The Empanada Brotherhood

The Empanada Brotherhood by John Nichols

Book: The Empanada Brotherhood by John Nichols Read Free Book Online
Authors: John Nichols
days.”
    â€œHow could you afford it? You never have any money.”
    â€œThat’s right, but you forget I’m a gaucho at heart. So at times price is no object.”
    â€œWell, what happened?”
    â€œNothing. I ate a lot of barbecued meat and was constipated for three days.”
    â€œI mean with Cathy Escudero.”
    â€œShe was rude. She acted like a prima donna, not a waitress. With her nose stuck up in the air. She’s got an Anna Magnani complex. And she never cracked a smile.”
    â€œMaybe she hates her job,” I said.
    â€œEverybody hates their job, kid. That’s no reason to be a sourpuss.”
    â€œDon’t you think she’s beautiful?” I asked.
    â€œOf course, but so what?”
    Alfonso stuck an index finger into his hot chocolate mug, scooping out a sugary brown film near the bottom. He licked it off carefully. All the destitute boys who visited the empanada stand were like that. Food was precious and they devoured every last bit of it.
    â€œShe’s also a good dancer,” I said.
    â€œIn Buenos Aires? Maybe.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?”
    â€œIn Spain they’d throw tomatoes.”
    That put a damper on our conversation.
    Alfonso draped a conciliatory arm around my shoulders. “No te preocupés,” he said. “Women are like cats. Either you cotton to them or you don’t. My Renata is worse than that ersatz flamenco dancer. She loves to argue for argument’s sake, and nothing is worse than a female sophist enamored of specious altercation. It’s exhausting. She throws away money like a millionaire even if she only has twenty pesos. My other girlfriend, Sofía, is frugal and never confrontational. She’s pregnant with common sense and compassionate spirituality, a regular Teresa of Ávila. She also wants children, as I do. Renata thinks kids are a filthy mucus that should be flushed down the toilet. She’s more like Hedda Gabler.”
    He paused, reflecting on his two women.
    â€œBut it’s Renata I’m crazy about even though she drives me crazy.”

28. Tiny Brains
    I entered the Mexican Village restaurant on Thompson Street chased by a gust of frigid wind. I had extra cash from running errands for the messenger service on Sixth Avenue near Charlton. I sat down next to La Petisa and Popeye who were halfway through a meal of enchiladas, refried beans, and red wine. They were in high spirits. The waiter brought me a wineglass.
    Popeye filled it as he said, “We are celebrating our noviada. I’ve inherited the five languages from Luigi.”
    â€œI told Luigi good-bye,” La Petisa said. “One more day of the festering place he calls his pad and I would have gone bonkers. El Coco walked in on me when I was taking a shower and didn’t even apologize. Of course, I have exchanged Luigi for a man who rolls his underwear into tiny bundles. I press them with an iron to make them pretty, but he immediately scrunches them up into balls. He claims he learned this from the navy and it keeps his clothing neat. Neat? Caramba! I also make him wear a shirt in bed because those tattoos are disgusting. And when is he going to buy some
teeth
?”
    I said, “Hey, don’t be so mean. It isn’t po—”
    â€œDon’t worry, kid,” Popeye interrupted. “She’s not even firing BBs. These teeth were knocked out by a Singapore hooker. An Italian puta once stole my wallet, my bell-bottoms,
and
my seaman’s card. An Egyptian slut stabbed me in the buttocks with a hat pin. I am used to the abuse of women. In fact, I like it as long as they give me the Little Clamshell in return.”
    I summoned the courage to address La Petisa: “Well, you go with a lot of guys. Don’t you ever want to stay with one person?”
    â€œI do the same thing with countries,” she said. “That’s how I like it. Every nation I visit has the most

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