Into the Beautiful North(70)

Chava had never been in a fight in his life. He held up his hands placatingly, and he hated himself for it.

“Immigration rally?” Sully asked.

The paisanos backed away.

“They found me at the water,” Angel said. “I’m sorry.”

Jimbo pushed Angel, hard.

He fell to his knees.

“Stay down, doggie-doggie,” Jimbo said.

His homeboys laughed.

“Beanertown,” Sully said. “Christ, you people. See what the mud people do to America? It’s Calcutta down here.” He spit at Chava’s feet. “You people stink.”

Jimbo lectured his associates: “They come in here, turn our country into the third world. Am I right, Sully?”

“Right-o.”

Atómiko lowered his coffee cup and belched loudly.

“Did you hear a bullfrog?” he quipped.

These border jumpers, Atómiko thought, how subservient could you get? They all hung their heads and acted like they were wringing their hats in fear of these gringo thugs. They ought to come on down to Tijuana and face the cops if they wanted to be scared. Too bad there were no women here; it would have been fun to show off for a sweet little brown girl. Oh well, he had Nayeli, even if she was blind to his charms.

Atómiko stood up and tossed the dregs of his coffee into the fire. He hung the cup on a nail. They all studied him carefully. He scratched his crotch, stared at the thugs and chuckled.

“You boys want to help me scratch this? Got a bad itch!” he hollered.

Angel started laughing and turned and looked up at the skin-heads. You would have thought that Sully and his boys were the most amusing monkeys in the zoo.

“What are you looking at, José?” Sully demanded.

Nayeli turned to Tacho and asked, “?Qué dijo?”

Atómiko relocated his scratching to his beard. He kept his other hand dangling loosely over the butt end of his staff. It hung across his shoulders like a barely noticed tool for the harvest.

He replied, in his Tijuana English: “I dunno what I look at. But I figure it out pooty soon!” He laughed. He squinted at Angel. “What are they, brother?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Angel replied. “I never saw anything like them.”

“You want to dance with me?” Sully asked, playing to the boys now.

He showed Atómiko his chain. Atómiko made an Ooooh! face.

“I no wan’ dance with you,” Atómiko said. “I wan’ break you neck. And then I go to your house an’ make babies with you madre.”

“?Qué?” said Nayeli.

“We’re in serious trouble,” Tacho whispered.

“Oh.”

She rose.

“Sit down, bitch!” Sully snapped.

“Ay.” Atómiko winced. “You made a mistake, pendejo.”

Nayeli turned back to Tacho.

“Did he call me a bad name?” she asked.

“Sorry, m’ija,” Tacho replied.

She held up a finger at Sully and waggled it, scolding him.

“Nayeli,” Chava warned.

“Morra,” said Tacho, “don’t start anything crazy.”

“They started it.”

“What’s your name?” Angel asked, still kneeling.

“Nayeli.”

“What?” Sully demanded. “Speak English, greaser.”

“?Qué?” Atómiko demanded.

“Goddamned beaner.”

“Te voy a chingar.”

“What?”

Nayeli said, “Watch his chain.”

“Shut it!” Sully barked.

“I see it, I see it.”

“I put greasers in the hospital, man,” Sully said.

“OK,” Atómiko said.

Sully was a little confused. The script dictated that at this point, the greasers begged or tried to flee. Fear. These two were just standing there. Then Angel stood up.

Atómiko pulled the staff off his shoulders and started to spin it languidly in front of his face.

“What are you, a cheerleader?” Sully said. His boys guffawed.

“Baton twirler.” Jimbo laughed.

“No,” Atómiko said. “Samurai.”

He cracked the pole across Sully’s face so fast it looked like a cloud had passed in front of him; his nose smashed loud as a small firecracker, blood exploding from his face. Angel grabbed Sully and launched him through the reeds and into the creek. Nayeli knee-kicked Jimbo, and he went down clutching his leg and howling. His baseball bat fell on the ground. He tried to sit up, and she spun once and kicked him in the jaw. His head bounced off the mud and he wet his pants. Sully came out of the creek, swung the chain blindly, the blood and tears ruining his eyesight. His homeboys spread out with their arms open. They were closing on Nayeli.

Atómiko stood still, wide-legged, holding his staff perfectly erect before his face. He screamed and lunged four times, smack-smack-smack-smack. Sully’s scalp parted over his eyebrows and more blood covered his face. He fell to his knees as Atómiko’s blows cracked on his shoulders.

Angel was moving around like a crab, and he seemed to be bowing to everybody, but when he bowed, the white boys flew through the air.