Whats for sale? Quien sabe?

FIRING A GUN


All three men in the house sleep with machetes in their hands. They have no beds, only filthy blankets or sleeping bags thrown on the brown carpeted floors. Two rest their heads on rolled up jackets, one has a pillow but no case for it.

The machete handles are wrapped in beige masking tape and I’m not sure why. Are the handles cracked or broken? Does the tape make for a better grip? Why do they need machetes to sleep?

These men aren’t supposed to be living in the little house attached to the back of the store front that is my rental, but they are. Tony, the owner of the tire store tells me it’s only temporary. “I am doing a favor for my cousin,” Tony says, “My nephew, my brother.” He shrugs.

The men work in the tire ship all day and carry black grease and rubber into every surface of the house. Each door handle, every floor tile, every inch of the new carpet is now black. They fry meat until it’s burnt directly on the coils of the electric stove I bought new six months ago. A time distortion of ten years of grease compressed into those six months makes the stove look ancient.

Tony complains to me that the toilet is broken and it is my job to fix it. The fill valve and flapper inside the tank were abused to the point of death. I consider this an impossible thing to accomplish without malice. Armed with thick yellow gloves and a face mask I replaced them, recoiling at the possible origin of suspect liquids and gels coating all surfaces. I intently avoid looking at the shower.

A four foot by five foot, ¼ inch thick plate glass window in the shop front is broken. Tony tells me it was a rock thrown by some kid. Even I can see the bullet hole. The Mariachi music could be too loud for me to hear Tony as he lets it slip that someone shot out the window. And he quickly corrects himself when I turn the music down.

“Oh,” he lies with sincerity, “It was a rock.”

Ten feet behind us the men talk to each other in Spanish, laughing at how stupid the gringa landlady is. They don’t know I understand the words. They don’t know I am aware that they sell much more than tires here. They don’t know I’ve seen their knives.