Epilogue


On his hillside farm, Juan was happy. His hogs were happy, eagerly slurping the slop he was feeding them, unaware that their days were numbered. Looking down at the Palm Estates, he noticed the golf course was beginning to emerge from the flood waters, a mass of mud over what was once bright green grass. The huge houses remained islands in a murky lake.

Juan had no pity for the displaced homeowners. The Palm Estates never should have been built. The rich delta flatland was best used for farms, not for palace playgrounds for the wealthy.

***

There were two new faces in the back of the garbage truck as it jerked and stopped on Main Street. Ivan and Gomez were not smiling as they hauled up the smelly bins and sorted the refuse.

Further up the street, sweating heavily in blackened orange jumpsuits, the man who was once mayor and his nephew, who had once been a town cop, listlessly shoveled hot asphalt into potholes. The new mayor wasn’t waiting until the next election for city workers to start improving things.

***

The crowd standing on the entry stairs to the church burst into applause as the doors swung open and the newlywed couple emerged into the sunshine. Potpourri and rose petals showered down on Eddie’s bare head as he ushered Gina into the waiting limousine. As he crouched to enter, she placed a brand new cowboy hat atop his gray curls and the limo sped off.

Another round of applause erupted as a second couple came out of the church. Hand in hand, Frank and Fernanda dodged the rain of confetti and ducked into a second limo.

Cheers drifted through the air as the town’s newest couples drove away.

***

With less fanfare but equally joyous, another resident was leaving town.

Both hands holding on to her wide brimmed hat, wind caressing her happy face, the mayor’s wife, Lulu, stretched languorously across the red leather back seat of the Caddy. She’d closed out the joint bank accounts, sold the house, and now, with Jasmine curled up beside her, she was leaving for the big city.

“No hurry, Pepe,” she purred to the driver with whom she’d been having an affair for years.

In a few weeks, Lulu would be dumbfounded when her beloved white poodle birthed a litter of very strange looking pups.

***

Planted on their bench, beer bottles in hand, a Dodgers game on the radio, the three kings of Main Street surveyed their kingdom, waved and nodded at passersby. Life had returned to normal in Puerto Cielo.

At least for now.

***

In City Park, filled with townspeople relaxing on a quiet, warm afternoon, music floated out from the gazebo. A girl in a wheelchair sang as her friend played guitar.

“Guantanamera
Guajira Guantanamera
Guantanamrera
Guajira Guantanamera

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crecen las palmas
Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma
Y antes de morir yo quiero
Echar mis versos del alma
Y antes de morir yo quiero
Echar mis versos del alma

Guantanamera
Guajira Guantanamera
Guantanamrera
Guajira Guantanamera”

***


THE END

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.




41


Max hoisted his front half up the pole. The monster iguana eyed its possible meal and flicked his long red tongue.

“Ayeyouga! ayeyouga! All hands on deck! All hands on deck! ayeyouga!” a frightened parrot screeched.

Max flicked his tongue again.

“Shiver me timbers! Shiver me timbers!”

Laughing, Sam called out as he and Gabe descended the stairs into the courtyard, 

“Quiet Hook, you’re going to wake the neighborhood.”

Convinced that the noisy thing atop the perch wouldn’t do for breakfast, Max lowered himself and sauntered back into the garden greenery.

Somewhat relieved, Hook stretched and flapped his wings, “Walk the plank! Walk the plank!”

Sam advised, “You’d better feed the old fart or he’ll pester us all morning.”

Rescued from Mitch’s shack, Captain Hook was now in temporary residence with the Diaz family. Gabe gave the crotchety parrot a slice of mango.

“Hallelujah!”

The women of the house arrived at the table. Lucy with scrambled eggs and sausage, Manny with hot tortillas, and Espy with coffee and juice. All ate hungrily. Arnold crawled out from his basket under the altar and trained his big brown eyes on Gabe. The pitiful look resulted in his own breakfast plate.

BAM! . . . BAM! BAM! BAM!

The excited table chatter was broken by exploding firecrackers.

For better, for worse, this was going to be a big day.

***

BAM! . . . BAM! BAM!

Jolted from sleep, Ricky crashed to the floor.

BAM! BAM!

He lashed out for his gun,

“D-D-D—amn!”

The gun was still at his waterlogged house.

BAM!

Flat on his stomach, Ricky frantically looked around.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

W-w-ho was shooting?

The memory hit him.

Those damn kids and their fireworks.

BAM!

He crawled to the open balcony door and peeked out.

There was nothing to see but a thick, gray fog.

BAM! BAM!

Then he heard the chants.

“No more corruption!”

“Vote them out!”

“Take back our town!”

BAM!

Cautiously, Ricky stood, slipped outside, and leaned on the balcony railing. He looked up and down Beach Drive. Nothing to see but a chalky gray cloud.

The voices came closer.

“Jail the crooks!”

“Carmen for mayor!”

Footsteps sounded on the street below, but the marchers remained unseen.

“Your vote counts!”

“Free Puerto Cielo!!”

As the invisible procession paraded past, Ricky realized something big was happening on this early Sunday morning

“BAM!”

***

Farther down the street, hidden by fog and palm trees, Blue Boy hadn’t had so much fun since blowing the tops off garbage cans in the alley behind his house. He lit another of the big ”Devil Bombs” and tossed it high in the air. 

KA-BOOM!

After all, he thought, the priest had told him God smiled on celebrating holy days and Sunday was about as holy as it gets.

KA-BOOM!

***

“Stop the crooks!”

“Vote them out!”

Standing in front of the Star office, the Diaz family could only see fog. But calling out from Beach Drive and echoing down Main Street, the voices of protest were coming together at City Park.

“No more!”

“Our town, our way!”

“What’s happening?” asked Manny, 

No one had an answer as the sound of voices and marching footsteps approached.

Streaks of sunlight began to melt the mist. Slowly the street in front of the Star came into focus and, as the fog evaporated, the family saw another flood surging down Main Street.

But this was not a torrent of muddy water, rather a promenade of colorful umbrellas, an outpouring of chanting, cheering people waving signs.

“Throw them out!”

BAM! BAM! . . . BAM!

The parade of parasols swept by. Grinning at each other, the Diaz family plunged into the river of protesters.

***

“Sheriff! Sheriff, you there?”

Eddie picked up the mike, “And good morning to you, Gloria.”

“Sheriff, I’ve got calls coming in about a mob moving down Main Street and another one on Beach Drive.”

“True enough,” answered Eddie, watching the crowd swarm pass his patrol car parked outside the public market.

“What’s going on?”

Eddie smiled.

“Jail the crooks!” shouted a passing demonstrator waving his sign in Eddie’s face.

“People have had enough. They’re turning out to vote for change,” Eddie answered.

There was no reply from the other end of the radio.

“Close the office Gloria, nothing bad’s happening today. Get out and join the party, come out and vote.”

Eddie put the mike back, thinking, no, nothing but good today.

***

Under a brilliant blue sky, in a chaos of excited greetings and laughter, two boisterous collages of umbrellas, signs, and animated faces tramping down Beach Drive and Main Street collided at City Park.

The ladies of the circle had been busy.

The city engineer, eager to restore his domestic status and leave behind the agony of sleeping on his brother’s sagging couch, had been up all night with workers restoring electricity. Other men had been cajoled out of bed to set up tents and install voting machines in the park at the base of the stairs leading up to the church. Now, power lines snaked across the street from the Public Market and, with the ladies of the circle manning the registration tables, election day was going to happen in Puerto Cielo.

The Diaz family bumped into Carmen, Dante, and Gina in front of Mama G’s. They watched as the crowded confusion magically transformed into a long line stretching from the voting tents, through City Park, and down Beach Drive. Umbrellas collapsed and joyful smiles soaked up sun.

A bell peeled. The crowd calmed. The priest appeared at the top of the church steps. He raised his arms heavenward, crossed himself and heads bowed as the priest prayed.

The chorus of “Amen!” resounded through the air.

And so began a grand fiesta. Friends catching up on gossip, vendors passing by with tacos, tamales, ice cream, aqua fresca. Kids running, screaming throughout.

A keen observer of life on Main Street would notice that the bench in front of the Three B’s store was empty. Even the brothers, towed along by their wives, were in line to vote.

The throng was keeping a safe distance from a clutch of scantily clad young women. Occasionally, one of these ladies would call out to a familiar male face.

“Hola, Emilio!”

A man suddenly turned scarlet as the woman beside him gaped in shocked surprise.

Seeing that the girls from the Pink Pillow had shown up to vote, other customers turned their backs, hoping not to be recognized. 

“Shoo! Go away!” scolded the lady with the big white hat trying to protect her poodle, who didn’t seem to mind the attention she was getting from the little three legged chihuahua.

Arnold’s nose was dragged away by the arrival of Lazy with another tasty treat from the butcher.

Nearby, Julio stood in line between two remarkably identical women. Eyes glazed, he listened dutifully as G2 and mother Gloria extolled the merits of democracy.

Manny poked her mom and pointed, “Look!”

The voting line had been joined by another family. Manny dragged Espy across the street.

They stopped beside the girl in the wheelchair being pushed by her father.

The two girls hugged as their parents watched.

Ricky looked over at Espy and simply said,

“Thank you.”

High in the church tower, the bell continued ringing for the resurrection of Puerto Cielo.

***

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.




40


She stood on the balcony overlooking the courtyard. The night was so still, so strangely quiet, even the roof dogs were silent. After the bewildering chaos of the rally disaster and then the flood, Espy should be exhausted, but her mind wouldn’t slow down.

She stared up at the face in the moon.

As a little girl, Sam had taken her finger and traced the lady in the moon’s smile. He’d told her that the moon was happy because she had all the cheese she could eat.

But that was a childhood fairy tale. And fairy tales wouldn’t save Puerto Cielo from the criminals and corruption that plagued the town.

Tomorrow was the election.

Would anyone show up?

***

On another balcony, Ricky looked out at the glimmering reflection of the full moon on the sparkling Gulf. Thanks to the good people of Puerto Cielo, people who had every reason to despise him, he and his family were safe, lodged in a beach front hotel.

Brought up to trust only blood, Ricky had done everything to please his father. When Ricardo Ruiz died, Ricky kept on with the only life he’d ever known. He became a mob boss.

He became a man who was always alone.

Moonlight glistened on the tear sliding down the solitary man’s cheek. His heart had stopped when he heard his daughter’s cherubic voice entrance every soul in the church. An angel singing. His angel. An angel now in a wheelchair because he couldn’t let go of a business that had first killed his father, and then his own wife.

For the first time in his life, Ricky Ruiz prayed.

Something had to change.

***