The Old Bag and the T

Although it was the month called December, it was hot, very hot, as they looked long and hard over the land from their small shade on the face of the mountain. It was that time that the local people, the people whose hands were hard and bore many small scars, called “El Dia de las Camisas.” The man, who had come to his profession because of his beliefs, and the young woman, called “Rabbit” for symbolic reasons, knew the importance of the Dia, knew the importance of the shirts. But the shirts were big, very big; it seemed to pass all belief that to wear one required only $1, American.

They fumbled in their pockets; the horns blew; the scales of the great fish sparkled in the sun.

It was the moment to wear the shirts, to make the offering to the one called Ruth, and later, perhaps, after the sacrifices had been made and the earth cooled, to share the gorditas and red wine, and to say, at the raising of the glasses, “Merry Winter Holiday, Peace on Earth and Goodwill to all Men.”