Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Robert Rodriguez and assorted. And this is all Sands' fault.
THINGS TO DO IN SINALOA WHEN YOU'RE DEAD
by Beth (renfri@astercity.net)
The town is not Culiacan, but the sounds are almost the same. The bar is mostly filled with locals. They drink, they listen to songs from the stereo behind the bartender (Chalino Sanchez singing about the king of the short airstrip, and he remembers the way that guy died, bullets and fire) and they talk. These are regular people, not "businessmen," so there are few secrets. No secrets that can get you shot in the head, burned, your eyes gouged out - so they don't care who listens, if he looks friendly.
And that is something Sands can do, even now.
Most of his people are upstairs, sleeping off the trip. Davis is at the bar; she has charmed the bartender into letting her read the booklet from the CD currently playing, and now he hears her hum to the music as Sanchez sings the story of Raimundo Davila Parra. And he sits in the corner, listening to stories as he waits.
The town is not Culiacan, but it's still the state of Sinaloa, and the talk turns to what happened three months ago in the state capital.
"Of course the people fought Marquez," a man says. "But there were also mariachis, strange mariachis with guns. Even Him."
"Him?" a young, boyish voice asks.
"El Mariachi." The El has capital letters you can almost taste, and there's no doubt who he's talking about.
"And he killed Marquez himself," another voice puts in. "My cousin works as a paramedic in Culiacan, and he says Marquez's knees were shot through before he was killed. It was punishment for his crime against Mexico."
"We were lucky El Mariachi was there," the boy puts in. "Mexico was lucky."
Sands' mouth curls in a half-smile; he adjusts his sunglasses to hide it. He leans his head back against the wall and listens some more as he sips his drink.
"This wasn't luck," a new voice says. A woman, older, the smell of oranges. "There was a man who learned of the traitors' plan, and he brought in El Mariachi."
This story is new, and the people fall silent. He turns his head towards the woman.
"I only heard this story," she starts. "On the Day of the Dead I was too busy shooting down those cowards in uniforms, myself."
The listeners laugh, and he smiles.
"They say he was not Mexican, but he cared for Mexico. So he learned of the plan Barillo and Marquez put together. And he went to the village where El Mariachi lived, and told him Mexico needed him."
Heads nod and approvals are muttered.
"But!" she says, and he knows she's holding up a finger. "He told someone he shouldn't have, too. He told his lover, and she went to Barillo!"
Gasps. Even the bartender is listening now, and he turns down the music. Davis is frozen, her jangling earrings silent. Only her fingers twitch nervously, making the CD booklet rustle.
"Barillo, of course, tried to stop him. But he was too proud, that devil smuggler. And so was she. They say she was Barillo's child or lover, but either way they were alike, both with hearts as dark as the night. So they didn't kill the man. They took his eyes."
And for a moment three months fade into nothing, and shining metal fills his vision. He feels his hands tremble. He bites the inside of his mouth, and the metallic taste brings him back to the present.
"They left him, they went to join Marquez at the city hall. They thought he was no danger anymore. But he did not give up."
As she pauses for a drink, you could hear a pin drop.
"He walked the streets, blood on his face and a child by his side. He killed a man who wanted to kill him, and he took his guns. And he went to the main square. The child led his steps, and the blood ran down his face. He did not stop to wipe it."
He nods as he listens and makes a mental note to ask about a certain boy when he comes to Culiacan.
"Barillo's men saw him and laughed, for they knew he was blind. He heard their laughter, which told him where they were. And his bullets flew true. One of them shot him, but he died in return. And the blind man lay down, wounded, as he waited."
The story, he muses, is not perfect. The storyteller missed the dust, the empty square, the distant sounds of fighting. And he is fucking proud of the way he shot the guy in the foot to make him scream and get a bearing for his head.
"The traitor, she saw him lie there, and she thought he was dead. She came out into the square and kissed him, and she gasped when she saw he was alive. And he shot her as she pulled him up, her arms around him and his gun against her breast."
He sees the legendary feel to the story already, perfectly allegorical, and he almost laughs.
"And that's how he died," she says.
He freezes.
"He died in the main square of Culiacan, surrounded by the bodies of his enemies. He died as he shot the woman who betrayed him. And because she was dead, and the men were dead, there was no-one to protect Barillo. Barillo died for the eyes he tore out of that brave man's head. El Mariachi's bullet killed him, but his true killer was the man with no eyes."
"And the man died..." the boy whispers.
"They say El Mariachi took his body, to bury it where the heroes of Mexico lie. Or the child came and buried him as one of his own family. No-one knows." The woman's voice is quiet. "All they know is the blindness and the guns and the blood in the square."
Someone offers a toast to the man with no eyes, and Sands drains his glass before getting up. His steps are sure as he walks between tables and people to the door. The night is chilly, and it stills his trembling hands.
A sound - a soft chime - and he knows it's the man he was waiting for. The chains chime as the man approaches. Sands knows they're attached to skull-shaped buttons.
"I heard you were dead." El's voice conveys no emotion.
Sands smiles.
"So did I."
~FINIS?~
Raimundo Davila Parra, the King of the Short Airstrip, belongs to Arturo Perez-Reverte and features (briefly and through the eyes of others) in the great book "Queen of the South". Read it if you want an insight into the minds behind the violent and strange life in the Sinaloa state and Culiacan itself.
The storyteller is the woman from Culiacan with grey hair and twin gunbelts across her chest, who shouts out "cabrones!" and shoots at the soldiers. It's just a glimpse, but I really liked her :)
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