Remember what I said before, that I went back "al otro lado" -- to the other side -- to watch the parents' house for two months, sleeping there every night and watering their gardens every day except Monday and Thursday when the gardener came. Oh especially the watering, my stepfather is very much in love with his garden. That and the art they have in the house is why they wanted someone to be there while they were gone north in their bus. So someone wouldn't just see the place empty and decide to break in. No. But especially the water, water, water, azaleas and ferns and orchids and trees and Mama's vegetables; and twice a week consult with the gardener for his opinion on how things look and what I am missing.
But now I'm home; been here two nights, now, and today there's suddenly no water in this west end of downtown Tijuana. At least the restaurant has buckets to flush the toilets with. Can't use my own bathroom, and I needed that bad before eating. Yes, "bad" IS TOO an adverb, not just an adjective, & has been used equivalent to "badly" since 1681 A.D. Take that, you picky purists. Useage rules!
Anyway, water. Ask the waitress:
-- Se dejo el servicio de agua, verdad?
-- Si. En ningun edificio, ni en frente.
No water in any building, nor across the street.
So, scared little gringo rabbit, gabacho bourgeois conejo prince from suburban hillsides, amixmachtli pochtli pipiltli, water gone and you want to run, run, run rabbit run back to the good old USA -- as if you never lost your water there -- ha! You have plenty times, all those old Dago mains bursting when you lived downtown in the gaslamp, volcano geysers of water blowing up through ruptured sidewalk cement; no, you'll stay. This be nothing, no anda nada.
And everyone's coping, copacetic. They're washing dishes in the restaurant with water from a big plastic barrel in the kitchen. No, don't be gross, it's NOT the same one as they use outside to fill the buckets for flush.
Traffic roars by outside. I wonder how many drivers had no shower? How far, how wide this break in service? Probably most of the west end, what?
-- Mas cafe, senor?
-- Si, por favor.
Good thing no one ever drinks the tap water. Plenty of filtered water in the big clean water-cooler bottles to cook, and brew, and drink. Mmm, yes, mas crema, please.
Later on back at home:
Landlord running around like proverbial chicken chopped headless. The building cistern sits bone dry. Tenants, especially the offices downstairs, are screaming, threatening their rents. Agustin has shut his restaurant for the day, can't cope with anything but. He and his boys cracked the lid in the parking lot, looked in and saw that the cistern is dry.
They saw that it is dry. Past tense leads to eternal present. Two huge water tankers will arrive. They call them "pipas" here. Finally the cistern shall be full again. Glug glug glug glug glug. Well, now the doctors can wash their hands. Seriously, folks. This ain't no chicken little fake. Water needs water. Especially los medicos, no? Si!
This west end of central Tijuana is a zone of doctors, dentists, clinics and private hospitals. X-ray labs and ultrasonido. Patients spill into all the surrounding restaurants and pharmacies, or take a break in the park. god help anyone who parks in Agustin's parking lot without being a client of one of his tenants!
Especially today. I try to get some info on how the water system works.
-- AY Miguel! Don't ask me questions! No questions today! I am beyond my wit's end! he says, in his superb, strangely accented English. He's so weird, and kind of a bitch, but I really, really, really like him. He cooks like the devil, and knows things about Tijuana history and people that you will never, NEVER find in the books.
Later still, washing clothes, scribbling in my notebook at the lavamatica:
On the huge outer wall of an ex-movie theater, now a protestant church, looming over Second Street (Benito Juarez) between G and H Avenues (Ortega y Colon), a faded painting remains from an election ten or twenty years ago. (We gringos love to say: Oh that is so Mexico, make a big ad and then never change it.) VOTE FOR X. His inlaws are friends of Agustin. Grew up together just a block from here, on Fifth. Still own half a block, including a certain laundramat across from the market. Eso es mentira. No esta alla.
Well and good, they have water in that laundramat today, thanks to a little foresight and an old family... but I've said well enough already. Lucrezia remains silent. Entonces este gringo bien lava su ropa -- so this gringo washes his clothes quite well on a day without water. Now you know the secret -- I have dirty laundry and should have washed it sooner. Esta tambien es mentira. But no. I slacked. And now... well, thank you papa Lucrezio. You did well. Too bad when the munipres read this, well, they'll sic attack fiscales after the nuff sed. Go figure. I mean you, dear reader, go figure. I ain't tellin' no more. Besides, the whole neighborhood knows perfectly well what it's all about. It ain't no secret around here. I only make it so for your pleasure. Seven times seven is fifty-six, or... well, now that makes eight, don't it? "I always thought there was something fundamentally wrong with the universe." (Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy).
Nightime, after class. Marie and I go out for tacos. You might call her a girlfriend, and then again, well, we're not quite that intimate, yet. I walk her to her taxi stand that takes her home to another part of town. La Mesa. How odd it has the same name as the San Diego suburb where my parents live. Well, actually they live in Grossmont, but the post office be La Mesa.
We decide to see X-Men tomorrow night at the Cinepolis Rio. She gives me a hug goodnight and a slight kiss on the cheek. I wonder if anything might come of this friendship....
I like her. I think she likes me....