Jesus of Vislaia

 Jesus of Visalia

When I returned from my vacation, I discovered they had hired a new worker. His name was Jesus.

I'll train him as I do with all recruits. He's in his late twenties but looks older with his beard and mustache. I never liked bearded guys or guys with mustaches. It might be because I can't grow one. If they are ugly, they look uglier, and if handsome, they would hide their handsomeness with their ugly beards, but they always look older, dirtier, or smellier, but that's my opinion.

I work for a construction company in Visalia. They pay us and treat us well. I'm a supervisor in charge of the framing crew. We do rough carpentry, the heavy part of the building. We might be arrogant compared to other workers like plumbers, painters, electricians, and roofers. We're generally taller, stronger, and faster than they are. We use all kinds of power tools, saws, and nail guns. And, of course, we use bigger hammers.

We hate sissies. If we fall, we don't complain; if we injure ourselves, we proudly show off our scars. When I met Jesus, I was a little disappointed because he had no visible scars or callouses on his hands.

In other words, we have big egos.

When I talked to him in Spanish, he answered fluently. Even with the facial hair, I could tell he was handsome. I will try to convince him to shave it off.

He said his dad was a carpenter too. They used to make cabinets and furniture, a little different from rough carpentry. He'll be with us as a temp for a try-out period. I'll be the one deciding if he stays. I'll put him as a helper for Pedro and Andres. Our crew consists of a group of six workers, all Mexicans. Not all speak English well. We are the best crew in the company; they give us harder and bigger jobs.

I've never understood why anybody names their kids 'Jesus' here in America. I mean, they use all the names in the Bible except Jesus. But not in Mexico, where it seems to be a crime if nobody in your family is named Maria, (Mary) Jose, (Joseph) Jesus, or Guadalupe, as in the Virgin of Guadalupe. Anyway, I always thought it was strange that no Americans were named Jesus.

On the first day at work, just before our lunch break, Jesus was struck on the head by a small block of wood that had dropped accidentally. I checked on him immediately to see if he needed medical attention, but he said he was okay. I even looked for a bump on his head, but there was none, good. He must have rocks instead of brains. When the lunch truck arrived, he said he'd pay for all we ate. He had no idea of the big mistake he had just made. My guys are always starving; the total, $66.60, even the numbers were ominous.

Before the day was over, another accident happened. Jesus fell from a six-foot ladder, and again I ran to see if he had hurt himself. No, nothing, just a little scratch on his right elbow. Good, his first scar. I told him we were allowed just one little accident a week (I lied), but the way he's going, he'll be dead in a month. He laughed and said he'd be more careful from now on and that his accidents resulted from his desire and excitement to do well in his new job.

By day's end, we got paid, and as usual, we headed for the Green Olive to shoot some pool and have a few beers. Jesus volunteered to be the driver. But that was good and bad because when we designate a driver, we stay longer and we drink a lot more, but at least nobody would get a DUI.

It turned out that Jesus was a pool shark; nobody seemed to be able to get him out of the pool table, not even Felipe and Tomas, who were the best pool players in the joint. I almost got him, but I scratched after I made the eight-ball in the corner pocket. The table must have been out of level because the cue ball went into the pocket like a magnet or something attracted it.

We had ordered at least ten pitchers of beer, and I noticed that our designated driver was drinking just like the rest of us, which didn't look good. He was having a great time; we could take a taxi when we finished.

I noticed that when we drink, we automatically change our names to the corresponding names in English. Felipe turns into Phil, Tomas to Tom, Pedro turns into Peter, Andres becomes Andrew, and since I'm Matias, I turn into Matt. It seems funny, but we all like it. Even Simon and Pedro begin to speak in English  "fluently."

Finally, Tom kicked Jesus' butt. And we're glad because Jesus had the table for almost two hours. Jesus seemed proud when he came to sit next to me.

"Man, you shoot pretty well. Where did you learn?" I asked him.

"I have a pool table in my garage; I built it myself," he answered, as proud as a peacock.

"Is that right, Jesus?" I asked.

"Yes, it is Matt. You're welcome to practice. I can teach you a few tricks.

 'You cocky son of a gun,' I say, but only inside my head.

"Sounds like a great idea Jesus, but first, get a couple more pitchers, and remember, you're the driver, so you better take it easy."

"Don't worry. I'll be okay, Matt, and don't worry about it, okay?"
When Jesus returned with a pitcher of beer in each hand, a man got up from his chair without noticing that Jesus was passing behind him, and Jesus showered him with the beer on his back. The tall guy seemed so upset; he slapped Jesus on his cheek. Jesus apologized right away. We stood up and were ready to defend him in any way, but I signaled my co-workers not to intervene because I wanted to see how Jesus would react.
 
"What the fuck is wrong with you? " Are you stupid or what?" the tall guy said, slapping Jesus on his other cheek and pushing him menacingly.

"I'm sorry, man, I'm sorry. Let me wash your shirt in the restroom. Let me buy you some beers," Jesus said, stuttering nervously.

"Just get the hell out of here; I don't want to see your ugly face."

I must say Jesus disappointed me. I thought he was braver than that. His attitude in this bar counts as part of the test to approve or disapprove his temporary job-testing period.

After the little skirmish, he got two more pitchers and ordered some drinks for the table where the tall man sat with his friends.

"What's up with that, man? I thought you would fight him; it wasn't even your fault. You didn't have to apologize at all," I told Jesus as soon as he sat down.

"It's all right, Matt. I don't like to fight. I'm a pacifist. To me, it's all about Karma. He'll get what he deserves, sooner or later, you'll see."

A couple of hours later, Jesus went to the restroom, and a minute later, the tall guy followed him, obviously with mean intentions. But before he reached the door handle, Jesus opened the door from inside, hit him in the face with the door, and knocked him down. He hit the back of his head against the pool table and stayed on the floor, bleeding.

Fuck! This time Karma acted very fast.

His friends and I stood up, but they backed out. The guy couldn't stop bleeding from his face and the back of his head. They had to call the paramedics and finally took him away in an ambulance.

When we left just before midnight, I knew Jesus was in no condition to drive, but he insisted. He said we were drunker than he was. When we were about to exit from the parking lot, a cop was passing by on his cruiser, and sure enough, the cop followed us and pulled us over. Jesus told the cop he didn't know how many drinks he had, which was true. He showed him his license, registration, and car insurance too. He passed the field sobriety test, counted from a hundred backward, and followed the officer's finger with his eyes without moving his head. I spent the night in jail the last time I did the same test. Then Jesus blew in the breathalyzer a few times, and amazingly, he passed it too.

The cop didn't have any option but to let us go. Pedro mumbled quietly, "ha, you fool!" then the officer returned and asked the guys in the back, "what did you say?" Jesus answered for us and said, "Never mind, officer, he was talking to me," The police officer reluctantly let us go.

From that moment on, I and everybody else approved of Jesus. It was unanimous; he could keep working with us forever.

Being a good worker and a nice person couldn't hide his clumsiness. During the following week, Jesus had two more accidents. I explained to him in detail how to use the nail gun. I expressly told him how dangerous it was to operate it, and he still managed to shoot a nail through the palm of his left hand while holding a two-by-four against a piece of plywood. He also fell from a six-foot ladder and landed on the neighbor's iron fence. Thank God he held on to a tree branch, but still, one spear barely penetrated his rib cage.

He kept having minor accidents but always insisted on not reporting any of them. After every accident, even if he was bleeding, he fixed himself up, usually with a wet napkin and some duct tape, and continued working.

A few weeks later, the whole gang and I went to another bar to shoot pool and have fun. It was Karaoke night in that place, and Jesus sang the Ballad of John and Yoko twice. He was good at it. Jesus looked a little like John Lennon with his long hair. He seemed to be everybody's best friend now. Before we got wasted, Andres asked him if he wanted to be his Best Man; he'd be getting married in a few weeks. Jesus accepted.

I once gave him a ride home when he had his pickup truck at the repair shop. He lived on the outskirts of town in a small farmhouse. They had some farm animals, including a donkey. Jesus said that his dad never learned how to drive a car. He told me he bought a horse for his dad but still prefers his donkey. I could see that his mom was distinguished and beautiful. She could show it, even though her timid personality and humble garments. Both his parents were reserved and respectful.

His mom offered us some lemonade, and as we sat under the patio cover to drink, I noticed a slingshot and immediately grabbed it. I put a small rock in its pocket and aimed at a bird on a nearby tree, never thinking I would hit it, but I did. Jesus and his mom saw what I did and exclaimed sadly, as the bird fell from the tree, "Oh!"

I felt terrible and ran to get the little bird. I returned with it and apologized to them; the poor creature was barely alive. Jesus' mom had stared at me disapprovingly before she took the bird inside the house.

"You shouldn't have done that; it was just a little bird, man," Jesus said, making me feel smaller than an ant.

"I'm sorry, I never thought I would hit it. I swear I never meant to do it. I've never killed a bird in my life," I knew the apology wasn't good enough, not even to lessen the anger I felt at myself, but I continued talking,

"Why do you have a slingshot in the house?"

"I only use it to protect the chickens from coyotes, but I have never killed any of God's creatures. My mom is amazing with animals; she might save the little bird." I knew he said this to relieve my guilty conscience. Which I knew I sincerely showed it.

"Do you believe in God?" I asked him, knowing a hundred percent in advance that he did.

"Yes, I believe in my dad," he said hesitantly.

"No, I said God. Do you believe in God?" I corrected him.

"Oh, yes, of course . . . don't you?

"Yes, I do, well, sometimes, like right now. I wish God could save the little bird. Otherwise. I'd feel bad for a long time."

"Why did you ask if I believe in God?"

"I don't know, well, I knew you'd say yes. You seem to be a good spiritual person, but don't you have to kill your chickens to eat them? And what's the difference between a little bird and a big bird?"

"But you didn't kill that bird to survive, or because you were hungry, that was just a stupid action. I don't have to kill a chicken to survive, either. You got a good point there. In any case, what you did was very stupid, and you have to admit it. Such an innocent bird, and it was singing for us."

"Yeah, but your chickens are innocent too. Well, never mind. I feel bad enough already. I'm sorry, Jesus. I should have killed one of your chickens instead, and we'd be having chicken in 'mole poblano' by now," I finished mumbling the last words, and we ended our morality talk laughing.

After apologizing to his mom, I said goodbye and told Jesus I'd be back in the morning to pick him up. Before I got in my pickup truck, unbelievably, a bird shat on my head, and we laughed when Jesus said, "You deserve that."

When I went to pick him up in the morning, I felt relieved after seeing the little bird singing in a small cage.

Our crew consists of six workers. We divide the group into three pairs, so each leader has a helper or partner. Andres picked Jesus as his partner. Jesus is becoming a good carpenter; he's precise and clean with his cuts, but accidents keep following him relentlessly. Yesterday Jesus fell from the roof but stood up unharmed and smiling.

On the wedding day, before the ceremony, Jesus bought a Beatles CD from a group of vendors that gathered outside the church. He got upset after he opened the CD case and noticed that it was a pirated item.

When he asked for his money back, the vendor refused, saying he had already opened it. Jesus got mad, turned the table over, spread dozens of CDs on the sidewalk, and angrily shouted at them, saying it was immoral to sell merchandise outside the house of God, especially pirated stuff. They were deceiving and were committing fraud on decent people. He didn't calm down until the bride and the groom showed up. His attitude was a little bizarre.

Andres had invited the whole crew to be his groomsmen. We sat on the same pew. I was next to Jesus. Before the ceremony started, two seven-year-old kids approached Jesus shyly. One of them asked him, "Are you Jesus?" and he answered, "Yes, I'm the Best Man," the boy excitedly said to the other kid, "See, I told you he was Jesus, the best man in the world!" I couldn't contain my laughter. Then the priest asked them to be quiet because the mass was about to start.

When mass was over, many little kids were following Jesus, grabbing his hands and looking up at him, mesmerized. One of them kissed the palm of his left hand when he saw his scar. Jesus' face turned red, and he could only get rid of them until he spoke loudly in Spanish, "Váyanse de aquí, chiquillos, yo no soy Jesus, soy 'Heh-soos.'" — "Get away from me, kids. I'm not Jesus. I'm 'Heh-soos.'"

At the reception, a voluptuous girl with a glass of wine was trying to tempt Jesus. She kept chasing him all night. Finally, she convinced him. She danced sensuously. Poor Jesus had no rhythm at all.

My whole crew and I had bought all the wine, beers, and drinks for the wedding. We thought we had more than enough for everybody. But as usual, we were wrong. There's never enough alcohol at Mexican weddings, no matter how much they stock up.

When Jesus came from the dance floor, he was fuming. He said the girl he was dancing with had just insinuated he was gay.

"Damn, if a girl wants to save her virginity until her wedding, they say she's a virtuous girl, but if it's a man, they say he's gay. How stupid is that." He said.

"Come on. You're acting like a man born centuries ago. Oh, and don't tell me you're still a virgin."

"I don't have to answer dumb questions. Besides, you're acting like a typical Mexican macho man. Why can't a man say no to sex?"

Jesus was now talking in a low voice and close to my ear. He knew everybody would laugh at him if they listened to his antiquated opinions.

"But how can you say no to a girl like that."

"Never mind, I need a beer; this hasn't been a good day," he said.

"Sorry, we ran out of alcohol already. That's what always happens at all Mexican weddings. You know that."

Then he went to the unattended bar, jumped over the counter, and started to pump a beer keg. And he kept extracting beer from several 'empty' beer kegs all night.

In the end, he got drunk, his frustration disappeared, and he disappeared, too, along with the voluptuous girl.

On Monday, he didn't show up for work.

On Tuesday, we got bad news; he had been arrested and accused of rape by the girl from the wedding.

A week later, he was found guilty by a panel of twelve jurors. He was judged and sentenced to ten years in prison.

If you ask me, I think he was innocent.

On the third day, he disappeared from his cell without a trace.

And we never saw him again.



Edmundo Barraza

Visalia, CA. 10-24-2012

http://edbar1952-accomplishedignorant.blogspot.com/