by Garrett Quentin Smith
 
 

Late night in Mexico City either stinks like vomit or smells of roses.  It’s not alcohol that makes it so, but certainly, indulging in it makes one more keenly aware of the scent he fancies.

A buff guy named Jason was pushing his long hair back to fill even more space inside the crude cantina.  He had bought his funky Guatemala pants from some “hippy” merchant in Jerome, Arizona long before coming to Mexico.  The butt threads were already wearing bare, but he was sitting upon the perfect wooden barstool to further whittle them down on.
 Meanwhile, scrubbed-pink Ernest was sitting above the top of his bar stool as if levitation were possible.  He had clipped his fingernails earlier that afternoon, and had done  a mighty fine job of it, cutting squarely on the delineation between flesh and white.  He didn’t have his camera with him at the moment.  It was safe in the hotel room where he was wishing he was.

 “It’s two o’clock in the morning, Jason, and you’re already quite drunk.  Let’s catch a cab back to the hotel.”
 “You’ve been nursing that same Corona for two hours, Ernest.  Relax.  We’re two young dudes on vacation.  Go ahead and gulp it down.  I’m ordering you another.”  Addressing the cantinero, the young American held up two fingers and said, “Dos más Coronas, por favor.”
 The Mexican bartender brought up two ice cold bottles, uncapped them and prepared a plate of fresh cut limes.  He also passed the boys a small clay dish of salt.
 “I love Mexico,” crowed Jason.  “They know how to serve their beer.”  He gleefully purged the green citrus slices into the glass where he had poured his bottle and added salt in abundance, causing a chemical reaction.  The liquid boiled cauldron-like.  Jason never tired of observing the spectacle, though he had already seen it ten times that evening with every round he had ordered in the cantina.  He held his face inches from the beverage to enjoy the sight more intimately.
 “People warned me not to drink in Mexican cantinas,” said Ernest regretfully.  “I’d like to leave right now.”
 “What could happen to us here?  This place is cool.  Check out the authentic bullfighting posters on the wall.”
 There were seven of the colorful announcements placed prominently on the walls of the cantina.  Each one featured the identical message and illustration.  An important bullfight was to take place the following Sunday in La Plaza Mexico.  Another poster advertising a small circus seemed strangely out of place, by comparison, in the authentically macho Mexico City cantina.  A broad smile occupied Jason’s face as he absorbed the native atmosphere.  Enthusiastically, he took a long sip from the glass he had just prepared.
 “It’s late,” said Ernest.  “Even Mexicans find this city dangerous.  The hotel clerk warned us not to be out after ten.”
 “That’s crazy.  Look around.  We’re not the only people still here.”
 “Don’t look at them.” They may speak to you.  That hitchhiking guy we met in San Blas told us not to talk to drunks in bars.  They may be con men.”
 “Not these guys.  They seem like friendly dudes, and look, I didn’t notice that a woman had come in.  Don’t you think she’s hot?”
 “She’s a hooker, Jason, and don’t get too excited.  My Spanish teacher told us that many Mexican prostitutes are men before their pimps spring for their sex change.”
 “It wouldn’t hurt to say hi to her.”  Jason started to get up, but Ernest yanked him back onto the barstool by his arm.
 “She may have a knife,” he said.
 Jason sighed.  “Just finish your beer, Ernest, and we can go.  I’m tired of convincing you that you’re having a good time.  Anyway, I’m feeling good enough right now.”  He drank the remaining contents of his own glass.
 “I won’t drink it,”  insisted Ernest.  “One of us has to have his head clear so the taxi driver won’t rip us off.”
 “Suit yourself.  I’ll drink it for you.”  Jason repeated the ritual of adding salt and lime to his companion’s drink.
 The cantinero surprised them with a complimentary dish of marinated olives.  He probably sensed their plan to leave and was looking for a way to get them interested in staying.  It worked with Jason.
 “These are great,” he said with his mouth full.  “They must be made with Worcestershire.”
 Ernest tasted one, but he lacked the enthusiasm of his companion.
 “They’re fine, but let’s head back.”
 Jason finally surrendered to Ernest’s persistence.  He asked for the check, paid with one large bill and stuffed the change into his pocket without counting it.
 “Jason! Always count your change. And you should really keep your wallet in front,” advised Ernest.  “A pickpocket could rob you.”  Jason reluctantly obeyed, and changed the location of his billfold.
 They walked together toward the doorway, but stopped short,  pausing in front of the swinging saloon doors to continue their conversation.  Jason could no longer contain his irritation  and began to criticize his traveling companion.
 “Why have you been so uptight all night?  Why can’t you let yourself have a good time in Mexico City?  It’s all right to be careful but not to become paralyzed.  It’s no good to be overcautious.”
 “I’m not paralyzed.  I’m just being careful.  Nothing bad is going to happen to me in Mexico.  I’m way too smart for that.”
 So saying, he stepped out thoughtlessly from the bar onto the city sidewalk.  Suddenly, someone outside was heard shouting out a warning, “¡Cuidado! ¡Elefante!”  But the warning came too late.

The animal trainer had warned the circus owner that it would be dangerous to separate the calf from the mother elephant, but its sale to a rival circus was the only way to avoid bankruptcy.  The young animal had been removed at night while the mother lay sleeping.  When the elephant awoke to find him gone, she panicked and went on a rampage.  The giant pachyderm trumpeted and raised her massive forefeet into the air.
 The trainer tried to calm her but had to evacuate the elephant’s pen fearing for his own safety.  She rammed the gates of her enclosure and soon dislodged them from the hinges.  Finding herself at liberty, the mother elephant ran looking for her offspring, but her animal instincts weren’t sufficient to tell her his location.  The elephant could only abandon herself to desperation and gallop randomly along the capital’s busy streets searching in vain for her animal baby.
 The entire circus cast ran after the panic-stricken elephant.  The trainer was leading them all, straining to reach the animal and
bring her back under his control.  It was useless.  The humans lagged far behind the rampaging creature, and she was not
disposed to lessen her velocity.
 When the giant animal trampled Ernest in front of the cantina, it didn’t even slow her down.  It only caused her to leave bloody
elephant footprints on the Mexico City sidewalk where an oncoming bus had diverted her from the street.  The circus people
passed by the gruesome site without pausing.  All of them continued chasing the charging beast.  Painted clowns smacked the
pavement with enormous orange shoes.  Only the circus midget, who trailed the rest because his miniature legs prevented him
from keeping pace, stopped to mourn the tragic death of the innocent young man.  He removed his little dwarf hat and held it
over his tiny chest.   His aspect was so remorseful, one would think he was personally responsible.
 “I’m truly sorry,” he said to Jason who stood disbelieving beside his flattened friend.  “It was totally senseless for him to die
that way.  Still,” he added, “he could have been more careful.  Mexico City is a dangerous place.”

 Audifaz.com