Happy Families_ Stories - Carlos Fuentes [130]
10. When he went into the bathroom, he found the mirror smeared with toothpaste and the tube, used up, tossed carelessly into the wastebasket.
Leo shrugged. He did not want to calculate which of the two had used this bathroom.
Chorus of the Savage Families
they come from the north
they occupy the city of nuestra señora de la porciúncula de
los ángeles on the border with mexico
they come from the south
they occupy the city of tapatatapachula south of chiapas on the border
with guatemala
they divide up the city of los ángeles
the mexican mafia are the southsiders
the salvadoran mara sansalvatrucha are in control from thirteenth street
to central venice
the mestizos from venice thirteen to south central
the mexican wetbacks wherever night finds them
they invade the city of tapachula
they cross the coatán river
they vandalize silversmiths goldsmiths as they please
they steal orange saddles still redolent of
sacrificed cattle
they take off their pants to feel the down on the saddle
mix with the hair of their sex
the clicas confront the gangas of los ángeles
the salvadoran marassansalvatruchas against the
mexican mafia
the confrontation
each crew sends its big guys in front
its giant headbreaking fighters
the clash takes place at the devil’s corner calle
666 and eighteen
the raza endures
the maras break your head stomp on you fuck you up
but the mexican babes reward you with kisses after the brawl
the maras announce their attacks in tapachula
they close the schools
but nobody can run away
the maras come down whistling from the volcanoes
they walk like spiders with spiders
they pull out sawed-off shotguns and daggers that they saw off
they control the train run from chiapas to tabasco
they tie their victims to the train track
the train cuts off their legs
the gang members disappear in the forest
they reappear in los ángeles
they specialize in drive-by shootings
firing at random from their cars
at their mexican rivals
they pretend to be mexicans their accent gives them away
captain bobby of the LAPD the los ángeles police
force is capturing them one by one
they come from the wars of ronaldanger ronaldranger
ronaldanger in central america
sons of
grandsons of
exiles who identify themselves with a tattoo on the arm and they
give themselves away with a false mexican accent
they hate mexico
the captain smiles he knows
send them back to salvador captain bobby?
no way
fly them back home?
no way
they say they are mexicans? send them back through mexico
let mexico deal with them
from the south
from soconusco
from the north
from california
they advance toward the center mexicocity greattenochtitlán
baptismal water of the nahuas from sacramento to nicaragua
an interminable pilgrimage
from south to north from north to south
the mara salvatrucha gang and the mara dieciocho gang
rivals united by death
a hundred thousand members on the two borders
a hundred thousand gangs in mexico city
between pensil norte and los indios verdes
they announce themselves with graffiti in all the urban centers
black spray paint stylized letters
they dress like hoods heads shaved and tattooed
they have their hole in lost cities
lairs in iztapalapa
refuges in gustavo madero
they attack kill extort rape murder
leave mutilated bodies in the streets
their leaders are called commanders of the clica
their head is called “the sinister one”
they wait for christmas for their great slaughter
twenty-eight people murdered on the D.F. subway
twenty-one wounded
six children
they want the land burned from border to border
“let them be afraid of us”
they murder to frighten
they free to tell about it
they have dry skin and foaming mouths
they are the army of silence
they never speak
they communicate by signs
CALLE 8
CALLE 18
FLY AWAY,
BIRDS