can a frustrated single mom and failed big city journalist save her family and salvage her career by returning to a town run by a gang of bungling thugs?


“The Resurrection of Puerto Cielo” is a novella published in serial form, 43 posts.




20


With Arnold nestled securely in one hand and the other clutching her mother’s arm, Manny was being swept along by the boisterous deluge of Saturday morning shoppers.

Above her head, swallows swooped in acrobatic loops above the crowd as a bewildering din echoed through the cavernous public market building. The noise of babbling voices, screaming children, and blaring radio music was sharpened by the cries of vendors.

“Fruit! Vegetables! No better anywhere!”

“Tacos! Tacos! Hot tacos here!”

“Come see the cheese lady, we’ve got everything cheese.”

“You want hamburgers? I’ve got hamburgers!”

“Señora Diaz.”

Mother and daughter looked down to see Dona Consuelo in front of them, her black dress magically untouched as the surge of shoppers separated around her.

Blue eyes twinkling, the petite lady said, “I was quite impressed by the latest issue of your paper, please keep it up.”

“Thank you,” Espy replied, and Dona Consuelo was swallowed by a sea of bobbing heads.

Espy and Manny moved deeper into the market, past kaleidoscopes of fresh flowers, past tables filled with homemade wines and liquors, past handmade shawls, past hats, sandals, and always, smiling faces.

From behind a counter displaying rows of fish on ice, a woman with hair tied up in a kerchief called out,

“Esperanza, so good to see you. Is this your daughter?”

“Hola, Rosita, yes, this is Manny.”

“A pleasure to meet you, señorita. How can we help today?”

Espy answered, “Shrimp, we’d like some shrimp.”

“Certainly, over here, caught this morning.”

Manny watched the two women negotiate the purchase. It’s so cool how everyone knows my mom, she thought. This had never happened in the city.

Pressing on, the pair turned, only to be confronted by the towering bulk of a man in uniform.

Sheriff Eddie tipped his tattered hat, “Welcome back, Señora Diaz.”

“Thank you, Sheriff,” said Espy, “and this is my daughter, Manny.”

He nodded, “A pleasure, señorita.” 

They watched as the hat, a head taller than any around it, floated away.

Yes, Manny thought, it was nice to be popular.

A voice boomed above the tumult, “Espy Diaz! Espy Diaz! Come, I have something special for you!”

They crossed through the pedestrian current to a side aisle and greeted a white capped man wearing a blood splattered apron, his ample girth evidence that he seldom missed a meal.

Espy smiled back at the grin that had lost several teeth.

“Ernesto, how are the wife and kids?”

The butcher hollered behind and four female faces appeared beside him, each with big brown eyes, long braids, and wearing an apron.“Here they are, “ he proudly pointed, “my beautiful wife Lupita, and our three daughters, Louisa, Laura, and Lucinda.”

The four little women smiled shyly, then went back to work.

“That was some story you folks put out in the Star,” Ernesto said, “of course everyone knows what was going on, but we were all afraid to do anything about it.”

“Now,” said Ernesto, wiping hands on the crimson splattered apron, “how about some beautiful veal cutlets, special today?”

“Perfect,” said Espy.

Ernesto was handing over the wrapped package of meet when he heard the bark. He peered over the counter to see Lazy looking up expectantly. Then Ernesto saw two more eyes looking up from Manny’s arms.

“Lazy, amigo, where have you been hiding? And who’s your friend? And what happened to his leg?”

Manny explained Arnold’s injury. 

Ernesto shook his head, “We have some bad people in this town. But wait, I have something for my little friends.”

The butcher disappeared then returned with a bag for Manny. She set Arnold down and looked inside.

Four hungry eyes stared up at her.

Espy laughed, “Go ahead, they’ve been good boys.”

Manny opened the bag on the floor. Two delighted dogs, one with a noticeable limp, scampered off with bones clenched in their jaws.

***

In the mayhem of shopping and selling around him, no one noticed Blue Boy bending down to leave a long string of firecrackers at the base of the produce stand.

More than anything else, Blue Boy loved to make noise. Not just any noise, but BIG noise. Noise that bounced off buildings, noise that chased dogs under beds, noise that scared people. When he first discovered the explosive world of pyrotechnics, he thought he’d died and gone to heaven.

Which is almost what happened, sort of.

For his sixth birthday, back when he was called Jose, years before he became Blue Boy with the Mohawk cut, his older sister had given him a box of firecrackers. He’d immediately gone outside and lit a two inch “Devil Bomb.” The resounding blast was orgasmic, although he was far too young then to appreciate the sexual implications of the experience.

Thrilled with his new power, the boy lit a few more of his presents, each KABOOM whipping him into rapturous ecstasy. But it was Sunday morning, and he had to curtail the fun and follow mother and sister to church.

It was somewhere during the padre’s sermon when Jose discovered a pocket rocket in his jacket. Never one to consider long term consequences and prone to emotion driven decisions, the young miscreant who’d been left alone in the back row because of his constant fidgeting, thought to himself, why not?

Which is how a missile called “Satan’s Screamer” was launched under the pews towards the front of the church, exploding with a thunderous KABAM! at the foot of the altar.

There was a brief second of stunned silence, then an eruption of pandemonium. From high in the pulpit, the priest gaped in shocked amazement at his fleeing congregation.

Jose snuck out in the resulting chaos, but as usually happens, his part in the unholy destruction of the service was eventually uncovered. After a lengthy session in the confessional and several hours of slightly remorseful prayers, the  culprit was given the task of scrubbing the church floor every day after school and on weekends for a month.

Although the punishment did little to curb Jose’s budding addiction to noise making, he did become a bit wiser when choosing where to light matches. Then, one day as the lonely sinner was performing his ablutions on the sacred floor, Father Bartholomew shared words that left the boy’s eyes ablaze with blissful ecstasy.

“You know, Jose,” confided the priest with a gentle hand on the kneeling boy’s shoulder, “there are times when God likes, nay, even loves, noise.”

Jose stopped scrubbing, his face looking up in surprise.

“Yes, the Lord likes celebrations, especially celebrations of his holy days. At such times, firecrackers are seen as holy tribute to a loving Father.”

Jose’s mouth dropped.

“Of course,” added the priest, “such celebrating needs to be conducted outside the confines of the church.”

At six years old, Jose didn’t comprehend the spiritual significance of this insight, but one thing was absolutely clear. God loved him because God wanted him to light off firecrackers.

However, There were many in Puerto Cielo who did not appreciate Blue Boy’s religious zeal, particularly lighting off celebratory explosive outbursts several hours before sunrise on holy days. And God only knows, there seemed to be no limit on what the church thought made a day holy.

Fortunately for the town, Blue Boy’s meager allowance did not permit him to buy many big firecrackers, somewhat limiting his well intentioned “good morning God!” escapades.

It was precisely because of limited means that Blue Boy’s present prank was a bit smaller than hoped for. Still, he thought, as he lit the long fuse and casually slipped into the Saturday market throng, this should be fun!

***

“Señora Diaz, I hope all is well.”

Espy and Manny turned from the table brimming with peppers, squashes, potatoes, onions, all sizes, all colors of vegetables.

There he was, Ricky Ruiz, immaculately attired in a linen suit, smiling, seemingly unfazed by the recent smashed brick drama at the Red Rooster.


“Yes,” Espy hesitated, then said, “please let me introduce my daughter, Manuela.”

She added, “Manny, this is Señor Ruiz.”

“A pleasure, Señorita,” Ricky responded, extending his hand.

Manny looked at the offered hand in disdain and said nothing. 

Unbothered, Ricky said, “Good day, ladies.”

“What a creep!” Manny muttered 

BAM! BAM , BAM! BAM! BAM!

The stream of people froze.

Then screams and bedlam.

There was a crash as bins of produce fell to the floor. Then louder screams as frightened shoppers noticed wild eyed Tibo, crouching in a surge of rolling tomatoes, hysterically waving a gun in the air.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

“W-w-w-where a-a-re they?” Ricky stuttered.

B-BAM! BAM! BAM!…BAM! BAM!

From the center of this maelstrom, Frank’s strong arms lifted Ricky up and dragged him away, still muttering,

“W-w-h-h-er-e are they?”

Watching from the fringe of the bedlam, Blue Boy chuckled, then he frowned. Would he need to share this “celebration” in confession?

Up on the balcony, unperturbed by the commotion below, two dogs gnawed on their bones.

Beside them, leaning on the rail, the ghosts of two mothers watched the chaos subside as the river of shoppers started flowing again.

***