Still Foreign Correspondent

By Daniel A. Olivas

“Thank you,” she said as I signed the book.

“You’re very welcome,” I responded without looking up.

“No, really,” she said.

“Thank you for introducing me to a whole new world that I didn’t know existed,” she explained.

The middle-aged woman, who did not appear to be Latina, smiled broadly and walked away. As I continued to sign my book for the other customers, I remained puzzled by the exchange.

I’ve written four books: a novella, two short-story collections and one children’s book. My fiction tends to center on the lives of Chicanos and other Latinos. I usually pepper my stories with a little Spanish to reflect the way my characters speak, though it’s at a fairly basic level and easily understood by context. In any event, when people decide to attend one of my readings, they usually know what they’re going to get.

What confused me about the woman’s comment was that my stories, though reflecting my cultural experiences, nonetheless focus on universal themes such as love, family dynamics and life’s struggles. In other words, I use fiction to confront the vagaries of the human condition. But here was a woman who thought that I had introduced her to a world she never knew existed.

More than anything else I do, my book appearances remind me that to many people, the “Chicano experience” is still quite exotic and unfamiliar, even in a city such as Los Angeles. Perhaps I should be surprised or even angry about this. But I can’t get upset with people who make the effort to learn something new. In fact, I give them credit for taking a step many might consider difficult or even unpleasant.

But this doesn’t answer my basic question: how can Chicano characters in fiction be so unfamiliar to some? Are we still so segregated as a society that even in Los Angeles, there are adults who, when exposed to Chicano culture, feel as though they’re watching a National Geographic special on a newly-discovered tribe?

Perhaps I should approach this from a different angle. During the mid-1960s to the early 1970s, I attended a Roman Catholic elementary school in a predominantly Mexican neighborhood near downtown Los Angeles. Thus, my primary exposure to the “dominant” white culture came from four sources. First, most of the nuns and lay teachers were white. Second, virtually all of the literature we studied was written by people with names such as Hemingway, O’Connor and Kipling. Third, my family’s favorite TV programs included Bewitched, The Ed Sullivan Show and Batman. Finally, the magazines and newspapers that came into the house were the Los Angeles Times, Newsweek and Time.

I then attended a Jesuit high school that was predominantly white. Did I suddenly feel as though I had entered a foreign country? No, not really. I joined the football team and made plenty of friends, regardless of ethnicity. And my formal education and pop culture immersion remained decidedly mainstream.

Though print and electronic media don’t necessarily reflect reality, they do convey a sense of their creators’ culture. Thus, the fact that I grew up in a Mexican neighborhood did not prevent me from being immersed in the dominant society. It happened so naturally and constantly that I never even noticed.

But what will it take for the opposite to occur? Chicano culture certainly can be presented by the media more widely than it is today. But we need honest representations that are free of ugly and deceitful stereotypes. How can this be done? First, Chicanos can take the financial risk and start magazines, newspapers, publishing houses, production companies and the like. Second, the mainstream media must start figuring out that it makes good business sense to rely on Chicano talent as news anchors, authors, artists, actors and film directors. Again, by going to the source, I assume the representation of Chicano culture would be more honest and accurate than what we often see.

All of these things are already happening, though much more needs to be done. But I do hold out the hope that eventually the common non-Chicano response to my fiction will be: “Thank you for telling it like it is!” That would make my day.

[This essay first appeared in Tu Ciudad.]

This And That

Manuel Ramos

TOMÁS RIVERA MEXICAN-AMERICAN CHILDREN'S BOOK AWARD
The announcement for this year's award says:
"A recent newcomer to book writing, Susanna Reich brought dance and choreography icon, José Limon, back to center stage with her latest book, José! Born to Dance: The Story of José Limon. This children’s book, targeted at children ages 5 to 8, chronicles the life of a young boy who dreamed big and stopped at nothing to make his mark as a world-class dancer and choreographer."

This book was illustrated by Rául Colón and published by Simon & Schuster. The publisher says: "Susanna Reich's lyrical text and Raúl Colón's shimmering artwork tell the story of a boy who was determined to make a difference in the world, and did. José! Born to Dance will inspire picture book readers to follow their hearts and live their dreams."

Livin' the dream - that's what it's all about, no?

ETHNIC OR NOT?
In a review of David Treuer's new book, Native American Fiction: A User's Manual, Denver Post columnist David Milofsky brings up a few points that many readers of La Bloga might find intriguing. I'll quote a few paragraphs from the review, all of which you can find here:

"Aren't writers of one ethnic group or another inevitably labeled as being spokespeople, whether or not they desire this designation? When Philip Roth first published Portnoy's Complaint in 1969, few Jews were able simply to accept it as literature but rather took it as Roth's ungrateful attack on the Jewish community that had sheltered him and its customs and beliefs. Some Jews went so far as to claim that the novel's whole sensibility was false, that Jewish men are never attracted to gentile women, an assertion made ludicrous by the growing number of inter-marriages in society. Others said Roth was guilty of what is sometimes called 'Jewish self-hate' and the novel and others by Roth were often dismissed without even having been read.

Similarly, Mario Puzo's Godfather saga was taken by some to be an unfair portrayal of the Italian community with few being able to separate Puzo's characters and the themes of revenge and eventual punishment from an apparent need to demonize hard-working Italians everywhere. In both cases, there was concern that outsiders would judge Jews and Italians based on what they read in novels by authors that happened to be from those minority groups.

But these concerns cross ethnic lines. Black writers like Ralph Ellison and Richard Wright were villainized by militants in the '60s for not being sufficiently political, even though Wright had been a member of the Communist Party, and Richard Garcia (sic) became controversial within the Chicano community in recent years because of what some considered his conservative views.

The point is that writers of virtually any minority group will find it difficult simply to be considered only or primarily as writers, a demand it should be pointed out that is rarely if ever leveled against white male writers. The idea that anyone would criticize, say, John Updike for being unfair to upper middle- class white suburb dwellers is ridiculous on its face."

SPANISH-SPEAKING HYSTERIA
Meanwhile, Luis J. Rodriguez has written a column that you can find here that takes on the subject of the "hysteria of Spanish-speaking people in the United States." The column, entitled End The Hysteria Over 'Spanish', includes the following:

"The 'English Only' campaigns are designed not to bring unity but to suppress other languages - particularly Spanish - and impose the supremacy of English on our tongues.

I, for one, love the English language. I've spent years trying to master it. But I'm also for having Spanish, Japanese, Hmong, Navajo and Nahuatl (still spoken by millions of people in Mexico and Central America) wherever these may apply. The U.S. Census estimates there are 329 languages spoken here, 154 of which are indigenous. Other reports claim the United States is currently the third-largest Spanish-speaking country in the world.

That is not something to be ashamed of or worried about. It's something to celebrate. The ability to speak Spanish is becoming a necessity in today's America. We all might as well face up to that.

Plus, isn't it better to know more than one language? Many other countries put us to shame in this regard."

Amen, brother.

LATINA LIT GOES MAINSTREAM?
According to Hispanic Business.com, "when Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez’s The Dirty Girls Social Club was published in 2003, Latinas everywhere celebrated the birth of their own commercial ethnic literature. Latina characters, Latina culture, Latina stories. Who then would have guessed that in three years the demand for stories featuring Latina characters would move beyond the Latina market and into mainstream America?" The article also notes that " in these lively books, the characters speak English, Spanish and Spanglish, depending on the situation, so readers everywhere are getting into the hearts and minds of Latino and Latina characters, enjoying their pursuits and tasting their culture."

I haven't read Dirty Girls Social Club or the other book mentioned in the article (Dirty Little Lies by Julie Leto - everything's "dirty"?) so I can't comment on the accuracy of the observation above. Anyone read these? Any comments? Are Valdes-Rodriguez and Leto "spokespersons" for their ethnic group?

Later.

Frontera Norte Sur - Border news

I've read Frontera Norte Sur for years and have relied on its valuable information and insights, and their Email newsletter is invaluable.

I'm reprinting the message below because the richest country on the planet is spending most of our money bombing other peoples and watching us. Bush and his Rep. sheep and Demo. apologists don't like counter-news services like Frontera, so maybe you'll be interested in helping. I'll let the message speak for itself, except to advise anyone interested in learning more about Mexico, the border and info about what the U.S. press doesn't tell us, to visit their website to see the service Frontera provides. You can go to:
http://www.nmsu.edu/~frontera/
________


September 5, 2006

Dear Friend,

Frontera Norte Sur has a 15 year history of providing
steady, reliable news coverage about the Mexico-US border.
Everyone who uses this service describes it as a unique
source of news and features that combine summaries from the
Mexican press with original reporting and analysis --
information that never finds its way into the traditional
US media. In addition, our website contains an archive of
stories that date back to 1996; another valuable resource
for in depth research.

Frontera Norte Sur has encountered a serious financial
hurdle that has obliged us to suspend service. Until now,
grant resources have enabled us to provide this as a free
news service but after the loss of this funding source, we
must broaden the base of support for this news service to
ensure its long term future.

Your financial support can help us resume publication of
Frontera NorteSur. We are also working to find alternative
sources of long-term funding.

We need you, our readers, to invest in this news service
you find so valuable. Working together, gifts of $50, $100,
$500 or $1,000 can meet our immediate goal to raise
$25,000. Send your tax deductible contribution to the NMSU
Foundation either on-line or through the mail.

Visit the Foundation’s web site at http://giving.nmsu.edu/
for more information. Click on Give Today (highlighted in
blue) and follow the directions for either on-line or mail-
in contributions. Please insert “Frontera Norte Sur” in the
box marked “Where the need is greatest, please describe.”
Together we can build a stronger news service that reflects
our commitment to keep information flowing freely across
the border between Mexico and the US.

Thank you for your generous support!

Dr. Neil Harvey, Director Kent Paterson, Editor, Frontera
Norte Sur
Center for Latin American and Border Studies,
New Mexico State University

PS: If you know any foundations or individuals that might
invest in Frontera Norte Sur, please e-mail me at
nharvey@nmsu.edu.

Review of The Moon Will Forever Be a Distant Love by Gina MarySol Ruiz

“AMID THE MARKETS AND CANALS of the great city of Mexico-Tenochtitlan, smack on the corner where nowadays Dolores Street runs past the Chinese restaurants and umbrella stores, Conquistador Balboa is in a rush to run an errand for the Marquis, and the Indian girl Florinda is walking to the flea market.”

This is the first sentence in this marvelous, surreal novel by Luis Humberto Crosthwaite, one of Mexico’s well-known novelists and Cinco Puntos Press has done a marvelous thing in bringing this author’s work to the US for us to enjoy.

The book is about Florinda and her Conquistador love, Balboa who is fired from his bureaucratic job with the other conquistadores because of downsizing. The two leave to Tijuana by bus hoping to cross The Border into the Northernish Empire.

As with many couples, real life intrudes on their fairy tale. They find without the proper papers they cannot cross The Border, Florinda (Xochitl) has to live with Balboa’s lisping Castillian family who treat her like a maid. Meanwhile Balboa’s uncle gets him across the border stuffed into the trunk of a car while still wearing his conquistador armor.

In this bizarre and wonderful quirky novel, centuries are traversed and lives change. Florinda comes to work in a factory in Tijuana, becomes a serious shoe-aholic and learns to live on her own. Balboa starts wearing jeans and a t-shirt, loses his lisp and takes up with the fair haired waitress Maryanne before getting rounded up by La Migra. This is such a fun and well told story filled with chistes and puns. I think my favorite part was when the Conquistador gets picked up by La Migra and deported. I encourage everyone to read this book and to find more Crosthwaite in his native Spanish. Kudos to Cinco Puntos for bringing him to the light here in the Northernish Empire!

Review: Adios Hemingway

Leonardo Padura Fuentes. Trans. John King. Edinburgh: Canongate, 2005.
Isbn 1841955418 (pbk.)

by Michael Sedano

It has been a month already that Manuel Ramos reviewed Leonardo Padura’s Adiós Hemingway, the murder mystery featuring retired Havana cop turned writer, Inspector Conde. Good tip, Manuel, thanks.

I hope other readers at La Bloga have been able to read this and we can hear from others about this interesting and fun novel.

Cuba and Cuban writers have given us plentiful evidence of a battle for the hearts and minds of the United States reader. Reading works like Daniel Chavarria’s Adios Muchachos is liable to lead a person to think Cuba has a wildly ribald sense of humor; Jose Latour’s The Outcast, that Cubans want to seize a share of the US noir fiction market. Now along comes Leonardo Padura’s ironic murder mystery, Adiós Hemingway and a reader is liable to think Cuban fiction deserves an extended investigation. There goes the domestic market.

As Ramos told us in July, Conde gets to solve a fifty year old murder, be good to his friends, think about getting to be an old man, dream about Ava Gardner’s knickers, and conduct a psychological post-mortem on Papa Hemingway in his final days.

Knickers. Frilly lacy see-through things that a movie star would have trysted to attract a man’s fancy. What we called “panties”. But translator John King writes a British Engliish, so knickers it is. And “–our” spellings, and other foreignisms that are the unexpected consequence of the US blockade of dangerous tipos like Conde and his lifelong friends. Protect us from scenes like this:

Despite the heat he found the streets teeming with people. They all seemed trapped by an anxiety that could only be relieved through shouting, violent gestures and resentful glances. Life goaded them on and flung them into an everyday war that took place in the open air and on all fronts. While some sold anything you could imagine, others bought, or dreamed of buying. While some expended their last drop of sweat pedalling a bicycle, others smiled coolly from behind their chilled cans of beer, on sale only for dollars
. . . .
In the midst of this maelstrom Conde tried in vain to find where he belonged. (p. 122)

In his review, Ramos also raises the age-old question involving art, mystery writing, and literature. He puts it in context of chicano literature. A corollary question might be why a chicano literature blog would devote two columns to a Cuban mystery writer--and hopefully three or more when readers send in their comments.

Because Adiós Hemingway has a lot to recommend it. As a story. As fiction from another culture. As an interesting set of characters you won’t find anywhere else. Ni modo it’s a Cubano telling it. Padura spins a darn good detective yarn. Obviously the Hemingway connection sets up sentimental familiarity that will hold a US reader in rapt attention, well disposed to the glimpses of every Cubano life that the ordinary reader will be blockaded from. But that’s another ni modo, because, as in the “is it literature” question, the national origin of the work is less important than its existence as a good read.

Conspiracy theorists and red-baiters will thrill to learn Adiós Hemingway is a subversive book. But more so to Cuba than the United States, whose culture looms so ominously in Conde’s everyday life. The good food, the good beer, the good stuff all come from places that deal in dollars. The young girls hitchhiking into town, to earn dollars. When Conde takes his buddies for a sentimental reunion at Cojimar, they remember the last time they’d been there. Their friend, now ten years expatriated, tonight sits somewhere across the strait thinking about them, staring in their direction just as they now stare hard into the darkness, remembering him. To a nation that refers to exiles as gusanos, the impossible long message in a bottle boils down to a simple truth; our friend, you left us behind. We forgive you. We love you, we’re still of one another.

Part of Conde’s trouble with the case rests in his youthful dalliance with the Hemingway style; it infected his own persona and theory of literature. Conde in some way became Hemingway, but a beatified version. In his view, the character of the story must necessarily be that of the writer. The youthful Conde wants to be the man who wrote “Big Two Hearted River”.

All comes crashing around the man as he learns Papa was a despicable person. Conde’s offended nationalism—Hemingway found local writers irrelevant--and writer’s ego clash with what the young Conde saw in the words. In the end, though, Conde forgives Hemingway but sets up a big ironic zinger to tweak the generic US. nose: Hemingway’s suicide was J. Edgar Hoover’s fault.

Bits & Pieces - Los Angeles Califas Art Event
Chicano: Pronouncing Diversity.
A Mental Menudo Forum / Art Exhibitioin.

September 9 - Nov 4, 2006
Opening reception Saturday, Sept 9, 3-7 p.m.
Curated by Magu.

This Chicano exhibit presents artworks that refer to a complex cultural diversity and to the Mental Menudo process of constructive dialogue among artists. Over forty emerging and established Chicano artists are included in this exhibition. The exhibition will be surrounded by a sound art installation.

Eagle Rock Center for the Arts
2225 Colorado Blvd
Los Angeles CA 90041
www.centerartseaglerock.org


OK, that's it for the first week of September 2006. So who's read Adios Hemingway? Have we mined its riches? Does Padura write like Hemingway in some places? Good or bad Hemingway?

See you next week.

mvs

LABOR DAY CUENTO

In honor of Labor Day, I offer a little story about work. It's from my collection, Assumption and Other Stories (Bilingual Press). Enjoy. -- Daniel Olivas

"Eight"

Hour One.

Here. Wear this at all times.

Espiritu Chijulla looks down at the laminated tag, her own face staring back at her. She doesn’t like the way she looks: confused, guilty, too dark, head blocky like a Diego Rivera painting. At all times? she asks not daring to touch the tag.

Mr. Leonis lifts his moist, brown eyes towards Espiritu without otherwise moving a muscle. At all times while you’re here, he answers making a little whistling sound through his narrow nostrils.

Espiritu is frightened by the neatness of this man, her new supervisor. Starched, from head to toe. Crewcut. Mustache clipped short and tight against a stern upper lip. His desk is a perfect terrain of neat piles: manila folders, various containers for paper clips, Post-Its, scratch paper. She has an urge to push her lips against Mr. Leonis’ and force her tongue into his tight crevice of a mouth just to see what he would do. But instead of kissing him, Espiritu picks up the tag and clips it to the pocket of her blouse.

Mr. Leonis lowers his eyes. Good, he says. Good.

Espiritu stands in front of Mr. Leonis’ desk in silence.

Good, I said.

She nods and turns. As she walks from him, Espiritu holds her right hand against her chest and gives Mr. Leonis the finger. Have a nice day, she says as she leaves his office.

Have a nice day, Mr. Leonis answers as he swivels in his chair and reaches for his mouse. Bitch, he mouths. Bitch.

Hour Two.

After receiving her assignment files from Ms. Edwards, a woman who resembles Abraham Lincoln, but without the beard, Espiritu finds her cubicle. Gray and blue everywhere. Her nameplate says ESPIRITA CHIJULA. Doubly wrong. She dumps her files on the gray expanse of clean desktop.

Hey, she hears. She jumps. A man’s face peeks over the cubicle wall. Hey, the man says. I’m Simon.

Hi Simon, Espiritu says.

Can I visit? asks Simon.

Sure, she says.

Simon walks around his cubicle and enters hers. Simon Redneb, he says. He sticks his hand out. Espiritu shakes it. It is very moist so she pulls back quickly.

Redneb? she asks. Unusual name.

It was Rednebsky, at one point. Someone, my grandfather, I guess, wanted to be more American.

Redneb is more American? Espiritu asks as she dries her hand on her skirt. She notices that Simon could be handsome if he tried a little bit.

Simon looks down towards Espiritu’s knees. You know, they were caught fucking right where your legs are right now, he says. Simon smiles exposing too-perfect glistening teeth. Right there, he says pointing, almost touching Espiritu’s right knee.

Out of disgust, Espiritu pushes away and her chair glides back a few feet. No way, she says. No way.

Way, Simon laughs. Totally way. Right there. They thought everyone had gone for the day. But Mr. Leonis and that woman from accounting came back to get some files for a big meeting that got scheduled at the last minute. They caught them doing it doggy style.

Espiritu laughs. There isn’t enough room down there to do it doggy style.

Simon stops smiling. A line of red spills upward from his brow towards his hairline. His eyes narrow. Oh? he says. How would you know?

Go, says Espiritu. I’ve got to work.

Simon stays put. He shoves his hands into his pants pockets. Espiritu sees that he’s trying to hide a budding erection.

Go, she says again.

Simon leaves, slowly, making squeaking sounds on the industrial linoleum.

Espiritu peers under her desk. Hmmm, she says. Hmmm.

Hour Three.

Espiritu completes inputting another file. She closes it, sets it to her left, reaches for a new file, and flicks it open. He fingers glide over the keyboard. The computer hums happily and she feels like this could be a good job. Simon tries to visit but Espiritu quickly learns that if she doesn’t look up or say a word, he eventually slinks away. She smirks as she thinks about the one time she did it doggy style. Overrated, she thinks. Not worth the pain.

Hour Four.

Simon tries to convince Espiritu to join him at Coco’s. Great BLTs, he tempts. And the pies. Forget-about-it! The best!

But she says, No. I brought my lunch.

You old stick-in-the-mud, says Simon as if this taunt could change her mind.

Bye, says Espiritu.

Simon starts to walk away and then stops. Don’t forget the staff meeting after lunch, he says. Attendance is mandatory.

Thanks, says Espiritu. Have a nice one.

Thanks, says Simon. You too. He disappears with a squeak.

Espiritu reaches into her large, black bag and pulls out her lunch. Tuna on wheat, a beautifully dappled banana, Diet 7-Up, sharp little carrot sticks. She spreads it all out on her desktop, an unfolded paper napkin as her place mat. As she starts to eat the sandwich, she thinks of her sister, Mona, who died three years earlier. Mona was the cute one. The one everyone liked. The baby of the family. Espiritu wonders what Mona would be doing right now if she hadn’t taken those pills two days before her senior prom. College? Right to work where she could wow everyone with her energy and perky good looks? The tuna feels pasty and odd in her mouth. Espiritu takes a long drink of 7-Up. The bubbles tickle her lips and then her tongue and finally her throat. As she puts the can down, she thinks, this is going to work. I like this place. This is good.

Hour Five.

The entire “input team” sits around the blonde wood conference table that is so shiny the overhead lighting makes it glow like a huge, oblong klieg light. The gray-blue room hums with co-workers’ laughter and snide asides. Espiritu sits with eyes fixed on the lone object that rests at the far end of the table: a pink rectangular cake box. An elastic silver-colored string runs along all six sides of the box and a red phoenix is emblazoned on the top. In black marker, the number 89 191355 is scrawled across the phoenix’s angry face. A phone number? No. One digit too many. Wrong spacing.

Hi, someone says.

Espiritu turns to her right and faces a beautiful, brown face.

I’m Bebel, the beautiful, brown face says.

I’m Espiritu, says Espiritu. She likes this new face. Crinkly eyes. Short, black hair as shiny as a new Mercedes. Young. This new face makes Espiritu think of a Mayan princess.

You remind me of a Mayan princess, says Espiritu.

Bebel looks down, blushes a deeper brown, and flashes solid, white teeth. Thank you, she says. Espiritu breathes in deeply trying to see if Bebel is wearing perfume. She can’t smell anything but fruit-scented shampoo.

The room suddenly becomes quiet. Bebel and Espiritu look up and see Mr. Leonis already standing at the end of the conference table near the cake box. He sits with a little grunt and interlaces his fingers like a corner of a log cabin. How old is he? thinks Espiritu. Fifty? Sixty? She looks at the pink cake box again. Must be someone’s birthday, she figures. But where are the paper plates, forks, little napkins, cutting knife?

Mr. Leonis clears his throat making a sound like a Siamese cat trying to dislodge a persistent hairball. Welcome, he says moving his head around the table and nodding mechanically. There isn’t much business today other than to note that I will be sending out a new memo which supersedes the one I sent out yesterday. Please shred the old memo and read the new one after our meeting.

What was yesterday’s memo about? whispers Espiritu to Babel.

Recycling, Bebel whispers back making the little hairs on Espiritu’s forearms dance.

Now on to our little celebration, continues Mr. Leonis. We have a new employee in our midst. She just started today.

Espiritu’s eyes jump and she feels her cheeks grow warm. Simon grins stupidly at her from across the table.

Espiritu Chijulla, says Mr. Leonis mispronouncing Chijulla making it sound like CHI-JOO-LAH. Please stand so we can say hello, Espiritu.

Espiritu slowly rises. She thinks, CHEE-WHO-YAH, you dick. It’s easy to pronounce if you goddamned tried. She can feel tears well up. Bebel smiles up at her. Simon’s grin becomes a leer. The dozen employees of the input team offer a weak applause.

Say a little about yourself, says Mr. Leonis. He is not smiling.

Like what?

Where are you from? Mr. Leonis suggests.

Espiritu coughs. New Mexico. Taos.

Ah! says Mr. Leonis. Beautiful state. Beautiful city.

Espiritu looks at him. Been there? she asks.

Mr. Leonis looks down. No. Seen pictures. In a book. When I was a kid.

Espiritu appreciates Mr. Leonis’ attempt at civility so she thinks about what else she can say about herself like why she moved to Los Angeles, how she hasn’t been married yet, her degree in art from the University of New Mexico, how her parents split up when she was twelve and how her mother basically raised the two girls by herself, how there’s only one girl now. But before she can do this, Mr. Leonis says, You may sit now, Espiritu. Thank you.

Espiritu sighs and sits.

I brought this lovely cake to welcome our New Mexican friend to the company, says Mr. Leonis, still not smiling. He reaches for the pink box, snaps off the elastic, shiny string, and flips the lid open. Coconut-lemon, announces Mr. Leonis. My favorite, he adds, now trying to smile.

Espiritu feels a wave of nausea come over her when she spies the mound of shredded coconut piled high on the white frosting. It reminds her of when she was ten and her parents stopped talking to each other. Worse than that, her father started coming home from work later and later, and her mother stopped doing his laundry and let the house go to pot. Toilets, showers, sinks, everything stank. One day, Espiritu noticed a God-awful stench emanating from the oven. She opened it slowly and peered in. At first, all she could see was the vague outline of an aluminum cooking pan. Espiritu put her face closer while holding her nose. And then she saw them: hundreds of squirming maggots making a happy home in the moist, rotting chicken carcass. She threw up on the oven door.

This coconut cake is too much for Espiritu to take. She stands up and rushes towards the door hoping that she could make it to the bathroom in time. Mr. Leonis says, Good, Espiritu. I forgot the utensils. They’re on my desk. Do you mind grabbing them?

Hour Six.

A migraine, Espiritu lies to Mr. Leonis. They just come over me, just like that. Sorry.

Several co-workers observe as Mr. Leonis tries to sound compassionate. Maybe you should go lie down, put a cold compress on your forehead, he says, feeling watched. You can have your cake later, he says.

The very thought of the coconut-lemon cake makes Espiritu’s stomach convulse. No, I’m allergic to coconut, she lies. And lemon, too.

Mr. Leonis scratches his chin. Odd allergies, he says.

I’ll be fine, Espiritu says. Inputting will make me feel better.

Mr. Leonis appreciates this to no end. Okay, he says. But if you need to rest, just let me know. He turns and gives a look of triumph to the gathered co-workers. Show’s over, he says.

Espiritu tries to sit straight. She swivels slowly to face her computer. The screen saver has kicked in: an aquarium scene. She lets her eyes follow a smiling angel fish. She does this for almost an hour.

Hour Seven.

The Mayan princess walks by. ¡Hola! she chirps.

Espiritu turns and lets her eyes rest on Bebel’s face. She wishes Bebel would lean down and kiss her softly on her forehead, and then nose, and finally lips.

You doing okay? asks Bebel. You look pale.

Peachy, she answers.

Bebel reaches over and presses her palm on Espiritu’s forehead. Espiritu smells hand cream, almond scented. She fills her lungs with the smell and closes her eyes. She feels safe under the pressure of this little, smooth hand.

No fever, Bebel announces. Must have been a migraine, just as you thought, she adds. She lets her hand linger on Espiritu’s forehead.

Yes, it was a typical migraine, Espiritu lies. Lying is easy here, she realizes. Bebel suddenly moves her hand away and Espiritu feels abandoned.

Don’t go, she says to Bebel.

Have to. I’m behind in my inputting.

Espiritu deflates.

But let’s have drinks after work. Okay? Like margaritas?

Espiritu inflates. Yes!

In an hour, then. Bebel floats away.

Can I come? asks Simon, eyes visible from above the cubicle wall.

Espiritu ignores him and turns to her computer. She smiles and touches her forehead, the scent of almonds still lingering. Simon’s eyes eventually sink below the gray-blue horizon until he disappears altogether.

Hour Eight.

Here, Espiritu says. I finished everything but the Garcia account.

Great, says Mr. Leonis. Great. Especially considering your migraine, and all. I think this is going to work out well. He tries to smile but all he can manage is a slightly curved gash.

Yes, she answers. Yes. He doesn’t respond. Espiritu stands in silence waiting for more.

Mr. Leonis looks down at his desk. Goodnight, he mumbles. The curved gash dissolves into a straight line.

Goodnight. Espiritu turns and gives Mr. Leonis a hidden finger.

Bitch, mouths Mr. Leonis. Bitch.

Bebel waits by the exit. A grin breaks out on her face when Espiritu comes into sight. Margarita time! she smiles.

Yes, says Espiritu. Margarita time.

Espiritu puts her arm around Bebel’s shoulders and leads her out of the building. Margarita time, she repeats to the Mayan princess who grins wildly, like a little girl blowing bubbles for the first time. Espiritu pulls Bebel closer. Margarita time, she says one more time.

Pedacitos

Manuel Ramos

OPPORTUNITIES
GLBTQI Anthology
From the September Newsletter of La Gente Unida, Inc., a nonprofit group whose purpose is to educate about issues of concern to Latina lesbians and Latino gays:

"COLORADO WRITERS ARE WANTED for an upcoming ultra-fabulous anthology of Colorado GLBTQI authors, edited by award-winning author Matt Kailey and published by Johnson Books of Boulder. They are seeking short fiction, creative non-fiction, poetry, and experimental work from Colorado writers who identify as GLBT, queer, intersexed, or similar identification. Be part of the first-ever anthology by, for, and about the Colorado GLBTQI community (but we want the world to read it). Guidelines are as follows: (1) You must identify as a member of the GLBTQI community. (2) You must currently reside in Colorado. (3) The submission does not have to be about Colorado (although it can be), but must have some Colorado connection, large or small-theme, setting, characters, etc. Use your imagination. (4) Prose must be a maximum of 3,000 words. Poetry must be a maximum of six pages. Please double space. (5) Please submit original, previously unpublished work. You must have all rights to the work. Deadline for submissions is September 30. Those whose work is chosen will be notified by November 30 and will receive three copies of the anthology with the ability to purchase all additional copies at a 50 percent discount. Email your submissions as a Word attachment to http://www.blogger.com/

2007 Paul Gillette Writing Contest
The Pikes Peak Writers and Pikes Peak Writers Conference sponsor the PPWC's 15th annual contest for unpublished writers. The contest officially begins September 1, 2006. Entries must be postmarked by November 1, 2006. Winners will be notified in early April 2007. This contest is for unpublished writers of short stories and book-length fiction. Entrants must certify that the entry has not been accepted for publication prior to the date of submission. Go to the PPWC website for complete details.

BOOKSTORE EVENTS (DENVER)
Time: Friday, September 15, 2006 7:30 PM
Location: Tattered Cover - Historic LoDo
Title of Event: Slideshow Presentation & Booksigning with Paola Gianturco
Photographer Paola Gianturco will present a slideshow and sign her new book Viva Colores!: A Salute to the Indomitable People of Guatemala (powerHouse Books). Written by David Hill, Viva Colores! offers inspirational profiles of a people who have endured and, indeed, gained strength, thanks to the bounty of their land, their beliefs, traditions, and kinship with one another.

Time: Saturday, September 30, 2006 2:00 PM
Location: Tattered Cover - Colfax Avenue
Title of Event: International Translation Day Celebration
In Celebration of International Translation Day, members of the Colorado Translators Association will be on hand to offer a demonstration of literary translation. The event consists of readings from foreign language books in their original languages (including Yiddish, French, Polish, Italian, Portuguese, Spanish, and German), accompanied by translations into English.

EL CENTRO SU TEATRO TURNS AWARD-WINNING PLAY INTO FILM
Here's the press release:

"El Centro Su Teatro is shooting a film version of the critically acclaimed and award-winning play, Serafín: Cantos y Lágrimas. The finished film will premiere at the XicanIndie FilmFest 9 in April, 2007. Based loosely on the diaries of Su Teatro resident playwright Anthony J. Garcia's father, Serafín chronicles one man’s tumultuous immigrant experience. The play earned Garcia the 1989 University of California Irvine Chicano Literary Award and the Denver Drama Critics Circle Award for Best New Play of the 1989-1990 season.

University of Colorado at Denver theatre professor Laura Cuetara was so moved by the story that she told Garcia she would love to direct a revival. Cuetara got that chance last April when Serafín closed Su Teatro’s most phenomenal season to date. Under Cuetara’s direction, Garcia’s linear story became fragmented—revolving back upon itself again and again as Serafín’s memories unravel during his final few living moments.

XicanIndie FilmFest Director and local filmmaker Daniel Salazar, recipient of the 2006 Mayor’s Award for Excellence in the Arts, saw both the original 1989 run and the recent run. He felt that Cuetara’s new vision for Serafín had a real cinematic quality, and he suggested to Garcia that they make a movie; Garcia, Cuetara, and Salazar are pooling their talents to create the film, and Su Teatro veterano Angel Mendez-Soto is starring as the conflicted Serafín—the role he helped create 17 years ago when Serafín opened Su Teatro’s first season in its current performance space. While filming will continue throughout the fall, Serafín: Cantos y Lagrimas, the stage play, will open Su Teatro’s 2006-2007 season on September 14. Contact El Centro Su Teatro for more information: (303) 296-0219 or serafin@suteatro.org."

KIDS FOR THE AMERICAN DREAM
“To My Country” Art Exhibition Sept 1st, 2006 6:30 pm

This message came across the wire:

"On February 24th, 2006,Claire Hessek, age 9, had an incredible vision. She wrote a letter entitled, 'Dear U.S.' She wrote about her feelings regarding the antiimmigrant sentiment sweeping the nation. This letter kicked off an amazing campaign which has given voice to children of immigrants so that they may share their hopes, dreams, and fears about the current immigration situation at the legislative level and within their private lives. Join us for an art exhibition which will honor the powerful voices of these children within their letters and artwork.

The Laughing Bean Café
901 W. 10th Ave, Denver
303 820 2326
For more information, please contact Jeannette Henriquez"

SUGGESTIONS?
Say you were putting together your own CD or I-Pod menu of all-time Mexican or Chicano music -- the kind of music that creates tears and laughter, and more than a few gritos. The kind of music that requires a shot of tequila, for some, or maybe just a dance with your loved one across the living room floor. What would you include? I have a list -- am looking for a few more. Suggestions?

Later.