Thirteen Senses (30 page)

Then it was time, and the
curandero
led them in song, then they all made the sign of the cross over themselves. The rest of the prisoners were already in the central yard. Everyone knew that this was it, the showdown, the battle that was going to forecast the future of prisons across the entire nation.

Max and his group of white friends were over on the west side of the prison yard. They were talking and laughing, acting very confident, as if this was no big deal, as if this was just a normal day and it would all be over in a few minutes—done, finished—and then the business of American life could go on as it had always been going on for as long as they could remember.

The Mexicans, on the other hand, were gathered over on the east side of the yard, and were very quiet. For this was not a normal time for them. No, their entire existence depended on the results of what happened in the next few minutes.

In the middle of the people, the twins were stripped to the waist, and they were ready to draw straws. Everyone was anxious to see which Jesus would draw the shortest straw. The one with the shortest straw won and, therefore, would be the one who got to do the fight.

The twins loved each other more than life itself, and so each had prayed all night long that he would be the one to do battle so that his beloved brother could then live on for both of them and, maybe, someday could then get out of prison and marry and have children for both of them.

Opening their hands, Jesus-Maria drew the shortest straw.

“
STRETCH US IF YOU MUST
, dear LORD!” yelled Doña Margarita inside the little Stone Church with her eyes closed as she stood tall, here on the left-hand side, two pews back from the front row; palms up, arms spread out. “This I give You, I GIFT YOU, dear GOD, from my LOINS! STRETCH my blood, my flesh, my children ... to do Your most Holy Work for You here on this
TIERR-RRRA FIRME!
But do not take Your living Holy Breath away from my sons even for one second! This, I will NOT PERMIT!

“STRETCH THEM! We are your instruments of LOVE! To help You with this ongoing Creation of Light into Darkness! Do you HEAR ME! I AM SPEAKING! We are Your INSTRUMENTS, and so use us! USE US, but do not take Your Blessed Breath from Us!”

PULLING INTO CORONA
, Salvador didn't find his mother, so he quickly drove over to the church, and coming inside, here he saw his old, wrinkled-up Indian mother standing up at the front of the church, arms open, palms up, and shouting at God! Tears came to his eyes. Oh, his
mama,
his
mama
was just never going to stop helping God 'til her last breath!

AND IN CARLSBAD
, Fred Noon was pulling into Kenny White's garage. Kenny immediately told Fred that Salvador had left, taking Lupe to Santa Ana, then to go over to Corona. “If you hurry,” said Kenny to Fred, “you can probably get into Corona just about the time Salvador arrives.”

Fred thanked Kenny and took off in his big Buick.

THEN HERE CAME
the additional guards, boots pounding as they lined up on the tall walls. Seeing this, Max and his group of White prisoners now walked across the yard. Max and his group were laughing, joking, grinning.

And Max was loosening up his huge muscles and opening and closing his mammoth hands. Spotting Domingo, Max figured that Domingo was the man that he'd be doing battle with, and he began to laugh.

“Lookie here,” said Max. “They got themselves a White man to do their fighting for them. Don't that beat all! Last year the niggers would have gotten a White guy, too, if they could've found one stupid enough!”

Max and his friends roared with laughter.

Then all of the White guards were set, and the officer in charge nodded to Max. Oh, the tension, the excitement was so great that there wasn't a bladder among all the men that didn't want to burst, feeling halfway between pissing and screwing.

The guards, the warden, they were all very proud of themselves that it had come to this instead of just more random killings. And now it would all be over in just a matter of seconds. This was the real thing! Not a phony fight with boxing gloves! There wasn't a swinging cock in all the yard that wasn't ready to climax—they were all so excited!

Max and his group walked toward the center of the yard, and they were ready. Max signaled for his friends to move away from him, and then there stood Max, all alone. Once he was alone, all the grinning and smiles left his face and suddenly, instantly, he was a raging bull, a mad-dog ready to fight, to kill, to devour his opponent! And his bright blue eyes turned white at the pupils, he was so crazed with rage!

Seeing Max's eyes, Domingo couldn't stand it. He knew damn well that these little twins meant well, but he also knew that they didn't have a chance in Hell! And so, not wanting to end up a slave to these abusive
gringos
for the rest of his life, Domingo now bellowed right back at the big German, screaming like a mad-dog, too, saying, “You're mine, you son-of-a-bitch! I got
TANATES,
TOO!”

And instantly Domingo started for the German, but he never got two steps, for three
Mejicanos
jumped him from behind, knocking him to the ground.

All the Whites started laughing. “Crazy, fucking Mexicans are now beating up on their own champion!”

Domingo kicked and screamed, trying to get loose. But one Mexican had a rope and they quickly hog-tied him and dragged him away. And once Domingo was dragged away, the
gringos
saw the strangest sight they'd ever seen. Why, there were two little Indians, stripped to the waist, looking like no more than kids, and they were hugging each other in the longest
abrazo
they'd ever seen and . . . with so much love.

Then one of them turned, coming toward Max. The big German couldn't figure out what was happening. This was crazy. What did the little dark Indian boy want? Certainly not to fight. But here he came, coming straight toward Max, who was easily three times bigger than him.

The White guards started laughing and so did most of the White prisoners, too. One even yelled, “Watch out, Max; he might try to kiss you to death!”

But Max wasn't laughing. He was confused. With the big one, Domingo, he had known how to fight, but what the hell was he supposed to do with a little Indian kid? Put one hand behind his back to make it fair? But then he bellowed, not giving a flying shit, and decided to just break this little Indian's neck with his bare hands and bring the whole thing to a quick end.

But just as he was about to charge, another strange thing happened. Someone tossed the little Indian a shirt and a little knife.

Seeing the knife, Max burst out laughing. Why, the blade was so small and insignificant, it looked more like a damned letter opener.

Someone rushed forward and handed Max a much bigger knife and a shirt, too. Max took the knife and shirt and watched the little
Indio
wrap the shirt very carefully around his left hand and forearm. Max laughed and threw his own shirt away, not bothering to wrap himself; then he raised up the big knife and came rushing toward Jesus-Maria, ready to cut him to pieces and finish the fight, showing these tricky little greasy bastards once and for all who were the rightfully superior people on the planet and get them back in their place!

But when he slashed at the little
Indio,
he wasn't there. And when he cut and stabbed and slashed and charged again, he was gone each time.

Domingo wasn't resisting anymore against the men who'd dragged him back. No, he was now staring at this battle of battles in absolute silence. Why, this Jesus-Maria was fighting like a priceless little fighting cock of the finest breeding.

And he was so fast, so agile, so smooth and easy, that the big German was missing time and again and getting angrier and angrier. And all the prisoners and guards were glued to the action with their eyes, their hearts, seeing what they'd only dreamed of seeing in their wildest of dreams: gladiators doing battle to the death with no holds barred.

This was every man's secret dream, secret love, secret desire, wondering how he, himself, would do under similar circumstances.

Max was out of breath. He'd had enough of this game of trying to catch the tricky little Mexican, and so he now took up ground in the center of the ring of men and shouted, “Come on, you tricky little bastard, stop and fight like a man!
Un hombre!
You greasy little chickenshit!”

Jesus-Maria stopped and smiled a big, beautiful, calm smile, like this was what he'd been hoping for all along. And at that moment, the Sun, himself, came over the tall eastern wall and bathed the whole courtyard in a pure Golden Light. And Jesus-Maria's sweaty, naked torso now glistened like an Angel, a Messenger sent by Almighty God.

“Okay,” said Jesus-Maria, taking up ground, too. “But you come to me,
amigo!”
And he smiled. He didn't hate the German, he really didn't.

“All right, I'll come to you, but no more of this running, dodging shit!”

“No, no more running,” said Jesus-Maria, and he stopped smiling. “We'll fight
mano-a-mano,
each one of us holding on to the end of this shirt.”

“You got it!” yelled Max, quickly coming forward.

And so Jesus-Maria unwrapped the shirt from around his hand and forearm and, holding on to his end, he tossed out the other end of the long-sleeve shirt to Max.

With eyes full of lust and greed, Max grabbed up the other sleeve of the heavy cotton shirt, never taking his eyes off of Jesus-Maria. Then he suddenly jerked the smaller man toward himself and he slashed out with his large knife, drawing blood.

The crowd went WILD—screaming, yelling, LOVING IT!

This was more like it! This was the REAL THING! No more joking around! This was now the DANCE of DEATH!

Max was in ecstasy! And so with a grin, he rolled his powerful hand over and pulled in another good, big chunk of cloth so he could get himself in closer to Jesus-Maria. What a stupid fool this little Indian was to have tied up with him in hand-to-hand combat. He, Max, was bigger, stronger, had a larger knife, and so now everything was completely to his advantage.

So Max now jerked and pulled and slashed again, drawing blood once more, but the poor little Indian wouldn't let go and run. No, the brave little fool kept holding on, not realizing that he was too far away and his little knife was too small to ever do Max any harm.

Max now let out a screaming shout and came in for the kill. There was no more use in torturing the little fool, thought Max. He'd done the best he could. And he was a game little bastard, like so many Mexicans, but the truth was that no Mexican was ever really a match for a big, strong White man, and they never would be, so to give this little guy any false hopes was cruel.

Slashing and pulling, Max now wrapped the shirt around and around his hand as he pulled the little man in closer and closer, cutting him and cutting him as he brought him in for the kill. And Max was now going to go for the little fool's throat and finish him off, when suddenly the little Mexican did the stupidest thing. He ducked and rushed in on Max, impaling himself on Max's big knife, and then he bent down, locking Max's knife into himself with his own body as he now went to work, slashing at Max's lower body in a quick frenzy.

Max couldn't believe it; he couldn't understand what was happening until suddenly the little Mexican came up with Max's cock and balls and part of his lower stomach in hand, raising them up to the Heavens!

“You will call me MISTER!” screamed Jesus-Maria to all the White prisoners and guards. “You will call me MISTER JESUS-MARIA!” he shouted as he showed Max's balls and cock to all. “For we, too, are HUMAN BEINGS in the Eyes of GOD!”

And the Mexicans took up the chant, screaming, bellowing, “You will call us Mister! You will call us Mister! For we, too, are HUMAN BEINGS
en los Ojos de DIOS!
”

The whole White population then realized that it had been a setup from the start, and they bolted in absolute terror as the Mexicans came racing at them.

Max was still stumbling about, grabbing at the place where his balls and cock had been, not understanding what had happened, and then he fell. . . .Jesus-Maria now pulled Max's big knife out of his own side and drove it into Max's gut as he squirmed about on the ground, shrieking and wallowing in his own blood!

The screaming of the Mexicans grew and grew as they came rushing with knives in hand. Everywhere, Max's friends were running in horror, in absolute horror, and they were getting knocked down and castrated on the spot.

The screams, the screeches were so great, so unexpected, that even the White guards got caught up in the frenzy and were running away, too. Mexicans were everywhere—on the walls, up in the buildings—and they were stripping guards of their weapons and rounding them up.

The other twin, Maria de Jesus, now came up and lay his dying brother down on the ground so he could go gently into the Holy Night.

Then, with tears streaming down his face, he picked up Max's cock and balls in his right hand and, looking identical to his fallen brother, he took up
EL GRITO!

When the guards and White prisoners saw him coming, they couldn't figure out what was what! Only moments ago, that same little Indian had been bleeding and losing the fight, so how could he now be sound and well, unless he'd risen from the ashes of the dead and he was Jesus Christ, HIMSELF, now coming to get their very Souls?

Domingo was knocking down guard after guard, disarming them! They weren't even fighting back.

They'd lost it; they'd just seen their greatest of all fighters go down like so much nothing!

And the screams of joy, the bellows of absolute
gusto
that came from the
Mejicanos
and Blacks and two Chinese men were deafening!

For their shouts came from the Heart, the Soul, their VERY GUTS, and they echoed across the yard with the POWER of HEAVEN'S THUNDER!