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The sun shined bright and blazed hot that summer, a summer more than a few years back but not at all that long ago. In the San Joaquin Valley is where our tale lies... surrounded by mountains and rolling hills where you see grazing cattle meandering in an ever coil up the steep golden rises, here perched on the side of a treacherous highway sits a large Flea Market. This market has an unmistakable giant red barn and when days are good the place is filled to the brim with customers and the sounds of haggling, rambunctious children, and their parents scolding remarks.
Every weekend the Canezales family would set up their two stands, one for the fruit and vegetables that Antoinetta picked from her garden and cluster of fruit trees at their meager home, and the second, a couple stands down and across, was where Marcos would make and repair zapata. Now their other children were older and either had families of their own or worked for other farms. But their youngest, who was about eleven, helped them down at the Flea-market. His name was Poncho or Ponchito depending on who addressed him. He always sang in spanglish while he played a cheap little guitarra to entice people to come buy his mothers good produce. His mother was a polite and slightly talkative middle-aged woman whom everyone loved mostly because she was down to earth and treated people as if they were of her own flesh & blood.
No one was a stranger in her eyes. Marcos, stern yet humorous like many good fathers, was quite skillful at making and repairing shoes even though it was a side job of his. He regularly worked as a mechanic at a friends car garage during weekdays. The couple made just enough to fill their families bellies and buy decent clothes ever so often but the love they shared filled in many, if not all, of the gaps in their tattered finances. One busy market day Antoinetta was tending her stand surrounded by a couple fresh baskets of lettuce, one of peaches, one filled with tomatoes, and another of various chili peppers. As usual Ponchito was strumming his slightly out-of-tune guitar to the likeness of an estranged version of the Three Blind Mice and singing: Te apiece comas algo?
Are you hung-ung-gry? Mi madre tena's fruit... y verdure sign se venue! Between songs about his mothers fruit, Ponchito would usually blaze into La Bamba and folks would gather around and delight in the boys enthusiasm and his proud mothers smile. This time though an arrogant older woman hobbled over.
At that very same moment it seemed like a stray cloud from the parched sky passed under and blighted the bright sun. She wasnt Mexican even though she had a similar complexion and a similar curl yet more tightly wound. She looked like one in her mid-sixties trying to look young but obviously overcompensating... Her thick coat of make-up barely hid the wrinkles around the eyes & mouth that come from smoking while cheaply dyed hair crowned the Picasso face with its witch-like features. Below her abnormally long & sharp nails, writhing around her aged fingers were works of strange jewelry wrought with an ancient and long forgotten style. Her eyes were of a curious hue and the brows above fiercely stung, sharp and snake-like.
Antoinetta had never noticed this lady before but so many strangers come and visit that it wasnt too uncommon; still this womans cold presence could be felt. The old woman gawked around the stand with cigarette holder in-between fingers so very tall & skinny and stopped in front. Are you the Antoinetta who sells her homegrown produce? rapped the skinny old bitch in a raspy voice. Why yes answered Antoinetta in a thick Spanish accent. May I help you with anything?
She nervously exclaimed. Maybe... Maybe trailing off as she began picking up some lettuces. Lets see if you have what I need... hmmm she muttered wickedly, and while groping the swollen fruit and vegetables she would toss them carelessly into what ever basket she fancied. Poncho had stopped playing partly in disgust and partly due to his lack of spark yet was unable to turn away like when watching a bad accident.
Terrible, wretched stuff! Not a thing that I want! Much better things fifty years ago cried the old woman. He himself was insulted but seeing the pained look on his mothers face was the last straw.
Esuche! You impolite old bat! he cried angrily. First you squeeze and grope the stuff with your wrinkly hands and then you mix up the fruits vegetables!
After this you have the nerve to screech that its all no good and terrible! Now no one in their right mind will buy our produce! With a hint of sass the over due prom queen shot an arrogant look at the boy and with a hoarse chuckle exclaimed: so you like to shout and holler wildly, oooh youll be the one who goes ape. At this moment the bitter wretch shot a gang reach out to the helpless fruit and bit a ferocious chunk out, choked, and spat the pulp onto the dusty ground.
This fruit is disgusting! Wretched stuff has all gone rotten! Those long arms of your should be hacked off if you cant be polite! Poncho gasped with more fire than before. Antoinetta seeing that the spectacle was clearly out of hand and noticing that passers-by, growing like a cancerous mass, began to quickly surround the dispute gave a pardon in regards to her protective son and promised the witch what ever she desired as long as she would leave peacefully. So grabbing a bag full of peaches & tomatoes in her left hand, a special blend of different chili peppers in her right, and three heads of lettuce the woman began to slowly stroll away.
Antoinetta, though upset about the incident, still had a warm heart and seeing the lady fumble around with the produce in her two bony arms was distressing. So she hollered aside to her son: Ponchito, I want you to go and offer help to that woman! ... and do whatever she asks of you. Pleading he exclaimed, Ma ma, pleeeeaase dont make me! but as soon as she put her hands behind her hips and gave him that encouraging stare he humbly sulked over to the woman who, by this time, had all of her belongings in disarray. Mi madre wants me to help you with your vegetables madam.
He said with his face to the ground. So your mother wishes for her youngest to help carry my things? Home. She grumbled. Well follow me out to the parking lot! At this the boy picked up the sac of lettuce and moseyed through the multitudes of people.
Im not sure if it was by chance or that the old lady wanted to park at the very rear of the lot but thats where her old rusty station-wagon slumped. It was parked half crooked and when she started it up it smoked & backfired several times. When Poncho finished putting the fruit and vegetables away he heard his stomach rumble hadnt eaten all day. Been working all day without lunch have you boy? She eerily blurted. Why ye-e-yes maam Poncho replied warily.
Well you better come with me, I only live a few zigs and a zag away The witch said with surprising sincerity. I dont know, mi madre might be upset if I come back late. He exclaimed as a shy excuse. In a convincing and commanding manner she stung: Nonsense, your mom told you to help me with my things and now I will need you to carry them from my car to the house. So what if you come back late? You will be nicely fed and by that time the market will be free of hubbub I will even drop you off at the entrance.
So Poncho agreed and got in to the messy old car that looked as if hadnt been driven in fifty years. Dead walnut leaves still clung to the hardened windshield wipers. They drove for more than twenty minutes up strange twisted roads and back down around hill sides. They didnt say any words, but mumbled to themselves the strange gang old woman looked as if she lusted to get back to her home by the way she clutched the wheel and by the appetite that hung in her captivating pupils. All of the spooky dirt paths that fork from the main road, the ones people shudder at when on unfamiliar mountain passages during twilight, were the ones that this dilapidated old car took.
The last road (the one to her hut) steeply rose up for a bit and as they approached the top one could see that it leveled and emerged into an old and thick, un manicured walnut orchard. Poncho rolled down his window to the sound of crunching leaves & night insects which, fooled by the artificial dark caused by the trees, were chirping and clicking wildly. He noticed the walnuts that hung in the branches and could see that they were all rotten; they seemed to crumble when sight caressed them. The car rolled up into a decaying wooden shed covered in rusted tin and just before it ran through the other side it stopped abruptly. Dont forget to roll up the window boy!
the old woman hacked. As Poncho stepped out cobwebs plastered his face and strangled him with Close phobia. He rushed out spitting and slapping the dusting old webs away. The old woman seemed to chuckle under her breath. Now get my things and hurry inside!
Ponchito managed to get the fruits and lettuce that the woman had swindled from his mother and brought them to the front steps. The little house was once a teal now a dingy shade of its original color and chipping badly. The sad wooden shingles that covered the feeble home were covered in moss and lichens. The steps led into a filthy glassed in porch similar to those found in Victorian architecture. This one was filled with old trash, miscellaneous childrens clothes, eye-glasses, and mismatched shoes but when the entrance widened he couldnt believe his eyes.
Bright tapestries weaved of truer and deeper colors than the rainbow lined the upper walls and other knick-knacks little Ponchito had didnt recognize stood on beautifully crafted shelves. A heavy aroma of incense also awakened his senses as he dragged in the hoard; he slipped several times on the shiny glass floors that lined the brilliant inside. There were different areas of decorative style; some parts were furnished with Egyptian artifacts and furniture, Marble columns, much like the ones found in ancient Greece but the miniature, held up the corners of the house. Stuffed animals, now extinct, hung in cleverly decorated places and all seemed to contain some kind of plea in their eyes.
Free research essays on topics related to: exclaimed, fruit, fifty years, chili peppers, vegetables
Research essay sample on Chili Peppers Fifty Years
