The bread smelled good. I loved walking by the bakery and dreaming of a piece of sweet bread melting in my mouth. It was rainy, we were cold and wet. The cows walked with a lazy rhythm as my brother Armando and I led them back home. Don Julio, as always, was at the door waiting for us and would give us our pay for grazing and caring for his cows who he called “La Muca” and “La Chiva.”
We would spend the afternoons looking for empty lots in our neighborhood Monte Verde in Guatemala City. The year was 1969. I was 11 years old and Armando was 13. Empty lots had nice long grass and would give the cows a good place to graze. While they were eating, we would challenge other kids to a game of marbles, a game of tip-top, or join in a game of street soccer. Sometimes we would get so caught up in the games that we would not notice the cows wandering away as they ate and we had to go find them in the tall brush. It was scary because they could fall into the ravine and die. This had already happened to other cows in the neighborhood. Don Julio knew we were dependable…most of the time.
One time when a cow fell into the ravine, there was a great commotion because as soon as it happened people rushed down, knives in hand and helped themselves to the meat. By the time the owner was notified, there was nothing left but guts, blood, and pieces of the rhine. This treatment was normal and was also applied to a car that had been stolen and then abandoned in the neighborhood. The kids started playing in it and then it was pushed into the ravine where it was dismantled by the local mechanics who were glad to get parts. Later, we played in it and pretended to be in a movie.
Taking care of the cows was kind of boring. Sometimes we would just fall asleep in the bushes and hope the cows would stay nearby. Usually they did, because they knew we had corn in our pockets and would feed it to them as a treat. They would lay down next to us and chew their cud. People would call my brother Jim West, a clever cowboy TV figure at the time. The reason they called him that was because he was a really good fighter and because he took care of cows. They called him a cowboy and me Gordon, his sidekick.
The udders on the cows got so big sometimes that they seemed very uncomfortable. I would go home, get a pitcher, and milk the cows. My mom was glad for the free milk. I learned in school about Romulus and Remus, the twin boys, that according to the legend had been found in the woods by a mother wolf who nursed them and as they grew they founded Rome and became the first kings. I always wondered about that. When I told my brother that story, he sat there listening with a blank stare. I guess the story really impacted him. Then after a couple of minutes, his face broke into a big grin as if a great revelation had him him. That was it! It had to be it! We were meant to be kings! So, without much thought, we crawled under one of the cows and began to suck on the tits like Romulus and Remus did. The idea was that after we did that we would just live our lives and let destiny take its course and we would become kings… somehow.
After a few seconds we darted from under the cow gagging and in the end we both threw up! The milk tasted terrible, the tits were bitter, and smelled gross! Never again! Forget it! I hadn’t been convinced of the idea anyway! The cows just looked at us and went back to grazing. We sat there for a while looking at each other in silence then broke into laughter and promised not to tell anyone. I haven’t… at least until now.