Mosquito Read online

  Do I look like a stereotype? she ask, taking the towel and wiping off the counter again. African-American girls fishing on a riverbank, ain’t that a stereotype?

  I know she start to say colored girls. ’Cause I heard her say colored girls before, but I ain’t correct her. And then in Covington, Kentucky, they be thinking she a colored girl her ownself, ’cause in Covington them that ain’t white is colored.

  And you got flashing eyes, that another stereotype, I says. You know, the flashing-eyed señoritas, that supposed to be a stereotype.

  I got lightning eyes, she say. And that peacock skirt that probably a stereotype too. I try to picture her fanning that skirt out and dancing the fandango. Or one of them Mexican dances.

  And all y’all supposed to be “women of questionable virtue,” like us.

  Oh, yeah?

  I just thought you was the amiable sort, I says, about her friendliness I mean. I take one of the pretzels and chew. It one of them big pretzels, not them little stingy pretzels.

  She lean toward me and her breath smelling like them cloves. I am the amiable sort, she say. But my virtue ain’t to be questioned.

  I ain’t sure what she mean by that, but I tries to say something witty, like, Well, I won’t question your virtue, then, but that only sound half-witty, so I just sips my Budweiser. And gets me some of them tortilla chips and that salsa. She allergic to that salsa, like I said, but she get her some of that salsa with the jalapeños. And then she saying again how she could tell when she first met me I ain’t from South Texas or the Southwest either, ’cause she be saying a lot of African Americans they be treating Mexicans and Chicanos just like them gringos like they’s second-class or even third-class citizens, and I be treating her like she a first-class citizen, so she figured I must be from some part of the country where they ain’t many Chicanos. And then I be thinking about some more of them Chicano comics that me and her watches sometimes on television. Ain’t but several Chicano comics that’s regulars on television, so y’all probably know which comic I mean. I be thinking about the one that keep calling hisself Hispanic and she keep correcting him and say Chicano, but correct him sweetly, you know, ’cause he her favorite comic, like I said, but then I be wondering what the difference between that comedy and that stereotype ’cause it seem like a lot of that comedy depend on the stereotype, like a lot of that Cheech comedy seem like that depend on the stereotype. And I be wondering what be making that Cheech different from the stereotype of the Chicano, ’cause it seem like a lot of that Cheech humor be the stereotype of the Chicano. Lot of that Chicano humor, though it remind me of that African-American humor, ’cause a lot of that depend on the stereotype and a lot of times you can’t tell the difference between the comedy and the stereotype. That Cheech he one of my favorite comics though, but I ain’t tell Delgadina when I first come in this cantina I be seeing that Cheech everywhere. He look like Cheech, I be wanting to say when she come back from waiting on a table, but I don’t want her to think I think all Mexicans and Chicanos looks like Cheech. But he one of my favorite comics, though, that Cheech. And I even be imagining that Mr. Delgado look like Cheech.

  Even Mr. Delgado don’t question my virtue, she say, and be looking at that Miguelita, and I’m imagining that Cheech standing up at the bar sipping my Bud Light and questioning Delgadina’s virtue, and then she take that little notebook of hers from under the bar and scribble something. ’Bout spies maybe. Wonder folks ain’t suspicious of her, she always be scribbling in that little notebook. And it ain’t no nondescript notebook neither. She done embroidered it with some type of Mexican scene with desert palm trees. That ain’t the stereotype, though, I tell her, Mexican-American women scribbling in notebooks. Unless they counting up the figures for some monte bank game, she say. And then she say the same thing in Spanish; at least I hear the word monte bank. I don’t ask what monte bank is, I just figures it’s some kinda gambling. I wait for her to list the ways I fit the stereotype—my big mouth, for example, my African nose—but she don’t. And I guess women like me supposed to have flashing eyes too, except comic flashing eyes, not seductive ones. Unless we the mulatto type, who suppose to be just seductresses, and I ain’t the mulatto type, though I’m told that’s a classification for mules, not women. Mulatto supposed to be an original classification for the mule. Course they’s mulish women. And they even got this word for women sounds like mule—muliebrity. But the mulatto that supposed to be a young mule. I think. That a Spanish word, ’cause they supposed to have words for every kinda mule. In English a mule a mule, but Delgadina she say in Spanish they got a word for she-mules and he-mules too. And then she be asking me how come I’m so curious about that Spanish, ’cause I ain’t even ask her what her name mean in Spanish. And then I almost be telling her about that Maria. But them mulatto women they’s always depicted with having more femininity, though, they always allows them to have they femininity. And that’s probably why them mens that likes the mulatto type likes the mulatto type ’cause they be thinking of them as more womanly, more feminine.

  You know, you oughta take advantage of learning some Spanish, she say. Even Miguelita knows Spanish. She knows Spanish, French, Italian, German. She’s teaching me a little Italian and German. I already know some French. From high school, you know.

  I know bicho, I says.

  Yeah, don’t everybody. But don’t you be saying no bicho to no Puerto Rican, though. In New York, they think I’m Puerto Rican.

  In New York, they even think I’m Puerto Rican, say the imaginary Cheech.

  Anyhow, now I’m chewing pretzels and she’s scribbling in her notebook. I think she’s going to tell me some tale of calling a Puerto Rican bicho in New York City, but she don’t. Maybe she scribble something about calling a Puerto Rican bicho in her notebook. And I’m thinking ’bout that muliebrity. Where I heard about that muliebrity? Probably Delgadina, ’cause she always got that dictionary out too, for her writing class, looking for metaphors, she say. Me, I don’t think you supposed to look for no metaphors in no dictionary.

  You a Catholic, ain’t you? I asks. ’Cause, you know, a lot of Mexican Americans they be Catholic, like they be Catholic in most of them South American countries, and I be wondering what the difference between that and a stereotype. Probably ain’t all Spanish-speaking people Catholic, though seem like they all Catholic, and them Italians, and them Portuguese, them Brazilian and them Portugal Portuguese. Seem like somebody said about ninety percent of them Portugal Portuguese is Catholics. Then if you make a Portugal Portuguese a Catholic, that be a stereotype?

  She scribble in that notebook, probably something about spies, or maybe about calling a Puerto Rican a bicho in New York City, and then she scratch her ear and bite the tip of her pen. It ain’t none of them Bic pens neither, it one of them oversize psychedelic-looking pens. So it ain’t like she trying to hide her scribbling. I guess if she a real spy she be trying to hide her scribbling or have one of them little bitty pens like that priest or maybe the real spies they be scribbling in plain sight. But nowadays they got all them electronic spy equipment. And maybe that pen really a tape recorder.

  Naw, but I know plenty. Why? she ask. Most of the people in this cantina is Catholics.

  I was just wondering if they’s Carmelite priests or just Carmelite nuns.

  She scratch her nose with the butt of her pen. I be thinking some of that psychedelic color rub off on the tip of her nose but it don’t. She scratch her nose again with the butt of that pen, then chew on the pen’s tip. I think there’s just Carmelite nuns. You a strange bird, Mosquito. How come you think about that? Why you think up a question like that? Her eyes is as inquisitive as that Carmelite nun’s, ’cept they’s big inquisitive eyes. She got pretty eyes, but she ain’t got them hieroglyphic eyes, like that Father Raymond, that Sanctuary priest, though I’ve seen a lot of Mexicans and Mexican Americans—Chicanos—with them hieroglyphic eyes.

  Naw, they’s this Carmelite mission school that’s on my route,
so I was just wondering. They’s a Carmelite nun, so I was just wondering if they’s Carmelite priests.

  She look at me a moment. Her inquisitive eyes, they’s full of amusement too. She tell me she don’t have a lot of women friends. Actually, she say I’m her first woman friend. She a kinda smaller woman than I am, but she say if Mutt and Jeff can be friends, then we oughta. Though she the first one start talking ’bout us being friends, ’cause I be saying, This Delgadina, my bartender. And she be saying, This Mosquito, my amiga. In fact, any vato that come in the bar that I ain’t met yet, she be introducing me as her amiga. I mean, vatos that she herself know already. And even one vato named Vato, like in that play we seen, or maybe she just be calling him Vato like it his name or maybe it just his nickname. Course I don’t know if a non-Chicana is supposed to use the word vato, so I don’t use the word vato, though I sometimes says hombre. But I think only a Chicano supposed to use that word vato.

  That’s Our Lady of Mount Carmen Mission. It was founded by a Carmelite monk or friar, I think. They got Carmelite monks and friars, anyhow. Must got Carmelite priests. I don’t see why they wouldn’t have Carmelite priests if they got Carmelite monks and friars. Though I don’t think they’ve got any Jesuit nuns, though. But I ain’t Catholic, like I said. She run her hand through her black hair and scratch the corner of her little upturned nose. It a small nose and a broadish nose at the same time. And she got tiny moles on the side of her face. All beauty marks. A nice gal, like I said. Maybe thirtyish. Her eyes could be fawn’s eyes.

  Naw I ain’t Catholic, she say. But I know plenty that are. And plenty that think they are. Even Miguelita the gringita thinks she is. But she been a Buddhist and a Hindu too. I think she’s reading about the Islamic faith now. And she flirts with a lot of them cults too. Her and Sophie, though I think she flirts with more cults than Sophie. You know, they’s got thousands of cults. I know Sophie’s a Catholic. She pour herself a soda and drop in a spoonful of that Neapolitan ice cream. She sip some of it, then she look like she standing on tiptoe but I know she putting her shoes back on. Sometime she kick them off and go walking around behind the bar barefoot, and other time she kick them back on. She act like she feel free behind that bar. Me working behind a bar like that I don’t think I’d feel no kinda freedom.

  She run her hand through her hair again, sip some of her rainbow drink, and then go take another order. She chat with the man and then she chat with that Miguelita and I be wondering if that Miguelita be telling her about them wines or if they be talking Catholicism and then Delgadina come back where I am.

  He says they got Jesuits and Franciscans and Benedictines and Dominicans but he don’t know no Carmelite priests, just Carmelite nuns. Even the true Catholics say they don’t know if they got Carmelite priests, though plenty of Jesuits and Franciscans and Benedictines and Dominicans. But he say they got Carmelite monks and friars, though, like I told you. Our Lady of Carmen Mission School, he say he used to go there himself, so he know they got Carmelite nuns. You want to know anything about Our Lady of Carmen Mission School or them Carmelite nuns you ask him. That Miguelita she say they got Carmelite priests, but you know that Miguelita. Hey, that’s a pretty good pickup line, though, or at least a good line to keep a conversation going. I mean, you asking me about that Carmelite priest. That Miguelita makes my notebook more than anybody, though, and that crazy vato from across the border, the one I call Cheech. And then she reach for that notebook of hers. She ain’t only scribble in that notebook but you can see them caricatures too. Got plenty caricatures of that Miguelita. In fact, nearly every vato that comes in the cantina she does a caricature of them, but of course she doesn’t show them the caricatures. Maybe she even got a caricature of that Mr. Delgado, but like I said I ain’t never seen Mr. Delgado, so I wouldn’t know his caricature from those of them other vatos. She got interested in them caricatures on account of them caricaturists at them art and craft festivals and I think she’s as good a caricaturist as them at them art and craft festivals, except she don’t like to show people they caricatures. They got them computerized notebooks now, you know. I seen one of them at the trade show. And I be telling Delgadina about them computerized notebooks. And you don’t have to be one of them computer literates neither, they say. She be reaching for her computerized notebook, they be thinking she really a spy then. All them modern technology. I don’t think Delgadina that fascinated with them computerized notebooks, though, ’cause I be showing her a catalogue with all them computerized notebooks that I got from one of them trade fairs. ’Cept them real spies they probably wouldn’t be scribbling in no notebooks, computerized or otherwise, ’cause they be having them photographic minds, like I said. Sometimes I think that Miguelita got herself a photographic mind, though, some of that shit she be telling about that Sophie, and all that shit about them wines, seem like you got to have a photographic mind to remember all them wines, and then that Delgadina be talking about all them languages she know.

  It Our Lady of Carmen Mission School, say Delgadina, scribbling in that notebook.

  I don’t think it Our Lady of Carmen Mission School though ’cause the name the Carmelite mm give me got plenty of saints in it. And Our Lady of Carmen Mission school ain’t got no saint in it. Of course I don’t say none of that. I just reach for some more of them pretzels and some more of them tortilla chips and salsa and have Delgadina pour me another Bud Light. She pour me the Bud Light and then she scribble some more in her notebook and run her other hand through her hair. Then she sip her rainbow drink made with that Neapolitan ice cream. She scratch the inside of her elbow on account of that salsa she eating. Then she scoop up some more of that Neapolitan ice cream and put it into her drink. Then she eat some more of that salsa and tortilla chips. In the restaurant section you can buy you that fried ice cream. You can get it made with that Neapolitan ice cream or any ice cream. I be asking Delgadina how they make that fried ice cream. She say they don’t really fry that ice cream, but she ain’t told me how they make that fried ice cream. Though she be saying some of them gringas they be wanting their fried ice cream made with yogurt rather than ice cream. That Delgadina she a slender woman to be always munching on that ice cream, though, and she also keep cereal behind the bar, that high-fiber cereal that she nibble on with her fingers. Maybe it the high fiber in that cereal that keep her slender, and she always be waiting on them tables, ’cause she the bartender and the waitress, at least in the bar section, the cantina section, ’cause they got them other waitress and waiters in the restaurant section. She got them tapering fingers. She one of them brown-skin Mexican Americans, like I said, the kind that you could mistake for African American till they tell you that they Mexican American or speak with they brand of English. She just got her a Houston accent, though, ’cept when she talk that Spanish and maybe she be talking that Spanish with a Houston accent, ’cause I guess that Spanish got as many accents as English. I know Delgadina went to wait on one of them vatos and she be saying he from El Salvador or maybe one of them other Spanish-speaking countries and she be saying she don’t understand his Spanish and have one of them other vatos to translate his Spanish and he be speaking Spanish. And sometimes when she be talking to one of her vato friends she use some Chicanized English, like that Cheech, at least like that Cheech in the movies, though the vato she call Cheech he don’t look nothing like the movie Cheech; he look more like one of them other comic. But they got Mexicans and Chicanos of all kindsa colors and people like Delgadina that why they call theyself the cosmic race.

  I ain’t never heard nobody talk about African Mexicans, though, but I know they had that slavery in Mexico same as the U.S. and a lot of them Africans that didn’t escape to Canada escaped to Mexico. I even heard tales of Africans jumping off the slave ships headed for the United States and swimming to Mexico, ’cause they abolished that slavery in Mexico earlier than in the States. I don’t know if they ever had that slavery in Canada, though. Delgadina she be telling me about these people supposed
to be a mixture of Indian and African that fought in the Mexican Revolution and telling me about all the women that fought in the Mexican revolution and how for the first time they felt free. But most Mexicans she be telling me is mestizos which is a combination of Spanish and Indian. That the closest she come to admitting she got any African in her own ancestry, though she don’t come out and say so. Anyway, she got them high cheekbones, the kind I heard somebody say once was so high they reach the ceiling. That supposed to be the Indian in the Mexican. The Native American. But somebody say you ain’t supposed to say Native American. You supposed to say the kind of Native American. If they Apache, you supposed to call them Apache. Like if African Americans knew they tribe, then we be Zulu Americans and Ashanti Americans and Hausa Americans and Thonga Americans or whatever, like on the National Geographic, but in America, though, all them tribes they all mixed up, though. Talk about the melting pot. That the African melting pot. Talking ‘bout America the melting pot, that Mexico maybe that the true melting pot. I start to tell Delgadina that Mexico that a truer melting pot than America, but she still scribbling in her notebook. But Delgadina, she say in Mexico they got they pure Spaniards too. Mexicans that look just like Miguelita. Peninsula people or something. I ain’t sure what they call them. But Delgadina she say there ain’t no pure Spaniards. Mexico, she be saying, be kinda like Cuba, but they be talking about Afro-Cubans and like I said I ain’t heard them talk about Afro-Mexicans. And even Delgadina don’t be talking about no Afro-Mexicans. We was watching some African tribe on TV when she start telling me about them Native American Africans fought in the revolution, but she ain’t admit to that African in her ownself. Sometimes they’s Native Americans that comes in this cantina, but most of the time I be thinking they’re Chicanos, and some even got Chicano names, but Delgadina be saying they’s Native Americans. Some’s Native Mexicans, though, and some’s Native North Americans. She be telling me one of her first boyfriend in Houston a Native American. And be telling me the Chicano’s Atzlan is they Turtle Island. Except the whole of America is Turtle Island. She say the whole of America them Native Americans calls Turtle Island, or I read that somewhere.