone. I won't say we've bonded, but she sure told me some things, especially about Horacio, that surprised me. I tried to reciprocate, and did to some extent, but of course I could never tell her what I did for a living. I mostly just told her about growing up. My family.
I think the old gringo enjoyed himself, even though the youngest girl, the smart one, gave him too hard a time about his Spanish. It is atrocious, but she could have been nicer. He took it in stride, though, and after a couple of tequilas began to tease her back, which she actually seemed to like. She's only eleven, and I think she really didn't get why he couldn't understand her at times. She'd never met anyone before who didn't know Spanish very well. I like her. She's a curious girl and she got the cutest sardonic grin on her face when the old gringo started joking with her.
The pretty one, she's just turned 17, just stared at him in wonder as if he'd come from outer space. She did the same with me at first, and still follows me around as often as her mother will let her. The boy is a pill. He's 13 and full of himself and likes to tell not very funny jokes. He can be a trial but he's not really mean. I'm sure Horacio was exactly the same at that age. He still likes to tell jokes, and some of them go too far, especially after he's had a few. Luz puts up with it, even though at times she puts her head down and blushes. I let her run the table once we started eating, my excuse being that I had to entertain my guest, but the truth is I've always been a little slack about going back and forth to the kitchen, preferring instead to stay at the table and talk with the men. My mother was the same. We both got into trouble with my grandmother over that.
Horacio kept refilling our shot glasses with tequila, and by the end of the meal he and the old gringo were singing each other songs. Horacio would give us a few bars of a narcocorrido, blood and revenge in the streets, and my guest would try to match it with some old country and western tune about whiskey and women. I knew Luz wouldn't be drinking, plus the kids were around, so I took it slow. The old gringo's Spanish didn't get any better when he was drunk, but there was more of it, and he told some pretty good stories about his experiences in Mexico, the theme usually being the culture clash, and all were designed to make Mexicans look good, which pleased everyone.
He needed a hand getting home, and I thought about doing it, but I decided Luz would think it improper. Horacio's son was pressed into service. I've asked a friend in the states to find me a copy of a book of short stories by the old gringo and send it along. It's the only fiction he's published, he told me the other day, and that was twenty years ago. We didn't get a chance to talk much at all yesterday, but the day I asked him over for comida we had a long talk and I found out he'd spent most of his life doing shit day jobs and writing whenever he could find the chance, usually the early mornings before work. This trip to Mexico was thanks to an unexpected windfall. Somebody died or something. I didn't ask him why his wife didn't come too, and he didn't volunteer.
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