Chapter Text
It was the middle of June, and a heatwave was hitting a small town in Mexico. A dry breeze whispered through an unpaved alleyway and softly breathed against the doors to a small pulquería. Clay peeled away from the building to reveal the red bricks underneath, and the building itself was sporting a large slant. Though this was part of the town's charm, most buildings were closer to the ground than they should be. One window was built to the left of the door, the glass long gone, but the shutters still stood and swung in time with the doors. The batwing doors were made of soft pine and swung at the softest touch. This was ideal for the spot, as people were thrown through these doors quite often, and they preferred the soft, sandy ground to a sturdy hardwood. Through the swaying doors, two men could be seen talking comfortably amongst themselves.
The pulquería was managed by a man and his younger brother, the latter currently snoring across the bartop. San Angél had little crime from its residents, and sights like this were most common, especially in the early hours.
The elder brother, Daniel, came through the back door leading to another alleyway. He brought with him the biting scent of tobacco. The smell already lingered around the room, courtesy of the typical guests, but Daniel attempted to keep some semblance of dignity about the place (a most futile effort, if you were to ask his younger brother, Mateo.) The still blowing wind occasionally kicked up small bits of sand and dirt into the establishment, and this added to the tranquil ambience that blanketed the town in the morning.
“Carlos,” one of the men at the table said rather loudly, “just-just okay listen. I am leaving! Well, I mean, leaving at some point. Not.. not right now. You see. See, I am sitting with you, but I am very likely leaving today. Or tomorrow. Or possibly next week.” He took a breath and puffed once on an imported Cuban cigar, coughed, and continued.
“Once I receive my next orders, I will be gone again. Don’t get too miserable over me, please.”
“Ha! Miserable? Oh, Joaquín, you being gone will only give me more time alone with Carmen. And I am glad for that! I assure you, you will only be missed when one of us wishes for a cigar!” Carlos laughed dryly. He adjusted on the uncomfortable stool he was perched upon, rested one arm against the rickety table, and the other reached out to grab a swig of pulque.
“Gah! Man, don’t say those things! It’s not fair that you will get all this time with her without me!” Joaquín said. “Of course, when I come back, it will be with an abundance of new medals I will get to show off. That, my friend, is something you cannot compete with.” Joaquín poked Carlos in the chest to emphasise this point.
“Medals?” Carlos scoffed, “Carmen doesn’t care for such silly things. And you forget, I have the ring. I killed two bulls in the last three weeks! My stadium is packed every single performance. That, you could never do.” he finished.
Joaquín laughed at his friend’s expression. “Whatever, man. You know Carmen doesn’t like it when you kill the bull anyway. You’re lucky she loves you so much to see past that.”
Joaquín, Carmen, and Carlos had been friends since they were five. While Joaquín and Carlos used to fight over Carmen, they eventually realised Joaquín only competed for the challenge itself. He never really wanted to be with Carmen. He recognised that the love Carlos and Carmen shared was undeniably strong, and forfeited. Joaquín was glad to have done this sooner rather than later, as just a month after their competition was over, Gertrude moved in.
Gertrude was the daughter of a wealthy German general in Mexico City. When they met, Joaquín was a nobody. However, he immediately fell for her. Despite their class difference, with Joaquín being a lowly soldier fresh out of the academy, Gertrude agreed to marry him. Joaquín worked hard to make it to Captain for her. She loved to be spoiled and constantly made demands of Joaquín, which required him to take riskier missions and fight dangerous bandits to support her expensive tastes. Unbeknownst to Joaquín, Gertrude’s compliance was solely to spite her father, with whom she had a bad relationship. Fortunately for Joaquín, she gradually fell for him as well, and they had a child together.
“Just make sure to watch after little Joaquín Jr. for me, okay? He’s six in a few days, and he’s getting into bigger and bigger trouble with that son of yours.” A fly lazily buzzed in through an open window, and Carlos waved it away.
“Oh, come on, the worst thing they’ve done was fill your shoes with goat’s milk when you were asleep,” Carlos argued.
“Exactly! And they were only four at the time! How do four-year-olds even have the ability to think of doing that?” Joaquín exclaimed, “I’m telling you, Carlos, they are going to get up to a world of trouble in the future. Be prepared for that.”
“I keep telling Carmen that, and all she says is ‘But Manolo would never do something like that! He’s too much of a sweet boy.’ and gives him a churro that he goes and splits with your boy. What am I supposed to say to that? He’s only just turned five in January, and he’s already got her wrapped around his finger” Carlos took another sip of pulque.
Juaquín snickered, “Ha! Carmen has too much of a hold on you, Carlos. You must take some charge over Manolo, or he’ll become just like your wife, and then what will you do? No, better to toughen him up now so at least you’ll have a fighting chance in the future!”
Carlos conceded, “Ah, you’re probably right as always, my friend.”
“How is Carmen, by the way? I haven’t seen her at all recently.” Juaquín asked. “That’s because Carmen is recovering from a little cold. But she’s made from hardy stuff, she’ll be fine. Finish off your smoke, and we’ll get out of here.”
Joaquín nodded and took a final drag of his cigar, and stood up with Carlos. Carlos clapped him on the shoulder, and they stared at each other for a moment. Finally, Joaquín took a step forward and they roughly embraced for a few seconds before pulling away, Carlos’ hand lingering on his shoulder.
“I will miss you, of course,” said Carlos.
“I know.”
“Don’t do anything too stupid. I know you want to impress Gertrude, but don’t let that make you go off and get into too dangerous a situation. You understand?”
Si, si, I get it,” Joaquín muttered, brushing off his hand.
Joaquín’s missions had been getting increasingly dangerous. Going from one town to the next, fighting off banditos was difficult for a whole team of soldiers, but Joaquín had been getting sent out alone. Few people could keep up with him, and his old teammates became frustrated with his constant gloating and rushing ahead. Joaquín handled his old missions just fine on his own, but these new ones were testing his strength.
Despite the impression he tried to give off, Joaquín was scared. His son was still young, and the lengthy missions forced him to be gone for long periods. Missing both his wife and his son made him lethargic at best, depressed at worst. It was interfering with his work. Worried that he might one day not return, he tried to make his time with Joaquín Jr worthwhile.
Leaving a few metal coins on the tall table, Joaquín and Carlos waved to Daniel as they left the pulqueria.
“After you, Captain Mondragon”, Carlos teased as he held one side of the batwing doors open.
“Oh shut up Señor Matador”
Carlos punched his shoulder, and Joaquín’s medals chimed.
“Agh. That's what they called my Papa! Don’t you start calling me that.”
“Then knock it off with the Captain thing!” Joaquín shoved him back. “Unless you’d like to join the rest of my adoring fan club. Should I get you a hat?”
“Oh no, no, I couldn’t accept the generosity of the mighty Captain Mondragon. Please, save it for someone more deserving.” Carlos bowed to him.
Joaquín smirked, “No, that’s alright. I think we should forget it altogether. I wouldn’t want to take away any fans from the little Matador, would I?”
“I’ve got plenty of fans, my friend. Or did you not hear me mentioning my packed stadiums? I wouldn’t be surprised if I had more than you!”
Joaquín shoved him again, and Carlos did the same. Soon, they were grappling in the middle of the quiet street. Dirt was dislodged from the packed earthen ground as their boots dug into it. Carlos took hold of his shoulders and tried to force him down. Joaquín held the underside of Carlos’ left shoulder, grabbed the back of his right one and twisted him face down. Using his right hand to hold him in place, Joaquín used his knuckles to rub Carlos’ head.
“Carlos, don’t you remember? I’ve always been able to beat you in a fight.”
Carlos struggled but went limp for a moment, “Ah! Okay, okay, my friend. I yield!” Joaquín began to let him go, but Carlos suddenly tensed and swung out his left leg and swept out Joaquín’s right and pushed him to the ground.
“Carlos–Ack! Hey–ouch–that’s dirty!” Joaquín’s face was getting squished into the dry ground, dirt getting into his moustache.
“It’s not my fault the soldier boy never learnt proper techniques!”
“Proper? You learnt that from a bar!”
“Strange how they’re better than your lessons from the academy.”
“Well, at least I–”
“Alright, alright. I think that’s enough of an ego contest for one morning,” a feminine voice sounded as a woman appeared from the corner of the alley. She was a severe-looking woman. Her hair was brown and done up in a beehive-looking up-do, and she wore a long Victorian-style dress that covered her black boots. Beneath her dress was a stark white dress shirt buttoned up, and a cameo choker around her neck. A pendant hung upon this choker with a gold-framed obsidian stone. Small pearl studs were attached to her ears. The only spot of colour from her entire look was the soft pink colour of her pointed nails.
“Gertrude, mi amor!” Joaquín took hold of Carlos’ arm and threw him into the dirt behind him. “What are you doing here?” he questioned, brushing the dirt from his face and uniform.
“I think I should be the one asking you, dear,” Gertrude stated pointedly. “A little early for pulque, is it not?”
“Mi amor, the drinker here is Carlos. I was just going along to keep him company.”
“Hey! Don’t throw me under here. She’ll tell Carmen. The two are a pair of conspirators!” Carlos took a handful of dirt and rubbed it into Joaquín’s hair from behind.
Joaquín nearly forgot and was about to turn around to grapple with Carlos again before he heard a throat clearing.
“General Posada has your orders. You’re to leave tomorrow morning.” Gertrude walked over to Joaquín and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.
“Oh. Well, I suspected as much.” Joaquín seemed to deflate, but he quickly covered his disappointment with a big grin and grabbed Gertrude around the hips.
“Joaquín, no. You’re covered in dirt, don’t you dare–”
Joaquín threw her over his shoulder and happily proclaimed, “Well, goodbye now, Carlos! I must be off! I only have a few hours, and I have to see that Joaquín Jr won’t succumb to Manolos’ antics when I’m gone!”
With that, he bounded down the slim street towards the Mondragon mansion at the base of the town: Gertrude shouting at him all the way.
The sun had risen nearly to midday, and the playful morning atmosphere had disappeared along with the desert’s morning dew.
It was hot–blisteringly so. San Angel had but one reprieve from the heat, which was the fact that it was at the very least lacking in humidity. Though this meant no clouds could be sought to hide under from the unfeeling sun, it also meant that one could leave the house without feeling like they were suffocating.
San Angel had been without rain for weeks now, and the air was still, and even if a breeze dared to waft through the quiet alleys, it felt more akin to an oven opening than the cool relief it should be. Succulents, so deprived of water, began to shoot up red aerial roots to attempt to drink in water from the atmosphere, but they found none despite their best efforts. The streets radiated heat, and the town was engulfed in a haze. No one wanted to leave their homes. Any work that could be done today would have to wait until this wave passed. Most folk in this town were either elderly, too young, or too weak to fight off this heat. Even the strongest of creatures were hidden away in their burrows beneath the sweltering sand of the desert. It felt as if the air itself was in a standstill, waiting until nightfall to be released from its blazing prison.
Strangely, two young boys seemed to be resisting this scorching day to the best of their abilities. Their movements were sluggish, but they appeared determined after something. They couldn’t be anywhere over six years old, but they made up for their small size in tenacity.
“Manolo… this can’t be a good idea”, one of the young boys said. He was wearing a light blue shirt and brown trousers that were both perfectly tailored to his small stature.
“Joaquín!” Manolo whispered, “Be quiet! Anyway, this is for Maria. She took the fall for us last time with the eggs, so we have to do this for her!” This boy’s hair looked to be done by himself, seeing as it was drenched in hair gel and was looking more than a little rough.
“I know… but maybe she’d be happy with like a doll, or something? Why do we have to get this for her?” Joaquín gestured to the large object in front of them with wide, rapidly gesturing hands.
“Joaquínn… c’mon! You said you’d do this with me!” Manolo whined. “Don’t tell me you’re too… chicken.”
“Take that back.”
“I won’t.”
“I am not chicken”
“Prove it then, tough guy.” Manolo motioned to the thing in front of them.
The ‘thing’ happened to be a reasonably sized bell that rested upon a high shelf, used by the nuns to signal the children to go inside. Maria constantly argued that this bell was evil. So, of course, Manolo and Joaquín planned to steal it from beneath the nose of the nuns and take it back to the grounded Maria.
The only nun around that day was Sister Ana, a nun with a frigid demeanour who terrified the young children. She would chase them through the streets if they were found sneaking sweet bread rolls or pulling pranks on the other nuns. Fortunately for them, Sister Ana was busy tucked away in the kitchens of the abbey, preparing lunch. It was the perfect time for their secret mission.
“Just watch me. You’re not strong enough anyway.”
Joaquín said a quick prayer that Sister Ana wouldn’t hear them from the kitchens and slowly crossed the threshold. The abbey was one of the few buildings in San Angel with a floor that was not simply compacted dirt, and it was much louder than Joaquín wanted it to be. However, Joaquín had experience with this, as his home used marble as a flooring, and that was much louder than stone. Especially since his home was very big and echoey. This place was small and quiet. Much easier!
He took off his sandals to avoid any sharp clacks against the stone and slowly crept across the foyer. The bell was visible from the entrance, and Manolo watched Joaquín in addition to watching for other movements or sounds. The entrance hall was quite simple, the clay walls were repeatedly patched up by the nuns and children who lived there. There weren’t enough orphaned children in San Angel that required an entire orphanage to be built, so those left behind were entrusted to the care of the nuns. Despite their work, small patches of brick still peeked through. Though that was likely to do with poor craftsmanship rather than the clay simply peeling with age. Small idols were hung around the room, and crucifixes were either hung or resting upon tabletops. Incense combined with the smell of rice and corn cooking, and sounds from the kitchen, echoed throughout the room. The only furniture in the entry room was the small tabletops and a singular chair that rested against the right wall. A dying sansevieria wilted in the corner. Dust could be seen floating through the trail of light coming through a large window to the left of the bell.
Joaquín arrived at the foot of the table where the bell rested. Unfortunately for Joaquín, the shelf was around a foot above him, which meant that he would have to reach up to grab the bell with his fingertips. As he raised himself on his toes, he was able to touch the bell and begin inching it closer to the edge of the shelf. Finally having it in grabbing distance, Joaquín attempted to lift the bell off the ledge–before immediately realising it was much heavier than they initially thought.
“Uh-oh” Joaquín grunted out.
He couldn't support it with his small arms, and it–oh no–it plummeted to the ground. Down down down until it finally connected in a thunderous DONG!
“Joaquín! What did you do!” Manolo shrieked at him.
“It was heavy! I don’t even think that like–a million super buff men could lift that!” Joaquín cried back.
“Are you being serious with me right now–!”
“JOAQUIN MONDRAGON! MANOLO SÁNCHEZ!” Sister Ana bellowed from within the abbey.
“How did she even know it was us?!” Manolo looked towards Joaquín with absolute terror in his eyes. Joaquín spared a few seconds to look back into the depths of the abbey, and, hearing pounding footsteps coming down the halls, ran towards his best friend and grabbed his hand before fleeing.
Juaquín ran along the empty street, and he could hear Manolo’s sandals clapping behind him as he dragged his best friend along. Heat scorched the backs of their necks, but at least they could feel a slight breeze as they ran like hell. They ran into a metal railing that burned Juaquín’s fingers as they climbed over it, joining hands once more as they jumped off. The hot air coursed its way through Juaquín’s lungs. It felt like a thick syrup was being poured into his chest as he huffed along the road. The hot street had been warmed through the day, and it was scalding the pads of his feet and leaving small particles of debris within his skin as he raced.
They ran for as long as they could, but they had very small legs and only managed to go so far before they had to stop. They rested in an alcove in a shaded street, devoid of anyone. The heat was only rising and the sun was almost at its peak. The dirt they had kicked up behind their heels began to settle, and Joaquín released Manolo’s hand. Juaquín looked back in the direction they had come and, seeing no one after them, whooped for joy and pumped his fist into the air.
“I can’t believe it! We made it out! I thought we were gonners!” Joaquín’s eyes shone in the glorious aftermath of their escape, and their light echoed back in Manolo’s.
“Yeah!” Manolo smiled along, “But oh, man. We didn’t get the bell! What do we do for Maria now?” he said with concern.
“That might not be what you two should be the most concerned about, right now”
Their necks prickled as they turned around. An intimidating figure appeared behind the young boys. He was dressed in a green traje de luces, covered with medals and two twin swords attached to his back. Like Manolo’s, the man’s hair was pitch black, except it was properly gelled and curled. His arms were upon his hips, and he looked furiously down at them.
“Papa! Hey! Well, um. You see. We were just playing bandits. Right… yes. And that’s why we were running so fast.” Manolo ran in place very quickly before continuing, “Juaquín was the soldier and I was the criminal, so he was chasing me! Right, Juaquín?” Manolo turned around and saw Juaquín slinking away. “Juaquín!” Manolo whisper-yelled. “Don’t you dare leave me here alone.”
“I wasn’t! I wasn’t! I was just trying to find a little shade, that's all.” Juaquín denied.
Carlos sighed. These two were the terrors of the town, and they were even worse when their pranks involved their best friend Maria. “Juaquín”, Carlos announced. “Sir?” Juaquín tried to stand up straight and look innocent.
“Your father is looking for you. Go.”
“Yes, sir”, Juaquín stated, and before he ran off, turned back to Manolo and mouthed ‘Sorry Manny’ and carried on home.