GRINGA (33 page)

     
             
She and her husband Jimo, rode into the village, rounded up a whole lot of orphaned kids, including
Troy
, Diablo and Santana and took them to her home. She promised Diablo that if he stayed and helped in her plantation, she would prevent the authorities from placing him and
Troy
in different foster homes.

             
Since Diablo was terrified of losing his only brother, he agreed. Diablo looked a lot older than six, so he was made to work longer and harder in the Christa’s plantation.

    
             
But he was smart and strong and challenged Jimo’s abusive, unfair rules and regulations. To keep him in line, Jimo beat him on a daily basis. Jimo’s favourite punishment – hold little Diablo’s his head underwater until he passed out. Then get someone to administer mouth-to-mouth until Diablo recovered. Christa stood by and laughed while it happened.

    
             
‘So that’s why he’s afraid of water! Not because he’s a pussy.’ 

    
             
‘No Senorita,’ Rosa says.
Diablo not a pussy, Senorita.’

             
‘Christa – gosh, how
could she allow this when she herself had kids?’

    
             
They tell me that some nights, D
iablo was chained to a dog kennel, while the others slept inside the house.

             
Jimo also extinguished cigarettes on Diablo’s palms and later progressed to Diablo’s body.

             
Some weekends Jimo held an open day where he invited everyone, including people from his neighbouring villages to view the animal called “Diablo” who was chained to a fence.

             
Children were allowed to throw stones, poke and humiliate Diablo while he was paraded in chains. Over time, Diablo became reclusive and even when he was released from his chains, he chose to hide in the dark shed away from people.

    
             
‘Jimo is such an asshole!’ 

    
             
‘He biiig asshole Senorita,’ Maria says, tears filling her eyes, ‘very biiig asshole. Diablo put tattoos all over his body to hide the cigarette scars.’

    
             
‘So that explains the tattoos. Ohmigod!’ I put both my hands on my head, ‘I got Diablo wrong.’

             
‘Everybody get Diablo wrong,’
Rosa
says.
             

             
I put down my glass. Suddenly, I no longer wanted to drink and party. I’m really sober now and …there’s that word again – sad. Why the hell did they have to tell me all this? Upset my status quo? I was happy with the way things were – Diablo was a brutal thug who killed for fun and I was going to let him hang for his sins.

Now I have this feeling inside me – the same feeling I felt when I realise that my mom had gone to a
better
place
without me.
             

             
Rosa
looks at the bottle and gawks. ‘Maria you finish it all!’

             
‘No, I do not finish it. You finish it. So shut up!’

             
‘You shut up!’
Rosa
replies.

             
‘No, you shut up!’

             
‘No, you shut up!’
Rosa
rises to her feet and moves slowly towards Maria, her eyes wild and fiery. 

             
‘Wait!’ I cry.

             
‘You a bitch!’
Rosa
says.

             
‘You mother a bitch!’
             

             
‘Wait, what happened after …?’

             
‘You talk about my mother?’
Rosa
hisses.

             
‘Ladies!’ I shout.

             
Rosa
turns her head slowly to look at me, her eyes slanted. ‘Go bring us ’nother bottle, then we tell you more.’

             
‘Tell me first then I’ll bring you …’

             
‘No!’ Maria intervenes, ‘You bring us cheese too. Cut it into small blocks, put on a plate, bring it here then …’

             
For fucks sake! The bitches are taking advantage of my good nature. They are
my
servants and I am
their
boss, master – whatever and I need to remind them of that.  

    
             
I glare at them. ‘Eh, Vodka or Tequila?’

  
 
             
‘Vodka,’ they chorus.

             
Pissed off, I hurry away. How dare they treat me like a hired hand?  I’m
Mujer de Diablo.
Diablo’s woman, remember? Lady of the Manor. I will not stand for …

             
‘Make quick,’
Rosa
yells. ‘Go! Go!’ Go!’

             
‘
Si
,’ I say meekly and fetch Vodka and a platter of cheese for my drunken servants so that they will divulge more about Diablo. Maria said she was not a big drinker – my ass!

     
             
As they polish another bottle, they fight over each other to tell me more.

             
‘Diablo is thirteen, Jimo hit him with a whip over here,’
Rosa
says, pointing to her forehead. ‘Then Diablo, he turn around and he grab Jimo and cut his neck. Front of everybody. Some people clap.’

‘Omigod!’

             
‘Then everyone be scared of Diablo, Gringa. They call him a mad dog and they call him devil. Diablo, he put tattoos over here.’ She points to her forehead.  

    
             
So that’s why he’s got three green lines over his forehead; to cover the scars left by Jimo’s whip.

             
Maria explains that all the men in his gang followed suit and tattooed three green lines across their forehead – an emblem that identified them as Diablo’s men. 

             
They tell me that Diablo used to paint his face black, probably to scare and intimidate anyone wanting to take Jimo’s place. In time, his beard covered his face and the black paint was no longer necessary.

    
             
Christa was not happy with Diablo as their leader and called in her brother Tony, known as “Tongue” to take Jimo’s place. Tongue was older, ruthless and strong and Christa was sure he could handle Diablo. But Diablo rejected Tongue’s leadership and almost killed him in a fist fight. Defeated, Tongue backed off and accepted Diablo’s leadership.  

           Terrified of his mental state, Christa had no choice but to accept Diablo as their leader even though he was only thirteen. She was smart enough to realise that one of Diablo’s strength was his fearlessness and having Diablo around kept them all safe from other bandits and drug lords.

    
             
‘So that’s what they mean when they say he killed his own father,’ I murmur, remembering the FBI’s words. They too had it wrong. Hope they’re listening.  

         ‘Diablo not trust anyone Senorita,’
Rosa
says. ‘He not allow anyone to get close to him. Only
Troy
. But we take care of them – Diablo and
Troy
. Maria and me, we like
Troy
. We like Diablo. They are our boys. Where they go,
Rosa
and me, we go too. But Christa she make Diablo do bad things. She
put
bad stuff in his head and she make him bad.’    

    
             
‘Si,’ Maria says, ‘Diablo don’t sleep.
See his eyes? Red, eh?  Can’t sleep. He smoke all night. Bad dreams. He too scared to close his eyes.’ 

             
Wow. The monster, the beast, the monster that filled my nightmares has trouble sleeping because of bad dreams. Unbelievable! 

             
When the second bottle of Vodka is finished, I bring up the subject of housework.

     
             
Both women look at me with arched eyebrows.

             
‘
You
do it today,’
Rosa
slurs.

             
‘
Si
,
you
do it today,’ Maria echoes.

    
             
‘You have a hope in hell!’ I snarl and before they get physical with me, I stagger to my room and collapse on my bed, shell-shocked by all I’ve heard. I mean Diablo was a six year old boy and yet he was tortured and treated worse than an animal. How does anyone get past that?

C
HAPTER EIGHT

Things change after that - I can no longer look at Diablo the same way after learning about his terrible, abusive and
horrendous
childhood. Now, so many things fall into place, like his rage, his reclusiveness. 

             
The world has him wrong. If they knew what motivates Diablo, they too would look at him differently – not as a beast or devil they make him out to be, but as a wounded creature, terrified of being hurt by anyone.

             
Diablo was not born evil, he was moulded into evil.

             
As for
Troy
– no wonder he was always protecting me, I am his brother’s property and he has Diablo’s back.  

    
             
Frankly, I have absolutely no sympathy for Jimo. The fucker deserved to die.

             
Christa – God I hate her – what she did to Diablo. But she is smart enough know how to handle Diablo; keeping him angry, guarded and paranoid.  

   
             
As for Santana – now I really feel sorry for her. Christa must have put so much pressure on her to help control Diablo – keep him on a leash to ensure he never strays, yet he has – he wants
me
now. Santana must hate me because I came between her and Diablo and now she’s almost obsolete. Knowing what I know now I would like to tell her that I have no intention of taking her place. But would she believe me?