Bane of Blood: La Gorgona

II, Part 21

For the most part, Fernando liked his job at the construction site. He got to work with his hands, which was a refreshing change to him, and his work crew was his crew of friends. The only drawback to the gig was his employer.

Alfonso the jefe liked Fernando, it was true. Fernando found himself wishing—as with Juan Francisco and others whose company he'd been compelled to tolerate in the past—that the jefe liked him a little less.

Fernando kept his distance as best he could from the man, but still the jefe grated on him. The key difference between his boss and his father was that his father wasn't truly a fool. Juan Francisco's clownishness was in large part affected for his own perverse amusement. The jefe's buffoonery was genuine—and all the more pathetic and off-putting for it. Yet Fernando felt obliged to humor him.

At least once per day the self-styled cowboy would seek Fernando out and draw him aside with a conspiratorial air. For 'a quick word,' he would say, but in truth to impart a bit of long-winded condescension framed as earthly wisdom.

With his hand clapped to Fernando's shoulder, he would lead him around the work yard, as though Fernando were his acolyte to be guided in the ways of life.

"Women, Fernando, are not straightforward like men. They are like children who love to play games. The trick is to make them think you are playing along with them. Why, just a few months ago, I met this little pussycat in Salento..."

Or—

"It isn't how much you drink, Fernando—but how you drink. A man must know how to hold his liquor. In fact, it is one of the tests of a man. The key is to know your limits and to pace yourself accordingly. The same rule applies to gambling. Why, if you're free tonight, I'll take you to play cards at..."

Incidentally enough, Fernando already had plans for the evening—as he always did. And so these hands-on life lessons were perpetually postponed. Where the jefe got the notion that Fernando needed or wanted this sort of mentorship in the first place, he couldn't imagine. He had only ever been vaguely polite to the man.

All Fernando could figure was that the jefe craved Fernando's admiration of him. This could only be because the jefe himself admired Fernando. It was mildly flattering, but mostly annoying.

Winking at Fernando now where they stood, apart from the others under the shade of a newly-erected awning, the jefe withdrew a rolled-up magazine from his back pocket. The magazine was dirty in every sense. Though not an old issue, it was well-worn—blotched and ruffled and dog-eared. Spine-broken at one spot in particular, to which the jefe flipped open and thrust toward Fernando with a repulsive mixture of childlike eagerness and impish glee.

It was all Fernando could do to keep a straight face at the image he saw: a stick-thin naked woman in cowboy boots, standing with her hip cocked to one side and a lasso in her hand. She had ridiculously large fake breasts, bleached-blonde hair and a bleached-blonde bush. She was not American, but was clearly and clumsily disguised as such. Her face was vapid, her brown eyes flat and empty. Fernando didn't think the sight of a woman had ever appealed to him less.

"Well?" The jefe elbowed him, leering. "What do you think, eh? Bet you haven't seen one like this before. Muy bonita, no?"

All Fernando could bring himself to say was, "Her tits are enormous."

The jefe nodded, looking extremely pleased with this response. To Fernando's relief he rolled up the porno mag. Pocketing it with tender reverence, the jefe sighed.

"La mujer de mis sueños."

Fernando believed him. When he rejoined the others on their smoke break, Chico stepped out to meet him. Sneering, he offered Fernando a cigarette and a light.

"What was it this time?"

Exhaling a fine, sinuous plume of smoke, Fernando smirked. "More love advice," he replied.