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Working Up
The boys dashed around the bases as the batter stroked the ball into left field. Their brown
bodies were streaked with dust as they played in the hot Saturday sun. The left fielder snagged
the ball while it was still in the air, and threw to first for the tag. The double play elicited
hoots and jeers as the two players who were out had to go to the outfield, while the pitcher and
catcher worked up to bat. Most of these same dozen kids could be seen every day after school
and most of the weekends playing workup.
Miguelito watched from his stone perch near where the boys had put first base. This was the
first time anyone had seen him for more than a week. The boys had crowded around him when he
first arrived. They all wanted to see the scar left by Enrique's knife. Well, Miguelito said,
it's not a scar yet. He pulled the bandage down a little, but it still hurt, so mostly they got
to see the plaster and gauze the doctor had put over the cut.
Miguelito and Enrique were a little older than the rest of the boys-they were about 10-and the
rest of the group looked up to them. The two had been friends for as long as anyone could
remember. Enrique surprised everyone when he had pulled the knife out during the fight.
Jeez, everyone argued about tag-outs in workup. Sometimes the argument ended in punches and
bodies rolling around in the dusty vacant lot that was the neighborhood ball field. It was
usually over pretty quick, though you could sometimes see where tears left their smudged track
in the dirt-caked faces.
Lots of the boys carried knives-mostly grav knives or switchblades. Their folks sometimes found
out and you could hear the hitting and yelling all over the neighborhood. Enrique's knife,
though, was special because he'd got it from his uncle. Paco was pretty tough. He'd been one
of the teen-aged kids people called pachucos. He'd returned from the state prison in San Quentin
a few months ago. Paco lived with his mother. So did Enrique's family. Paco's wife and kids
came back from Baja when Paco had been released. They lived there too.
One night Paco, his dad, brothers and other men from the family were drinking mescal in the front
yard. They were talking about cars and girls and jail-things like that. They were playing the
game where you try to bite the worm that floats in the bottle of mescal. It's a great game
because mostly people get big swallows of mescal instead of the worm. They were getting huge
swallows of mescal. When someone got the worm, they had to open a new bottle as that person got
to finish the rest of the bottle himself.
Paco ate the worm a couple of times that night. He was bragging about how good he was with a
knife. He pulled out the five-inch blade he kept in his back pocket and passed it around to
show everyone how sharp it was. It was so sharp, he laughed, he could skin the family's old dog
alive without hurting it. Some of the men were real annoyed with Paco's big talk. Some laughed,
but no one said anything because they were all a little afraid of this crazy drunk. Paco called
the old german shepherd who was laying near the pitfire someone had started in the yard. Most of
the men were sitting on car parts or chairs and stuff facing the fire. It was getting dark. The
fifth or sixth bottle was passing around the fire.
The dog came over to Paco, its' tail wagging feebly. He was a little afraid of Paco too. When
he was an arm's length away, Paco grabbed him by the muzzle and began skinning the dog. He
worked very quickly, removing all the fur and part of the skin below the neck to the rump and the
upper legs. When he was done, he let the dog go so everyone could see how sharp the knife was
and how skilled Paco was in using it. Paco laughed and, seeing Enrique watching from the street,
called the boy over to him. Don't be afraid sobrino! I won't skin you like I did the dog!
Enrique went to his uncle, who passed him the bottle and told him to bite the worm. Just then
Enrique's grandmother came to the circle of men. She had her hands on her wide hips and her large
breasts billowed out in front of her like the prow of a ship. Enriqueeee, she called. Ven acá.
Paco laughed again, but he put a gentle hand to his nephew's head and told him to mind his grandma
and go to her. The next day, Paco had to leave. He was going back to L.A. to get some work with
some of his friends. His wife was crying and saying she was going back home to Ensenada to her
father's house if Paco left. Enrique stood by his uncle's car. It was pretty nice; a '48 chevy
coupe that was fixed up pretty cherry.
As Paco drove off, he called Enrique over-hey, Enriquíto niño. You startin' to look like a
little man now. Pretty soon you be runnin' with the gang, no? Paco brushed back his ducktail,
and pulled his lucky's out from the little pocket he made in the sleeve of his t-shirt. He fished
one out of the slightly crushed pack, lit it and took a drag. As he let the smoke drift from his
nose, he looked his nephew straight in the eyes. Maybe you need something from your tío to help
you out, eh? He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the knife he'd used the night before.
Here. He handed Enrique the blade and drove off. The boy held it for a moment, then looked around.
He slid it into his back pocket to look at later when the old people weren't around. Maybe he'd
show the boys at the workup game.
Miguelito wanted to know if anyone had seen Enrique. Some of the boys thought he'd crossed over
the river and gone on to Tía Juana or maybe to Ensenada. Another boy said that he heard that he'd
got a lift to L.A. with a cousin and was staying with Paco. The boys wanted to know what Miguelito
was going to do. He said he wanted to cut Enrique's cojones off. Not too many of these boys knew
what, exactly, cojones were-yet. But they were always hearing about them getting cut off. They
assumed it was pretty bad.
Let's go play some workup-come on Miguelito! The boys started back to their field and began
throwing the ball around from boy to boy. Miguelito didn't want to play. He was too old now
for little boy games he said. His cousin wanted him to join up with his gang. Everyone thought
he was pretty cool since Enrique had knifed him while they argued over whether Miguelito had beat
out the tag or not. Miguelito had a zip gun he'd gotten from his cousin so he could shoot
Enrique if he saw him. Nobody wanted to see it. Zip guns were pretty common and never worked
very good. Finally, he left the field while the others played ball. It was a good day for
playing ball, nice and hot. There were lots of kids and some girls were hanging around watching
too.
Tomás belted the ball pretty far and was tearing around the bases. Lyle flipped it into the
relay and the ball came into Berto's glove just as Tomás started to slide into the general
area of home. You're out Tomás! Tomás wrestled Berto down to the ground and they
both were trading punches. The boys all laughed and called Tomás names and dragged
him off home. Someone threw him a glove. It was summer and the boys were playing
workup again.
Richard C. Holloway Born 1950 in Spokane, Washington. Lived throughout western U.S. (Montana, California, Nevada, Colorado, Washington). Professional soldier for 20+ years,
living in Germany for 12 years, in addition to Illinois, South Carolina, and Colorado. Book collector--primarily James Wright, Charles Wright and Tess Gallegher.
Favorite poets include Whitman, Neruda, Ritsos, Lorca. Favorite quote: "I am myself and my circumstances." (Ortega y Gasset).
Currently live in Olympia, WA where I work with the Crisis Clinic and Community Mental Health Center, and attend graduate school in my spare time.
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