Un rezo a mi madre, part 1

From the Story Arc: A Snake In The Grass

Previous Story in the Arc: Delivery for the Wolf by Red Saviour (Monday, August 09, 2004)

Next Story in the Arc: A Trip to Cloud Nueve by Red Saviour (Monday, August 16, 2004)

(posted Monday, August 16, 2004)

Madre, I know you are listening to me. I must tell you of this, for I do not know who else to speak to. Hear me, le pido.


I have met a woman unlike any other. She is a leader of communists, like you and papa. Si, she is my leader, the leader of the group I have joined here in America. Her name is Red Saviour, though I do not know if she is my saving or will be my end.


I have never felt like this over any woman before. I do not speak of this to Gato, as I know what she would say. She would be at same time muy horrorizado, and muy entretenido. I understand this, as she has only seen me in the past. She would tell me it is silly and dangerous, one because this is not the man I have been and she would not think it in me and two because this is not a woman who can be trifled with. I can hear her voice in my ear saying I cannot simply be with Red Saviour and leave after being cooked gourmet breakfast like the women in my past. They are frivolous things seeking only entertainment from handsome Spanish fling while Red Saviour is not a frivolous woman. I know this already; I do not need to be told. And she would be right as it is dangerous thing I am feeling, dangerous and wonderful and I do not know what it is. I can think of being with her and then not feeling the need to leave after the last plate of queso.
To think of your leader this way, si, is dangerous. For me to think of any woman this way is… incomprehensible to me. But you will understand, si? You had papa. Si, you were both leaders in our beloved Spain, but you will understand.  She is strong, like you, unlike any other woman I have met. It burns within her. The first day I am meeting her she is taking me on patrol with several others. Immediately of course I am struck by her beauty (she has your dark eyes mama). At first I am making very small time talk with her, as is normal. But the longer we patrol, the more aware I am of her. She is having me sight down her arm, training me to fight with this stupido American equipment and I can smell her – it is not flowery mixture of scent, but of strength. It is of earth and battle and I admit perhaps a little vodka with termine a mujer beneath. Her hair smells of electricity. The muscles in her arms ripple with current. Her mind is always tuned to the cause she fights for. She is, she is no other.


What is your boy to do mama?