WELCOME TO

Pedro-Pedro

by

Bill MacWithey

With one leg shorter than the other, Pedro’s shoe shine box swung outward and bounced back against his leg with each limping step. He was ten years old, but small for his age - a likable, smiling little boy with a beautiful face; large brown circles of eyes and curly brown hair tumbling down his forehead and curling over the collar of his well-worn shirt. The large dangle of curl on his forehead swayed back and forth in rhythm with his shoe shine box, as he made his way along the dirty street.

It was a long walk from the cardboard and tin hut he, his mother and three younger sisters called home. When his father died, they had no one to protect them. The small house close to El Mercado, which his father provided, was soon a memory. Without the income from his father’s job at the market, the man who owned the house had to rent it to someone who could pay. So they did the best they could and squatted along a contaminated creek just below a maquilladora.

Pedro wished so that he could move his mama and sisters from the terrible place. She had to wash their clothes in the bad water, and drinking water had to be carried in plastic bottles from a mile away. His mama worked three days a week at a rich gringo’s house, but the money was barely enough to buy the flour, lard, and salt for the tortillas she baked on a stone alongside a bonfire. Beans filled their diet every day. Only rarely was there enough money for meat.

Pedro had become a familiar sight at the market since his father died. He sat on the sidewalk outside El Mercado and shined the shoes of the Norte Americanos who came across the border in search of bargains. For the most part, the touristas were nice enough. One day, a wealthy gringo gave him five dollars for shining his shoes. It was one of the few bright spots in Pedro’s young life. He ran all the way home to show his mother the fortune he’d been handed. The next morning, his crippled leg hurt so badly from running, he couldn’t go to El Mercado.

Pedro’s father had insisted he learn English as well as he could, so he could talk to the touristas. Now, Pedro waited for his first customer of the day and dreamed about going to school. His father told him many times he was smart enough to learn anything. Some day, if he could go to school, he’d be rich, like his cousin, Pedro, who lived on the other side of the city in a mucho grande hacienda. Oh, how he envied his rich cousin. He had everything and went to a rich private school in Mexico City. Pedro dreamed about giving his mama all the things his rich uncle had. It sure would be nice to trade places with his rich cousin.

***

Pedro stood at the gate and pulled at the uncomfortably tight collar. His father said he would be home. He promised faithfully, nothing would keep him away from home this weekend. The limousine bringing Pedro from the airport had dropped him off at the big wrought iron gate an hour earlier, and now, he watched down the road for his papa. When the houseman came to the gate to carry his bags in and escort him, Pedro had insisted he would wait at the gate for his father. Being in the private school in Mexico City was lonesome for a boy of ten, and his loneliness was compounded by being alone in the huge house with no one but servants all week-end. How he wished he had a mama.

For the last three weeks, his father had called him at his school in Mexico City, promising he would be home from his business trip to the Estados Unitos and spend the weekend with Pedro. But each weekend had been spent as lonely as he was at the private school. It began to get dark, still no father, and Pedro was hungry. Finally, he resigned himself to the fact that this was but one more time his papa had broken his promise. He moved dejectedly up the long, curving drive to sit on the front steps.

When Juanita, the head housekeeper, sat beside him and asked Pedro what was wrong, he told her he was lonesome. He told her since he lost his mama, there was never anyone home when he came home for the weekends. Juanita told him how lucky he was, though, to have such a fine home and everything a young boy could want.

Pedro thought about his cousin, the shoe shine boy. How he envied him! He had his mama every day, and he was free to come and go as he pleased. No going off to school in Mexico City every week. No wearing starched collars and uncomfortable suits and ties. No waiting around for a father who never came. Yes, it would be nice to trade places with his cousin.