by Manolo Mario
“Coño, Quino! What the hell! Where’s your raincoat? You’re bound to catch cold and what the hell do we do? Rona! Get me towels and some hot coffee!”
“You worry too much, Don Galo. I’m all right and I don’t catch cold. There is no need for a raincoat.”
Rona stepped into the living room. “Galo, why are you screaming? You’re going to wake the kids and the neighbors!” He pointed at Quino and she immediately ran for the towels and coffee.
Quino took the towel and the coffee shyly from Rona, while Galo came to the door with a rain cape. “You are much too big for any of our clothes, but I think this cape will keep you from getting any wetter.”
“You worry too much, Don Galo. Thank you, though.” He nodded repeatedly.
Galo put his letters in order. Quino’s inability to read weighed heavily on his mind, a subject too familiar and close to home. He brought out a leather satchel with two compartments.
“Quino, I’ve tried to keep this simple. In the outside pocket is the letter to Eriberto Sanchez of the Cruz Azul. The inside pocket has the letter to Roberto Luna of the Luna Llena. I want you give the letters personally and wait for an answer.”
“I understand. Outside for Sanchez and inside for Luna.”
“Now comes the hard part. Quino, I want you to watch the face of the man as he reads the note. You know when a man is surprised or not, right?”
“Yes, I do. Of course, I do.”
“Good! That is important. It’s also important if there are other expressions or reactions. I need you to pay close attention and let me know what you saw in their expression.”
“I’ve seen both men in town and done some work for them. You’re not going to make me work with Luna are you?”
“I don’t know? But why would you say that?”
“He’s crazy, yells at everybody all the time; never satisfied.”
Quino left a few minutes later as the rain slowed to a sprinkle. The light of the day took hold and Galo worked on numbers the rest of the morning.
***
The drizzle let off right after lunch. Though Galo would have liked a nap, he opted to go toward the train station. Perhaps some of the cattlemen would be around this Friday afternoon. He could test his case further. It didn’t take long to find five of them drinking rum at Café Ofelia, half a block down and across from the station. Denim pants tucked in boots that were smeared with several types of manure adorned the working individuals. Some of the wares showed the stitching where they were darned. As to their shirts, several shades of drab enhanced by countless hours of sweat made for an ideal group.
Ofelia’s was a simple venue. It had two large paned windows facing the street and the rail station. The door of solid oak was wide and heavy. The floor was tiled in black and white and the tables were raw wood. The disorganized arrangement resulted from the patrons that simply moved chairs around, as they needed. These chairs were pure Camagüey, wood frames with hard leatherbacks and leather seats.
Along the back, a deli area prepared meats, cheeses, and sandwiches. Many of these meats and sausages hung from the ceiling and their aroma permeated. Off to its side and following the wall, one would find a coffee station with a fairly new Italian machine with a handle that stood out. Further down was a bar with some beers on tap.
The men greeted Galo politely and offered him a chair. One of them explained that they had delivered their cattle earlier to the stockyard for an evening train and decided to pull off before heading home. Galo ordered another bottle and sat listening to their insults back and forth.
After a good portion of the bottle had been shared, Galo asked for the word. “I must say I have been quite impressed with the work you guys do. The cattle are simply the best and I’m sure you get paid well for all that you do.”
Without hesitation he noted the men looking at each other like he was crazy. One spoke up, “Are you eating shit or what? Get paid well? Man, those bastards from La Habana come and say ‘we’ll take this many for this price; take it or leave it!’ They don’t care about how much work goes into the beast.”
That was followed by a back and forth among them agreeing with the bastardly lineage of the La Habana buyers and what they’d like to do with them. Galo took his time in letting the men vent and lit a cigarette offering his box around. A couple took one.
“I guess those guys should be given some back for what they dish out.” Galo paused to take a drag from the smoke and let it out slowly before continuing. “You know, I have an idea if you guys can get comfortable and trust me.”
They propped up on their chair and each mumbled astir by curiosity.
“It might not make sense right away, but I think it will work.” He paused and pointed with the cigarette butt. “Let me negotiate the sale of your cattle with those assholes for all of you?”
Another ruckus broke out with several insults back and forth among the group. It was clear to Galo they were friends when it came to drinks, but not so much when it came to selling their lot. Each man was extremely private as to the price they were receiving irrespective of how inadequate it might have been. Galo broke the back and forth by lifting the bottle. “Can I pour more rum?”
“I understand you guys compete and it seems you like it because each of you is doing so well.” Before anyone could call him a shit eater again, he raised his hand in a gesture to stop. “What about if we limit the deal to novillos?”
More silence and puzzled looks fell upon the room.
“Let me explain and see if I can keep it simple. You don’t have to say here what you are paid for your novillos. Whatever it is, I will pay double.”
“Hell, when can I get them to you?” The man on his right jumped at the thought. If a collective group almost drooled, this was it.
“Now, now, slow down and hear me out. I will buy and own the novillos and sell them when I decide it is best. I will provide you ten cents on the peso as a deposit for the sale and give you a paper promising to pay you the rest when I sell the novillos.”
The drool was replaced with a collective coño and the sound of chairs pulling back. The man on his right interceded once more. “Do you think we are stupid or something? Maybe you think we’re drunk. Like shit we’ll give you any animal without getting paid in full.” Others followed in complete agreement and they traded a few barbs in the process.
“No, my friend, I neither think you are drunk nor stupid. I also could not imagine screwing you out of your hard earned money. I am not a buyer from La Habana. In this deal as a matter of fact, I have no land. And as part of my proposal and in consideration of my offer to double the price, I want you to hold on to my novillos until I call for them.”
The man on the right blinked several times as everyone stared at him. He continued to blink deliberately, uncontrollably. Galo read the mass shock. Faces were darting back and forth. The man downed his rum and poured another. Galo simply waited, quietly smoking his cigarette. He swung his leg over the arm of the chair and let his left arm droop down over his crotch. The man scratched his chin and mumbled before finally speaking, “Wait a minute, what am I missing? Why would you pay us something and have us keep the animals?”
Galo straightened, sensing that he had the man right where he wanted him. He patted him on the back and explained, “My friend, I want this deal to be right for both you and me. To make it happen, you need to trust me that I’ll get you paid, and to make sure I don’t run away with the animals, you hold them. Simple! Now …” he paused for effect and looked around the table, making eye contact with each of the ranchers before continuing, “when the buyers come to see you, you cannot sell them the novillos because they are not yours. They are mine. You need to decline, explain they are not yours and they belong to me. Is that clear?”
The men nodded their understanding. A couple whooped it up cheering. “Well, those pricks are going to crap all over themselves!”
Galo held his arms out to ask for quiet. “It’s important the buyers beco
me aware of the information. No matter what they say or how they react and how much you are going to enjoy their reaction, you can’t piss them off because you need to sell them your steers. You will need this money until I am able to sell the novillos.”
The man who had been the quietest on the left grabbed the bottle of rum and poured himself two lines. “I think we’re finally going to earn what we’re due. I don’t know what these guys are going to do, but I’m in with you, Galo. What do you say? All right, let’s all agree and drink to this!”
There had not been a collection of smiles and pats on the back in Ofelia’s as today. More drinking ensued. When it died down, Galo spoke once more.
“I will step over there to the end of the bar and each of you can come out one by one and tell me the price you are getting. We’ll shake on it, but I will also make sure you receive a paper; a contract I have signed and you will sign. This will make sure no one can interfere with our deal.”
He stood and moved to the other side of the bar, where the man on the left jumped out to talk to Galo directly. Each of them followed, with the man who sat on the right being the last to see Galo. He disclosed his numbers and shook Galo’s hand, “If this works, my kids will go to a good school.” Galo nodded in agreement. Galo paid for their bottles and headed for the trolley station, a proud owner of five thousand novillos.
He got home asking for coffee to douse the effect of the afternoon rum and see if he could get some food. He barely got his coffee down when Quino came calling. He handed the satchel over to Galo.
“Luna will be ready to see you tomorrow, but Sanchez can’t until Tuesday. Luna wasn’t surprised by the call and seemed to recognize the Bartolo name fairly quickly. He didn’t seem so crazy today.”
“What about Sanchez?”
“Sanchez on the other hand, asked me who you were. I told him you were a good man who came from La Habana with your nice family. I said nothing more.”
“Thank you, Quino. You don’t need to say that I am nice. It might be better if you tell them next time I am a grand son of a bitch. You never know what they will do when I see them.”
Quino smiled broadly.
“In a way they need to know that this little guy with the great voice is tough. It’s all right, Quino. “He patted his shoulder as he rose for another piece of paper. “Now, I need you to make one more delivery to the telegraph station with a telegram I need to send.”
Galo jotted out the address and message and gave it to Quino.
“Quino, it looks like I will have a steady job for you and Mulo after all. Let’s make sure we talk on Monday and work through the details.”
Quino smiled even more. “Thank you, Galo. I can’t wait to get back and tell Mulo.” Galo paid his new hand for his work and returned to his coffee.
‘So, it is Luna who has information about what is happening in town. In three and a half days of visiting with cattlemen, Luna already knows my name,’ thought Galo sipping his cup.
Chapter 40
Cari read the morning newspaper to her mother. While Rona wanted Cari to read her the social section, she focused on reading about the rodeo scheduled for the next weekend. A mother daughter tussle ensued until Cari read the socials. Among the items mentioned, Rosa Quintero was lauded for winning the Canasta39 tournament at the country club with another unknown lady. A notice that several citizens were getting together to create a tennis club sparked a desire in Cari to play tennis, and she mocked the movements with an air racket.
The other girls walked in with the little guy between them. They were holding him up by each hand and he took wobbly steps. He carried a big smile on his face, as if to say ‘look at me.’ Yet, in between his chuckles, he would say ‘Papa’ repeatedly. The girls dressed him up like a sailor and if they had access to make up, he would have been made up. Simply stated, the little guy was their toy. Galo lowered the paper he read enough to view the scene. He dropped it altogether and extended his arms once Galito called out.
The kids were excited. It was Saturday and they were going to walk over to the park. At school several of their classmates mentioned that they needed to go. You see there is this gruta40 that echoed when you speak in it. There would also be a musical performance in the afternoon in the glorieta41. With other kids at the park, they were expecting to play all day. After a few moments of bouncing the boy on his knee, Galo handed him back to the girls. He finished his coffee and returned the cup to the kitchen.
“Rona, I will catch up with you later in the afternoon at the park. Perhaps I’ll be on time to listen to the music. I am heading out to Luna Llena to meet a rancher that seems to carry a different reputation.”
The rain from the last days left the air fresh and clean. The brushes and trees were vivid green and except for a few remaining puddles, the road to the ranch was firm. This ranch stood south and west towards the village of Vertientes. It was a pleasant ride and the weather allowed him to smoke as he rode. As with other ranches, the front had an open gate and a worn wooden arch running overhead. At the apex, a large circle made of iron with purposely-indented points and a capital ‘L’ near the bottom of the circle affirmed the owner’s brand. It clearly represented a full moon, craters and all, with the Luna initial.
The road into the ranch house was also lined with various trees and bushes. There was no particular arrangement or design. The ride was much longer than Galo had thought. He arrived to the main complex. As he dismounted to walk the horse the rest of the way to the main house, he could hear the bellowing in the distance and saw men sitting on a fence talking and laughing. He swung his rein around a hitching post and walked towards them.
He approached the fence and crossed his arms on the top. In the pen, three young men were roping and tackling a calf to the muddy ground. They were having a time with the ‘four-hundred-pounder,’ getting tossed and dragged. The men on the fence were laughing it up, but one older guy yelled instructions with insults in a serious manner. After a final rush, the young men were able to get the calf down on the ground. The older fellow, in an approving and conciliatory tone, repeated ‘that’s it, that’s it, keep him down.’ The blacksmith stepped up with the hot branding iron and pressed it to the calf’s hindquarter as the animal let out a long, loud roar.
Galo watched the calf rise showing off its new ‘L on the full moon’ branding, when the older fellow walked up from the side. “You must be the young man with the lion’s voice.” He stretched his hand out to Galo.
As if to validate the point, Galo in a more authoritative baritone, addressed the man, “I like the brand you have for your ranch. It looks great and the cattle are outstanding.”
“Thanks. It’s been with the family for three generations. Those were my sons working with the calf. You’d figure after the twentieth calf this morning, they would get it right.”
“I’m sure they’re good boys. They are young and simply need experience,”
“I know what you are thinking,” Luna stated to a puzzled Galo. He stood looking down and then directly into Galo’s eyes.
“Those young men are too young for this old fart? Well, they are from my second marriage.” Galo showed no expression as Luna ran on. “I got lucky, you see. My first wife liked to spend and spend. We had two daughters and while I was working my life away with the animals, she would teach them to spend and spend. All I could hear from them were complaints about the smell of animals, and the sound of animals and the dust they produced. So, I got tired and threw them out! Luck struck and I found a nice country girl that cooks good and makes good boys, no girls. She feels fortunate for what she has and doesn’t complain about anything.”
Galo didn’t know what to say, so he remained quite. Clearly, the man respected his work and his worth. Luna signaled for Galo to follow him and he kept talking. “Since I swapped wives, this ranch has done well. I’ve negotiated everything to my benefit. No one is going to screw me on anything.”
Luna carried a sour look on his face. He bent dow
n to pick up a bent nail off the ground. One of the hands was near and Luna called to him. “Muchacho42, get this nail hammered straight and see it gets in the right place.”
He handed the nail over and pressed his lips shut making gestures with his mouth. He turned to Galo, “My biggest fight in this ranch is everyone thinking that money grows on trees. They think because a nail gets pulled that you can let it go. No one cares enough to pick it up and straighten the thing and get it back to use. It’s always easier to go and order a new one, inconsiderate bastards!”
Galo shook his head, and immediately lamented that Luna mistook as an agreement. He was in shock to be with such a cheapskate and he moved to see how much of a miser he was. “Señor Luna, the ranch has been in the family for three generations. How much land, cattle, and horses do you have?”
“The ranch is about four thousand and fifty hectares43 with about one hundred and seventy thousand heads of beef cattle and several hundred horses.”
Galo did some of his usual quick math and figured Luna to be a multi-millionaire not counting the land. Moreover, Luna fit the ideal definition of being miserable.
As with the other ranchers, Galo and Luna mounted horses joined by Luna’s cleaned-up sons and they rode around the closer areas of the ranch. The facilities were Spartan at best as expected. There were few hands, but all were working. At some point in the middle of the ride, Luna turned to his sons. “All right, you guys have been eating shit enough. Get back and do the work I’m expecting!” He smacked the horse closest to him and all three bolted. Apparently, they were overextending their rest period, ‘eating shit’ with the visitor instead.
Luna spent most of the time talking bad about his competitors, including Quintero and Rodriguez, whom Galo had met. “The problem with men like Quintero and Rodriguez is their lack of appreciation for the business. They flaunt their money like adolescents at a whorehouse, dirty bastards that they are. Like my first wife, may she burn in hell, the stupid bitch. Believe me, I feel sorry for the poor shit-eaters that marry my daughters. They will be slaves for life!”