MacArthur Park: Santos

MacArthur Park: Santos 

By Armando Ortiz

Santos had recently arrived in Los Angeles. He’d taken the train to the U.S., the one they call La Bestia, and spent a few months wandering around Mexico to get to the US. Bella, his sister, found it odd that along the way he’d been stranded by several coyotes. Usually a coyote committed themselves to taking the person the whole way till they reached a destination where a known business associate would complete the trip for them. His journey had been different though, because after he managed to get to Guadalajara, he apparently got stranded, and turned up in Mexico DF a few months later. In between he’d call his loving sister and beg for money. Bella didn’t have much, but would figure things out, like find a cleaning gig in West Los Angeles or help clean the Laundromat that was two blocks away from her house on 3rd street. Every ounce of sweat that came out of that 5 foot figure was worth more than gold to her, since it was the family that was being helped. 

For Santos, it seemed that Bella had made it in the U.S., since every time he found himself in a bind he’d just dial the numbers and in a few days money filled both pockets. Santos was escaping Honduras. His parents thought he’d moved out and had been working at a tobacco company, which he had for a while, but he’d really started to gamble, drink and hang out with the wrong crowd. Circumstances made it necessary for him to relocate somewhere far as soon as possible, hence his abrupt decision to head north. It seemed that kind eyes were looking after him from above.   

When he finally arrived in LA he was sent to MacArthur Park to get his papers in order. Any person who had recently crossed the border and needed a fake identification card or green card went to the park to get them- a bazaar of illegal documents for sale. He’d been walking north along Alvarado Blvd. when suddenly he saw his elementary school friend, Jose, who was standing by the corner of the Botica Del Pueblo. He looked different, but his facial features were distinguishable. He wasn’t wearing shorts nor was his old friend barefoot. Instead Nike Cortez protected those running feet, and for some reason his hair was slicked back, like a cow lick. His brown slacks were ironed clean as if a black pinstripe ran along the front and back of his legs. 

“Jose, is that you? It’s me Santos from La Colonia Ceiba. We used to play ball.” Jose at first gave him a dirty look, a chiseled looking profile made of stone turned into astonishment, which as if elastic transformed into a smile of familiarity. 

“Santos, wassup foo, wachu doin around here?” 

“You know, work,” replied Santos in Spanish. 

Bella was familiar with the area, since she’d occasionally go buy toiletries at El Piojito, but she never really stuck around the area since she was too busy with work. She had given Santos a piece of paper with a small map that she had drawn. Santos knew he was near. Only a few more blocks to go before reaching the place his sister said reliable green cards were sold. He showed the sketch to Jose telling him he was sent to that location. Jose looked at the paper and spat on the ground and his face had suddenly become wrinkled - his cold stare returned. 

“Who the fuck sent you there, ese?,” inquired Jose, with a hard nod to the skies while keeping eye contact. 

“My sister said that’s where she got her papers,” replied Santos. 

“Well your sister is wrong ese. No seas bayunco, si tienes pedo ponte listo cabron” Jose sounded angry. 

“Calmado, calmado,” said Santos, slightly raising his arms and showing Jose his palms. “Mira loco, I just got here and all I am trying to do is get my papers to get a job. If you can help me with that then I’ll be grateful.” 

“How much you got foo?,” he was asked. 

“Pues, this is what my sister gave me. She said it was enough get a mica,” he replied. 

“Aver,” there was a moment of pause before his voice broke through the sound of passing cars, “esos cabrones te estan robaaando. I sell papers much cheaper than that, vente conmigo,” he swung his arm forward signaling Santos to follow him. Like a blind man following another blind man, Santos followed disappearing, into the alleys that were barren under the noon sun. 

To be continued…