Forty protective saints
Chapter 13. About how cigars and how they explode
Cuernavaca, Morelos, Mexico
In a way Grandfather still fumigated with his trusty Cessna. In his own words:
“I don’t believe that things are so different, here and now; before, I would spend my time, flying over the cotton plantations and fighting the cotton plagues. Now I still fly, not only over the cotton fields, I fly all over the country! I’m still fighting the blights, while I’m in the air. The pests I fight, nowadays, are called by a different name: now, we call them Contras; and the government, or, if you prefer, our taxes, pay their wages.”
“So tell me Jairito, did you use dynamite sticks to fumigate before?” Grandmother asked ironically.
“Well, Manuelita, in a way, you’re right. Some things may have changed, you know,” he replied with a faint stutter.
“Yes, some things change. I agree totally with you. Your brain has changed for some poor bird’s brain. Since when has the cotton fired back with anti-aircraft guns, or maybe, I didn’t know about it, before you enlisted?”
“Not to worry Manuelita, you should know, better than anyone else, that I’m fully protected by the forty saints you pray to every night. If I were flying a commercial airplane, any self-respecting commercial airline would surely charge me for the excess luggage!”
In the land of volcanoes’ Chapters Purchase the book