In 1492 Spain expelled the Moors and the Jews who refused to accept Christ. The Converted Ones had by then gained a relatively decent standard of living. Yet to many Christian-born Spaniards this had become irksome. The materialistic and extravagant lifestyle of a successful "converso" rankled feudal sensibility. For although he attended Mass, genuflected at correct moments, and received the Body of Christ in Holy Communion, his day-to-day philosophy was but a form of secular humanism. He pursued the arts and sciences of Moorish Spain. And the traditional Jewish study of law and finance remained his passport to success in the mundane world.
For ten years now Torquemada had been torturing and executing all manner of heritics. The Church was mightily pleased with his results. So it was decided somewhere in secret that Torquemada apply himself to the "Jewish Problem." Attrocities were benignly ignored by all.
Also in 1492 as everyone knows, Columbus discovered San Salvador.
Not much later a Guzman, destined to manage a ship's store, departed for Hispanola.
Reuben had been the first of Itzaak Guzman's descendents to return to Spain.
He studied language and played soccer at the university in Madrid. He made his Christian parents Chubby and Isobel Guzman extremely proud..
*
Chubby heard someone coming up the street, squeaking on crepe rubber soles. He finished snipping the twine on a bundle of assorted magazines from the distributer and, without looking up, he greeted Constable Merryweather.
"What can I do for you, good officer?"
"We should sit down, Mister Guzman." Already the constable was unconsciously tugging his gunmetal gray handlebar moustache.
"Uh-oh. Serious talk. What's my boy done now?"
*
The Deadknockers emerged from their field mindless mud creatures, too weary to speak.
Mango grinned, showing the bloody gap where a tooth had been kicked free. His hashamaki miraculously remained tied around his head.
"Hey-yo, Mama Calderon!" He called to the stout black-robed woman standing with a parisol at the obliterated chalkline. Her nose and ears were troubled with skin cancer. She was never seen outdoors without her parisol. Rain or shine.
"Santa Maria!" She exclaimed, "You are sorely hurt, young man."
"Esta nada."
"It is NOT nothing. It is something. Come here."
She wiped blood from his face with his shirt-tail. Frowning, she commented on his dental hygene as well as his injury.
"I am not quite so handsome now," he boasted.
"You have a badge of battle."
"It is grand."
"Now go to that rascal father of yours and have him send you to a good dentist."
Crushing him with a maternal bearhug, she thought: This is better than all the hot chocolate in the world.
Mango was the dearest thing in her life. Once she took him to bed. And committed a Mortal Sin. She wept beneath his birdlike body and begged God's forgiveness.
At that time Mango wondered what he had done wrong.
*
By the time he returned to his crib Mango's jaw was throbbing like a jackhammer cracking concrete. He went straight to the spicebox where he stashed surplus medication and picked out a couple of Darvon tabletes.
He left a message. "This is Mango. Got a tooth knocked out playing soccer. Hurts like hell. Book me a dentist right away."
In the fridge were two Heinekens Jimmy-Scamp had swiped from the Jolly Roger. Mango drank them with the Darvon and settled down. He flipped through a new issue of Outside. Then his attention settled upon the lava lamp. His pain drifted toward the ceiling and vanished.
Sometime later he found himself gazing at a poster on the wall.
It was a campy facsimile of a Federal Theatre billboard circa 1937. "Big Blow" by Florida writer Theodore Pratt, author of the popular regional novel "The Barefoot Mailman." Mister Radcliff had purchased it at the Saint James fleamarket. Its artwork showed people on the run amidst clawlike trees and streaming clouds.
Deep within him lurked a memory of thrashing fronds outside a casement window. Throwing shadows against the wall.
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