How to Date a Flying Mexican Read online

  “But his special talent doesn’t make him a bad person, Mamá,” said Conchita, feeling a bit defensive.

  “You’re right,” said Belén. “Sabes qué, mija, before I met your papá, I dated a man who could do things with his mouth that were simply miraculous.”

  “No, Mamá, I don’t need to hear this.”

  “Oh, mija, that man,” continued Belén, “that man could make me fly!”

  Belén let out a little laugh as her mind wandered to ancient memories.

  And Conchita let out a sigh.

  “His name was Francisco,” said Belén after a few moments.

  Conchita blinked. “You mean the butcher?”

  Belén nodded, took another sip of coffee, and then puffed heartily on her fat cigarette.

  At that moment, Moisés woke with a start. “Did you say something?” he asked without opening his eyes.

  Belén blew a kiss to her daughter and disappeared.

  “No, mi cielo,” said Conchita. “Back to sleep; it was nothing.”

  “Have you been smoking?” asked Moisés as he sniffed the air and opened his eyes to a mere slit.

  “No, mi cielo, no,” said Conchita as she pushed down her pillows and snuggled near her man. “You know I don’t smoke.”

  Moisés closed his eyes and started to snore softly.

  Rule 4 ~ Don’t Grow Weak in Your Resolve to Keep the Secret

  EACH MORNING before 7:30 a.m., except on Sundays, Conchita asks Moisés to go back home. It’s not because she doesn’t appreciate the intimacy that only long, lazy hours in bed can bring. No. It’s because her sister Julieta drops by each morning at 7:30 a.m. sharp, Monday through Saturday, to end her power walk and have a little chat with her hermana. After sharing a little family time, Julieta walks home, showers, and meets her husband at their camera shop for another full day of keeping their fussy customers happy. Having Moisés leave before Julieta arrives is not for Julieta’s benefit. Not at all. Julieta knows that, throughout the years, her older sister has enjoyed almost countless men. And, being sisters, they have shared many naughty stories, though most of them came from Conchita, not Julieta. In reality, Conchita wanted to spare Moisés the embarrassment of having to socialize with Julieta after spending the night in Conchita’s warm, entertaining bed. He was a sensitive man who read books, enjoyed art and, most important, was still healing from his wife’s death, though he tried mightily to hide his grief from Conchita.

  So Conchita would wake to her buzzing alarm clock at 6:00 a.m., slide herself on top of Moisés for a delicious bit of lovemaking, serve a wonderful breakfast of tamales de puerco and hot coffee along with the newspaper, and then direct her man out the front door. Moisés obliged without argument, subdued by love, food, and the morning news. He’d walk next door to his home, shower, and then meditate in his living room while Conchita and Julieta visited.

  During the first two weeks Conchita had enjoyed her new relationship, Julieta used her morning visits to pepper her older sister with questions. Julieta’s preliminary queries were somewhat benign and quite general, such as “Does he snore?” and “What’s his favorite food?” But then, after a couple of days, Julieta dug deep: “How often do you make love?” and “How big a wedding do you want?” Such questions didn’t bother Conchita. Indeed, she’d be insulted if Julieta failed to probe into her love life. But one morning, her sister surprised Conchita with a particularly insightful query.

  “What makes Moisés different from all the other men you’ve been with?” she asked as Conchita served coffee.

  This was precisely the kind of question that Conchita had feared. She’d always shared with Julieta the deepest, most personal elements of her dating life even though Julieta, after drinking up every delicious detail, would eventually scold her older sister for not settling down. Would it hurt if Conchita revealed this little secret to her best audience? What’s the worst that could happen? Julieta would think she’s crazy? No big deal. But perhaps Conchita shouldn’t move too fast on this. Maybe she could drop little crumbs of information to see how Julieta reacts.

  “He’s very spiritual,” answered Conchita, relying on every ounce of self-control that she could muster.

  Julieta perked up. “Spiritual?” she asked. “You mean he prays to todos los santos and goes to Mass a lot?”

  “Not quite,” answered Conchita, looking over to the kitchen window.

  “Well, what do you mean, hermana?”

  Conchita turned back to her sister, brought the coffee cup to her lips, and said: “He meditates.”

  “Meditates?”

  Conchita drank and then slowly lowered her cup until it met the wooden tabletop with a muffled clink. She nodded and waited.

  “Meditates?” Julieta spat out again. “What is he, some kind of. . .of. . .of. . .agnostic?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say that.”

  “But meditation?” continued Julieta. “What kind of man meditates? What’s wrong with saying a rosary? That works for me. It works for all good Catholics, right? A good rosary and I’m ready for bed and a good night’s sleep.”

  At that moment Conchita realized that it would be a mistake to tell her sister that in addition to meditation, Moisés also levitated. So much for sharing.

  Rule 5 ~ Don’t Google the Word Levitation

  THE SAME MORNING Conchita decided, once and for all, that it would be best not to share with Julieta her little secret, she decided to do some research on her novio’s special talent. She typed in “levitation” on Google and got over 2 million hits. Too many to go through. How could she limit her search? Ah! One of the books Moisés loved to read was entitled The Gateway to Eastern Mysticism. Conchita added the words “eastern mysticism” to “levitation” and got 15,263 hits. Much more manageable. After going through several websites, she found one that seemed promising. The first paragraph explained this phenomenon:

  The reported instances of levitations have been observed in connection with hauntings, shamanistic trances, mystical rapture, mediumship, magic, bewitchments, and (of course) possessions of various types (e.g., satanic or demonic). Based on documented events, many if not most levitations last a short time, perhaps only a few seconds or minutes. In the field of parapsychology, levitation is considered by many as a phenomenon of telekinesis, also known as “mind over matter.”

  The first part sent an electrical current of panic through Conchita’s entire body. Hauntings? Satanic possessions? ¡Dios mío! What had she gotten herself into? She pushed on:

  Not a small number of saints and mystics reportedly levitated as proof of God’s great power over the incarnate form, in holy rapture, or because of their saintly nature. Reputable reports documented the abilities of the seventeenth-century saint Joseph of Cupertino, who could levitate. Indeed, the reports indicated that he could fly in the air for longer periods of time than ever documented with other similar instances of levitation. Conversely, in Eastern mysticism, levitation is an act made possible by mastering concentration as well as breathing techniques that are at the core of the universal life energy.

  Ah! Saints! Perhaps Moisés was a modern santo! Conchita wiped her upper lip with the back of her hand and began to calm down. Maybe levitation wasn’t so odd after all. She went to Wikipedia, typed in “St. Joseph of Cupertino” and read:

  Saint Joseph of Cupertino (Italian: San Giuseppe da Copertino) (June 17, 1603–September 18, 1663) was an Italian saint. He was said to have been remarkably unclever, but prone to miraculous levitation and intense ecstatic visions that left him gaping. In turn, he is recognized as the patron saint of air travelers, aviators, astronauts, people with a mental handicap, test takers, and weak students. He was canonized in the year 1767.

  Conchita read about Joseph’s father, who was a carpenter and a charitable man. But he died before poor Joseph was even born, leaving his wife, Francesca Panara, “destitute and pregnant with the future saint.” Conchita eventually came to this:

  As a child, Joseph was remarkabl
y slow witted. He loved God a lot and built an altar. This was where he prayed the rosary. He suffered from painful ulcers during his childhood. After a hermit applied oil from the lamp burning before a picture of Our Lady of Grace, Joseph was completely cured from his painful ulcers. He was given the pejorative nickname “the Gaper” due to his habit of staring blankly into space. He was also said to have had a violent temper.

  Such miserable lives these saints lived, thought Conchita. Clearly, that’s why they became santos. ¿No? But what of levitation? Conchita wanted to know the details. She scanned the article further, her heart beating fast. This Joseph of Cupertino was a real misfit who had been teased endlessly by his classmates when he had holy visions at the age of eight. Eight! So young to be seeing things. Because of his bad temper and limited education, he had been turned away, at seventeen, by the Friars Minor Conventuals. Eventually, Joseph was admitted to a Capuchin friary, but was soon removed when his constant fits of ecstasy proved him unsuitable. In his early twenties, he was accepted by a Franciscan friary near Cupertino. The article continued:

  On October 4, 1630, the town of Cupertino held a procession on the feast day of St. Francis of Assisi. Joseph was assisting in the procession when he suddenly soared into the sky, where he remained hovering over the crowd. When he descended and realized what had happened, he became so embarrassed that he fled to his mother’s house and hid. This was the first of many flights, which soon earned him the nickname “The Flying Saint.”

  And finally, she read that when this saint heard the names of Jesus or Mary, participated in the singing of hymns during the feast of St. Francis, or prayed at Mass, he would go into a trance and soar into the air, “remaining there until a superior commanded him under obedience to revive.” His superiors eventually hid him away because his levitations caused great public disturbances. But he also gave off a sweet smell because he was pure.

  Poor St. Joseph of Cupertino! A prisoner of his own holiness. Would that be her new man’s fate if anyone discovered his secret? Would the government or even the Catholic Church want to hide Moisés away so as not to cause public disturbances? No, it was clear to Conchita. Moisés must keep his levitation a secret from all. Period. End of story.

  Rule 6 ~ Don’t Forget to Breathe

  CONCHITA AND MOISÉS made a compact. If she taught him the secret of her delicious coffee, he’d teach her how to meditate. Moisés quickly mastered Conchita’s brewing techniques. However, introducing Conchita to the art of meditation was an entirely different affair. Oh, she easily became skilled at sitting in the lotus position—due in large part to her great flexibility, which also made her a delight in bed. But Conchita wrestled mightily with the meditation part of it.

  “I’m distracted,” she complained as she sat on his living room carpet. “I can’t keep my mind from bouncing from thing to thing.”

  Moisés counseled her: “Mi amor, the most important moment in meditation is when you realize that you are, in fact, distracted.”

  “¡No es cierto!”

  “Yes, it is true,” he cooed. “Say to yourself: I am now distracted.”

  “But I can’t empty my mind,” she protested.

  Moisés said, “Meditation is not the absence of thought.”

  Conchita opened her eyes and turned to her man, who kneeled next to her. “What the hell is it, then?” she asked.

  Moisés gently turned Conchita’s head, closed her eyes with his fingertips, and pressed his right palm onto her lower back, his left onto her abdomen. “Don’t forget to breathe,” he said.

  Conchita obeyed her teacher and inhaled deeply.

  “Now exhale,” he instructed. “Let your thoughts come and go without clinging to them so that you can focus on the meditation.”

  Conchita inhaled deeply again. And after a few moments, she exhaled with a soft whoosh.

  This is really stupid, she thought. I’m such a pendeja.

  “Tomorrow,” said Moisés, “we’ll discover your mantra.”

  “Perfecto,” said Conchita. “Perfecto.”

  “Do you mean it?”

  “Yes,” said Conchita. “I’ve always wondered what kind of mantra I would have when I grew old and senile.”

  Summing Up ~ Let Us Review

  FIRST, never, under any circumstances, let anyone know that your new lover can fly. This will cause your family and friends great consternation and might lead to the government or Catholic Church locking him up to prevent public disturbances.

  Second, don’t lie to your dead mother about it. She is dead, after all, so she won’t be disturbed by the news. Besides, nothing escapes her so you might as well fess up. The Fourth Commandment (as it is numbered by the Roman Catholic Church) is, indeed, the most important one of all. At least for dead mothers.

  Third, do not conduct internet research on your lover’s levitation skills. What you find will only cause great agitation and make you perspire profusely. Sometimes controlled ignorance is the only way to get through life.

  Fourth, enjoy your flying Mexican. Life is short and we all need to take delight where we can find it. A corollary to this is that you should learn to accept your lover’s special talents even if they’re annoying.

  And finally, we hope that you remember the most important lesson of all: Do not forget to breathe.

  AFTER THE REVOLUTION

  AFTER THE REVOLUTION, after the last ringing “¡Basta ya!” echoed through the plazas, calles, and ranchos of Mexico, after the murders of Emiliano Zapata and Pancho Villa, and after the drafting of the new Mexican constitution, Lázaro Mayo Cisneros worked with all his soul, all his essence, all his sweat to rebuild his wealth and power.

  The agrarian reforms inexorably led to the confiscation, division, and distribution of Lázaro’s once vast, lush rancho. Out of pity, the Revolutionaries left him with a few acres of rocky terrain at the outer edges of the pueblo. But he was a realist. Lázaro asked himself: What could I do with all that wonderful grazing land when my fine cattle has been taken away as well? And he answered: Después de la lluvia sale el sol. Things must get better after such a calamity. ¿No? Lázaro looked in the mirror and saw a healthy man of thirty-two years. The Revolutionaries could not take this from him. So he accepted the unusable acres with a smile and an elegant bow, and pledged on the memory of his late parents to begin anew in this measureless land of Mexico.

  Aside from his youthful vigor, Lázaro enjoyed several other advantages. First, he benefited from a keen mind, one that not only gathered and retained limitless quantities of facts, but one that never ceased to assimilate these facts—whether during working hours or in the dark depths of his hard-earned slumber—so that they could be used in the most efficient and lucrative manner.

  Second, Lázaro possessed a diplomatic nature and a graceful bearing so that even the Revolutionaries took great delectation in his company. Indeed, the Revolutionaries grew to trust Lázaro’s opinions on politics, ranching, and science.

  Finally, Lázaro enjoyed immense luck. One crisp morning he discovered that his rocky plot of land was nothing less than a boundless source of fine granite that could be quarried to build the many new edifices the pueblo desperately needed to take advantage of the blooming economy. Realizing that much more money could be made from his land, he hired an architect and an engineer so that he could not only sell the granite, but also offer the services of his newly formed company to design and construct the new courthouse, mayor’s home, and plaza. It wasn’t long before the surrounding pueblos learned to appreciate his structures. A Mayo edifice was solid, dependable, yet handsome and graceful, not unlike Lázaro himself.

  Lázaro’s popularity grew almost as rapidly as his wealth. He employed scores of men from the pueblo, which made him that much more appreciated. Indeed, at the end of three years, several of the more ardent Revolutionaries cajoled him into running for mayor, which he did, reluctantly. Lázaro won the election—no opposition candidate having entered the contest. Yes, three years after the Revolut
ion, Lázaro had risen like his namesake Lazarus. But where he had been merely a wealthy landowner, he now possessed not only money but the respect and support of the entire pueblo.

  Yet at the age of thirty-five, Lázaro still lacked a wife and a male heir. So he set about the task of filling this one void in his otherwise full life. If he suffered from a personal failing, it was this: Lázaro knew nothing of the fine art of romance. True, he was sturdy and handsome, and when dressed in his Sunday finery, Lázaro attracted many appreciative feminine eyes. But he approached the idea of starting a family the same way he constructed a building: he carefully drew up plans, thought about what kind of foundation to use, and considered how long the entire process would take.

  One night Lázaro closed himself up in his study with strict instructions to his ancient but competent housekeeper, Marta, that he should not be disturbed until he opened the door. He asked Marta to brew a large, strong pot of coffee because Lázaro appreciated the importance of the task before him, and he needed to be alert—but he did not let her know what he was doing because he was a bit embarrassed by it all.

  Once he settled at his desk, and after a few sips of Marta’s wonderful brew, Lázaro pulled out a large piece of parchment, dipped his pen into the inkwell, and with great deliberation wrote three names separated by vertical lines running from the top of the page to the bottom. He sat back and pondered the first name: Celia. Oh, beautiful Celia! Her father, Miguel, who owned the pueblo’s largest restaurant, had previously hinted that he would not mind such a match. But Lázaro, at that time, was not interested because he had too much to accomplish to rebuild his fortune. Now his mind’s eye washed over the few furtive glances he had thrown Celia’s way when she walked through the pueblo. She reminded Lázaro of a brilliantly plumed parrot: exquisite and proud. But then Lázaro’s mind stumbled into a memory of his one conversation with Celia. In a particularly mellifluous voice, she expressed no opinion about anything, not even the weather—indeed, she said nothing of any importance, though she said it quite beautifully. Surely he would grow bored living his life with this woman.