“Desipio, get out of the garden.  Don’t pee on the flowers.”

Desipio looks down in a forlorn stare.  His unkempt but abundant hair stands up like whipped and caramelized egg whites.  He has the urge to pee but he can’t and the pain is excruciating when he tries. Finally a few bloodied dribbles fall to the ground.

“What are we going to do with him?” asks Carmelita to her sister Rosa.

“We promised mama and papa we would take care of him and we must,” answers Rosa.

The two granddaughters shake their heads.  They are making beans and tortillas for breakfast.  Desipio goes back to his room.  Rosa’s husband Jorge comes downstairs and sits at the kitchen table. The dog, Azore, runs outside.

“Desipio was peeing in the garden again when we came down,” says Rosa to her husband.

“He’s out there again now,” says Jorge.

“Again?  Already?” says Carmelita.  “Desipio,” she yells, “get out of the garden.  Don’t pee on the flowers.”

“I’m walking my little puppy.”  Desipio’s voice is weak and garbled.

“He calls Azore a little puppy,” laughs Rosa.  That dog is older than he is.

Desipio walks into the kitchen from the garden.

“Who is this strange man?” he asks looking at Jorge.  “You have evil designs on my granddaughters.  Get out of this house.  We do not tolerate your kind around here.”

Rosa gives Desipio a puzzled look.

“Abuelo, don’t you remember? Jorge is my husband.”

“There will be no such games in this house young man,” says Desipio waving his finger.  He turns to Rosa.

“Rosa, your Abuela picked fresh strawberries this morning.  They are in the refrigerator.  She wants you to make a pie.  Now, I’m going back to my room.”

After Desipio leaves, Carmelita tells Jorge to go out to the garden and pick some strawberries.  Her Abuela has been dead for a year but no use arguing with her Abuelo.

Later Desipio sneaks outside and hobbles toward the market.

Jorge returns with the strawberries then runs off to work.  He hopes things will be better when he returns.

“Conception is up to her old tricks, running around on her husband again,” says Carmelita.

“You saw her?” asks Rosa.

“I caught her in an embrace with Renato.  When she saw me looking she gave me that familiar smirk,” says Carmelita.

“She’s nothing but a slut,” says Rosa.

“You better keep her away from Jorge,” says Carmelita.

“All Jorge cares about is food and fucking and that silly camera of his.  I think he wants to be the next Frida Kahlo,” laughs Rosa.

“Frida Kahlo is a painter, not a photographer,” says Carmelita.

“Same thing,” says Rosa.

“No.  A painter tries to capture the soul while a photographer goes after the essence,” says Carmelita.

There’s a knock at the door.  The mailman has arrived with the mail.

“I saw your grandfather at the market buying fish this morning,” says the mailman.  “He didn’t look too well.”

“What?” says Carmelita in astonishment.  She looks at Rosa.  “How did he get away from us?”

After the mailman leaves, Desipio returns with the fish.

“Grandfather, you shouldn’t leave without letting us know.  We were frightened.  What do you have there?”  Carmelita was rolling out the dough for the pie.

“I purchased this fish for the bacalao your grandmother wants you to make.”

“But grandfather, this is not the season for bacalao,” says Carmelita.

“That’s just what the fishmonger said, child, but I don’t argue with your grandmother.  I do what she tells me to do.”  Desipio leaves the fish in the kitchen and goes back to his room.

“Tonight, my dear, they will dine on bacalao and fresh strawberry pie,” Desipio says to his wife.

“Lovely,” she responds.  “Just what I hoped for.”

Desipio goes back to the garden to look for Azore.

“Come little puppy, come.  Where are you?”

Carmelita sees him and yells out the door.

“Desipio!  Get out of the garden.  Don’t pee on the flowers.”

… for the Last Part of this story go HERE