Blog 26-Machi and Robles Approaching

In the shelter of my seagrapes in my secret spot on my writing dune I happened to glance up from my laptop. I saw Machi and Robles approaching me. They had slept through the day and I had written through the day by the beach. not wanting to go to La Fabrica and miss the moment when they woke. They sat beside me. Machi took a tiny mango de leche from my sack and handed it to Robles then took one for himself. Machi had become dark brown from living in the sun and his square face had recovered some of his old sweetness. Robles, with his bandanna bandage and scruffy black beard reminded me of a cartoon pirate. I watched them knead the fruit, puncture it and suck. Robles let the mango juice run on his chin. “Milky and very sweet. They should call these Mother's milk." Machi shoved him gently. “What's the matter with you, they got you brain damaged when they hit you on the head?” Machi handed me his phone. “We got it all here. Lagarto sent it to his sister and she's posted it on the Verdad's Camp Watch website and on RogueGuardia. Getting thousands of hits. ”
I turned the phone until there was no sunglare and peered at the tiny image. I saw Robles, with his bandanna still on his face, saying to the Guardia, “Are you requesting me or ordering me?” The Guardia stepped back. Machi paused the video on the Guardia's face. “He's almost as young as we are. See how fucking scared he is just before he swings?” Robles said, “My bad. I should have known he didn't know the law himself.” The video resumed and now I got an eyeful of the young Guardia rearing back, raising his arm and coming down with the nightstick on Robles.
“That was our cue to disperse. We got it all on tape. Once it's up on Rogue Guardia it's everywhere. He searched the patchwork of tiny tiles, each a Guardia beating...I shuddered... Machi clicked on one. He pointed to a barely visible image of a young man, curled on the ground against a wall, being kicked. The face of the target was not visible. “Gotta be David.” I said nothing. There was no way I could recognize David from the little I could see.
Now look at this...He opened another icon.. In the image from a blurry phone video taken in dim light, several naked men in hoods knelt, hands behind their backs. Very loud strident music played. He pointed to an emaciated man on the far left of the row. “Who is that?” I shook my head and covered my eyes. “Impossible to tell.” He pulled my hands off my face. "Not looking doesn't make it go away. You think what you want. I say it's Pa.”
Machi and Robles made a joyous whooping sound, raced to the water and splashed like boys. They sat drying in the sun, their heads together, talking and digging in the sand. They jumped up and ran to where I sat. Some days they spent hours in the water. “Gotta go to the Comedor to talk with The Señoras about an action we've got planned for Grito Day, what we call a wade-in, you'll like it if you come.” Robles said. I looked up from my notebook. “Robles you're organizing me!” He went on, “It's going to be Grito Day soon, the same day the City holds its co-opting Island Day parade.”
Machi laughed. “We know that day in our family well. On our way to one of those parades my mother and her friend Julia lost me and my friend David on the train. Scary as hell at the time. But taught me if you can just keep thinking any problem has a solution. You're fine as long as you can still think.” Had I heard right? I had to tell Julia what he said. She and I were still tormented, thinking we'd permanently damaged our boys, and here was Machi finding lessons. Machi bent down to kiss me and ruffled my hair. “Don't worry, Ma will be there. We've been at a Grito Day demo just about every single year of my life. Even the year I lived in Moon Park both of us were there but Ma didn't know it."
I shook. "You were there?" I didn't speak my next thought. "Why, oh why didn't you come find me? How could you want to hurt me? How could you hate me that much?" Instead, I went on with the surface conversation. “I'd lost track of the date. Hard to think this world is on the same calendar as the one we just left. I can't remember a single year since I lived in the City when I didn't go to the Parade on Grito so called Island Day, first as onlooker with my parents and later as a marcher with the Partido's protest contingent. Desfile un Dia, Pobreza Todos los Dias.”
Robles said, “Here we are, still Gritando. As long as we're still Gritando we're Ganando..” They stood and took off toward the Casitas.
After they were gone I gazed at the sea. I waved at four men with fishing nets who walked past me. They disappeared beyond the dunes, maybe on their way to the their boats. But who would start fishing this late in the morning? Later I found out from Patria that twenty fishermen had done a camp invasion, rowing their boats to the perimeter, cutting the fence at designated spots unelectrified by guatas, which I'd finally remembered Franz had told me on the ferry was what Palenqueros called Guardias who crossed the river and were on our side.