Chapter Six
That day and the next were busy: wash, wash, wash. Soon the busy days became a busy week and then a month and finally it was November and more and more people were still coming. Bess Tacos was booming, and Juan and Willy worked really long hours. They kept thinking Jipson would offer to increase their wages since they had been good about not showing up messed up from drinking or partying with weed, but some things are predictable and that is that good things will work around to be screwy in the end for those working. What happened was Jipson’s happiness at his success seemed to turn him against Juan and Willy.
One night, after working there the whole day, they had dumped the dishwater and were scrubbing the last pots and dipping them in the sink with the sanitizer.
“Clean the flies’ bodies off the window sill,” ordered Jipson as he passed behind them. He just said it like that, quickly, like Juan and Willy were there to be ordered. He had never spoken to them like that before, though Otis always did. Willy did what Jipson said, but he was sure upset by it. Those flies’ bodies had been there for a long time and Jipson had never thought of mentioning them before.
The next morning Jipson had complaints nonstop about the way they did everything in the kitchen. When he used to compliment them for dumping out the applesauce when a cockroach ran into it and praise them for lots of other honorable acts like finding cans that were dented and mouse-chewed bread bags and stuff, now he wanted them to hop to it and stay late doing all sorts of things he never wanted before like wiping the tables carefully, even on the edge and under the condiments, and filling napkin holders the right way so the napkins could actually come out one by one and not in a clump.
“And check the dishwasher temperature and dump it more often,” Jipson said. That took more time because every time you dumped the water it took a long time for the water to refill and, of course, you had to stop washing.
“Run the silverware twice like I told you. Once flat on the tray and a second time in the canisters.” That doubled the time it took to do the silverware.
“Wash those bodies down the floor drain with a bucket of water.” He was talking about cockroaches they had killed. Big sewer ones, a few months earlier. They were down in the floor drain and that probably wouldn’t look too good if the health inspectors came around again.
At the end of the third day from when he had started picking on them, they were drinking their beers in the booth and Jipson left the register where he was totaling up the receipts for the last few days and he ambushed them. He said: “Listen, I need full time sprayers now not this farting around from you two.”
“Excuse us?” said Juan.
“You heard me. That means you don’t quit till the dishes are stacked on the steel shelves in the front and not on the counter in the back and the three sinks are wiped dry, and the soap is refilled, and the steam table completely apart and wiped clean, every part of it. Oh, and don’t forget that the salsa bowls need to be refilled, enough for every booth and put them in the refrigerator on the tray with a note about the date they was filled and a tray on top. You’re always forgetting the note and the tray on top. That is going to get noticed on the health inspection. And, also, only one beer at the end of the night. Not two or three like you are taking now. I’m not made of money, you know.”
Jipson went back to the cash register.
Willy saw Juan’s eyes narrow at the big ass of his cousin as it went away, but he didn’t say anything, but just drank his beer in silence. Willy thought about the fact that they had run around the kitchen doing everything Otis and Jipson had demanded, and now he was attacking them? Willy could always count on Juan to give him support when he needed to feel better, but it usually involved an imagined trip to Puerto Penesco in his chromed-over motorcycle.
And Willy wanted to hear about something besides the motorcycle. After this tirade from Jipson, Juan’s hint back in September about them mining somewhere was beginning to sound a whole lot better to him. He completely forgave Juan for the Santa Claus Mine and what it had done to his brother’s truck. Willy was sick of Jipson ripping him another asshole, and he was thinking ‘Sayonara, buster, mining sounds pretty good compared to working in this fucking slave camp you’re running, thank you very much.’
“I had a great grandfather who did a little mining out here in Arizona in the 1930s,” Willy said out of the blue, “and to keep aholt of a claim on some pile of rocks out near the reservation he paid this guy who lived out near his claim to go out and dig a big latrine and to use it whenever he could. That was to show that somebody was out there working the claim. A full latrine was something that showed any nosy mine inspector that you were still actively mining the place. That way he could holt onto the claim and still have a job in town and not go out there so much.”
“A guy was paid to shit by your great grandfather?” asked Juan in amazement. “Is this what you are telling me, ese?” He always thought Anglos were pretty stupid about their money. He would ask Willy what he paid for certain groceries and snort at what prices Willy paid, like he could get it a hellava lot cheaper in the Mexican grocery stores. At Thanksgiving especially he would go on and on about what Anglos paid for their Thanksgiving dinners. He always knew where he could get turkey cheaper and he was sure all the Mexicans in town knew the same place, or they would just have beans instead that night, except for the rich Mexicans which he agreed were almost as stupid as Anglos.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Willy said testily, “but what I mean is I wish opportunities like that came for us, Juanie.”
“Bueno, with all the gold in the mine I’m thinking of...”
There was that tempting mine again! Willy wondered if Juan would mention it in a way that would let him in on it. If only Juan would say something definite about it, Willy had decided he wouldn’t let it pass by without acting interested and he would pump Juan for all the information he was willing to give. Not to steal the mine or anything, but to let him know that he was interested in trying to find it with him.
“...we don’t need to get paid to shit but it’s a pleasant prospect anywho,” said Juan, finishing his thought.
“It certainly is,” Willy said kind of half- listening to what Juan had said just then and kind of frozen in a way because he hadn’t gone on to talk about the mine in any detail and Willy was disappointed and frustrated and trying to think of what to say next to get him going on the topic again. Also, part of his mind was somewhere else imagining them, and especially him, getting rich for a change on a secret mine full of gold nuggets. This mine idea sounded too good for him to pass up. But things were getting awkward.
He did not want to intrude on anyone’s golden prospect but he was sorely tempted by everything Juan was saying. Willy wanted to tell Juan he was in on anything he wanted to do, and he would even do a lot of the grunt work, but he felt like he was being a pushy Anglo by doing it. Maybe Juan had in mind that the mine was going to be all his and he didn’t want to share it with Willy. Maybe he had somebody else in mind to go with him.
Sometimes Juan and Willy had troubles getting along about them being different cultures and Juan thought Willy was too pushy. An Anglo, Juan said, was just naturally pushy, but he didn’t like it and sometimes didn’t feel like putting up with it from Willy. Juan could be irritating to Willy at times, too, especially when he really got on his high horse about all of the Anglos and their problems. Willy thought Mexicans were natural hypochondriacs, always talking about illness and looking for drugs to fix what ailed them. Willy didn’t like being called an Anglo and lumped in with a lot of other people that he didn’t even know. Of course, nobody likes getting picked on, so he got all defensive about his people. Juan hated it when Willy mentioned his many health setbacks. But all in all they’d been friends throughout the years and they’d backed each other up.
Willy took a deep breath and went ahead with trying to feel him out about his part in this mine idea.
“I think we oughta plan to go out there to that
lost mine if you would let me in on it,” Willy said finally, not wanting to force his company on him or make him share gold he really had a right to. “I didn’t mean to make fun of the Santa Claus Mine when you talked about it in September. That probably just wasn’t meant to be, and you said whoever told you about that was messing with your head.”
“My friend, I accept your apology about the Santa Claus Mine. Forget about it. I knew you didn’t mean to be a pain in the butt even though you were being one. You are only an Anglo, after all, and you have to act the way Anglos do. I will gladly take you with me again,” said Juan. “In fact, Wilhelmo, I would be honored to have you as my partner in getting the gold. I can not do it myself. I’ll even take you with me when I get my chromed-over motorcycle and go on a vacation to Puerto Penesco.”
Willy felt real good to hear that. Willy was never happy when Juan and him were on bad terms and he wanted to settle that score about the Santa Claus Mine dig and his dissing Juan about it. Willy was pretty sure Juan had given up on his brother’s truck anyway. The news that they were going to be together on this gold mine thing was music to his ears. Maybe they were really onto something good, he thought.
“So, what’s the story? Where is this mine exactly?” Willy asked.
“Bueno—” said Juan, dropping his voice to a whisper and leaning forward as though he was ready to tell Willy everything. “Wilhelmo,” said Juan seriously, “ese, we need to get the book.”