Part 2: Baja Leai & the Road to New York
Jesus and Andrea arrive in Baja Leai after the fire; Layla takes them in; they befriend a stray dog (Rufus); Layla outlines terms of their stay.
Andrea took a long, slow drag on the joint and held it in. When she exhaled, the ambient moon and starlight illuminated the cloud of smoke. It was a clear night, and Jesus could see the Milky Way uninterrupted, stretch all the way into the distant Pacific horizon. Waves washed rhythmically to shore, a hypnotic white noise against the relative silence of midnight. A frog croaked from the washed up debris and the edge of the rocky beach. There was no sand here, just uneven brown and steely-grey stones scattered in layers in front of the ebbing water for ten or twenty yards before reaching the tide line where the ocean had washed up sticks, bottles, dirt, and all sorts of debris where plants began to grow and shore-dwelling animals made their nests. Further on, tropical trees grew on the slope that overlooked the beach, obscuring the view from the top where houses lined the paved streets, only a few blocks away from Layla’s boarding house.
They had chosen this spot because of its relative safety and seclusion. According to Layla, the police, as with any college town like Baja Leai, are particularly strict, trying to impose order on the unruly students from all over Mexico and further. They had arrived just a couple days prior, with only some donated clothes and basic possessions, a sealed envelope addressed to Layla from Osito, and a bit of pocket change. Everything else had been lost in the fire. Even the acceptance papers into Baja Leai University had been destroyed. They clung to the promise that the coastal city and its prestigious center of higher education would provide for them. Layla, of course, had been totally understanding, and provided living quarters, food, and general hygiene items for both.
“I’m glad to help anyone in such a genuine, dire need,” She had said. Jesus was wearing a faded, worn sweater and pants far too big for him, strung up by a belt and cuffed up at his ankles. Andrea wasn’t outfitted much better. She took pity on the two young people, victims of a horrible, destructive crime.
What the envelope contained, Jesus and Andrea could only guess. Maybe it contained money. Maybe it simply contained an explanation of their sudden appearance and the unfortunate circumstances surrounding it. Either way, Layla opened up her home and her arms to the two refugees. They had taken it on faith and on Osito’s word that she would.
“How did you manage to bring this stuff? Why wasn’t it destroyed in the fire?” Jesus asked, watching Andrea take another puff. The cherry lit up to a bright orange before returning to a smoldering auburn as she passed it to Jesus.
She didn’t answer immediately, instead ignoring the question as he held the smoke in for a long time. Jesus watched her crane her neck to the sky, close her eyes, and slowly exhale the cloud of smoke.
He hit the joint. “I never kept it at the orphanage. I always kept it hidden close by under some leaves and stuff. Sophia would throw a fit if she found me with it. Also, it smells like skunk. It would be impossible to hide inside. Are you gonna pass it or hold it all night like that?” She said.
“I barely got a chance to hit it. Relax,” He took another toke.
“You can’t tell me to relax, kid. It’s my shit. Give me that shit,” She snatched the joint from his hand. There was a long silence as she inhaled and exhaled. Jesus didn’t say anything.
“I’m sorry, kid. I’m just really on edge.”
She was wearing a baggy grey sweater and jeans. Her long black hair was down, falling well past her shoulders onto her chest and back. Even though her obvious stress and anxiety, she was a beautiful mess.
“I feel like I haven’t been able to breathe since the fire. I haven’t really slept since then. This all feels like a dream, like it isn’t even happening to me,” Jesus said.
Andrea watched him intently, studying his expressions. “It’s alright, kid. We’re all gonna make it.” A form was approaching on the beach, low to the ground. Jesus squinted to make it out, but in the murky darkness, at that distance it was too far to distinguish. “Hey, look!” He told Andrea, pointing.
They watched as the form slowly approached. It was an animal meandering over the rocky beach.
“Come on, let’s go,” Said Andrea, spooked by the animal.
“No, I think it’s okay.”
“I’m serious, let’s go,” fear and concern rang clearly in her voice. She started towards the rough path that had led them from the street above to the beach below, but hesitated, waiting for Jesus to accompany her.
Jesus stay put. “Just wait. It’s okay.”
It was a dog, a medium sized brown terrier. The dog approached them casually, and stopped in front of Jesus, looking at him. If a dog could smile, he was smiling, and he was wagging his tail.
“Hello, boy. I’ll call you Rufus,” Jesus said, and reached down to pet his head. The dog blinked and kept wagging his tail. Andrea eyed the mutt with suspicion.
“What if he has rabies?” She said. Jesus looked at the dog, big round eyes full of peaceful benevolence.
“I don’t think he has rabies,” Jesus said. Rufus sat down on his haunches and looked and Andrea.
Andrea took a cautious toke from the joint and passed it to Jesus. She didn’t take her eyes off the animal, as if she expected it to make a sudden move at any time.
Jesus took another hit. The joint was beginning to run low. He ashed it with his finger. Rufus sniffed the ash, then lost interest and continued to look at Jesus.
“I don’t have any food, boy. Sorry,” He passed the joint to Andrea and bent down to check the dog’s neck for a collar. He found none. “What are you doing out here, Rufus?” He asked the animal, but it didn’t respond. It just stared back at him with his peaceful, unwavering gaze. The dog looked well fed, not like the skinny, malnourished street mutts he was used to seeing. No fear or malice was present in his eyes, just calm, unwavering happiness.
Andrea and Jesus finished the joint and tossed it into the brush. The dog watched them dutifully.
When they began to climb the steep trail back to the street, Rufus followed them. He tailed them all the way to Layla’s house, where he stood on the street and watched them enter the house.
Jesus turned before he closed the door and said, “Good night Rufus,” The dog just stared.
In the morning, Jesus awoke to the sound of The Beach Boys reverberating faintly from downstairs. The smell of chorizo wafted through the air. Shafts of sunlight filtered through the partially ajar curtains, reflecting on dust particles suspended in the air. The room was shared with three other beds.
One was occupied by a still-asleep inhabitant, and one was empty, its temporary owner already left.
Their suitcase was placed neatly against the wall, and their bed hastily made, but not in the same meticulous fashion that Layla kept the unoccupied beds in. Besides the beds, the room was only so furnished with a clock hung on the wall opposite Jesus’ bed, and a painting of flowers opposite that.
Andrea had been given private quarters for the time being.
Jesus still felt a little stoned from the night before. He stretched his legs under the sheets and turned to the other side, now facing the closed door. He felt comfortable, warm, and relaxed, and had no reason to force himself up out of bed. He pulled the covers up to his chin and drifted back to sleep.
When Jesus awoke a second time, he had to pee. For a few minutes, he laid contently in bed, basking in its comfort and security. Eventually, however, the call of nature overcame his complacency.
When he was done, he dressed, washed up, and headed downstairs.
“You’ve missed breakfast,” Said Layla, wearing another loose fitting skirt and revealing tank top.
“Lucky for you, I saved you a little something,” She walked over and handed him a couple pieces of fruit and some bread.
“It’s nearly noon. Did Sophia let you sleep like that back at the orphanage?”
Jesus grinned sheepishly, glad he had been afforded the opportunity to sleep in. Still, a hazy cloud of lightness and ambivalence hung over him from the night before. “No,” He answered.
“Tomorrow, I want you up at a decent time. It’s Monday and the weekend will be over. Andrea and you will go down to the college and speak with the superintendent. Technically, your scholarship isn’t meant to begin until the fall semester, but maybe in light of recent events, he will be willing to let you both begin early,” She said, then added after a brief pause, “Christian.”
She gave him a stern expression with a hint of a cheeky smile. Jesus’ face flushed with redness.
It was a name that would take some getting used to, “Where’s Andrea?” Jesus asked, quickly changing the subject.
“In her room, I imagine,” Layla replied. “Which reminds me, we need to talk.”
“Okay, let’s talk.”
“Look,” she said, circling the countertop in the center of the room to get closer to Jesus. “I’m not your mom. If Sophia was your mom, you can think of me as your aunt, but I’m not here to take care of you. It’s time that you and Andrea both become old enough to take care of yourselves. You are both young adults, and one day, the carpet will be pulled out from under your feet, and you’ll have nothing but your own wit and gumption to save you. You need to learn that.” Now, she was standing directly in front of him. Jesus could see the shape of her breasts through the tank top; she wore no bra. He was simultaneously attracted and intimidated by the older woman.
“Now, I am giving you a place to stay, partially because Osito has asked me to, and partially because I want to. But, unlike Sophia, and am under no obligation to do this. I have a business to run, and every bed that I can’t fill is money out of my pocket. So, as long as you and Andrea live here, you’re going to work for it,” She said, holding his gaze. “Now, follow me,” She walked to the back door, which led out to a small deck overlooking the garden and back yard. Jesus followed obediently.
“Andrea is going to do the majority of cleaning and care for the rooms and the guests. You are going to help her as needed, but I have something else for you.” She began to walk through the garden, the soles of her bare feet leaving imprints in the soil. She turned to face him again. “One of my greatest passion in life is botany. I think that I like plants more than people. They’re simple, and harbor no malice or ulterior motives,” Jesus thought of Rufus. “If I hadn’t become the owner of this place, I would have probably spent my life with plants caring for a garden or a greenhouse.” She began walking again, carefully avoiding stepping on one of her treasured beings.
“I’ve long wanted to do more with this garden. I have all this space,” She motioned to the expansive property, “But no time to care for it. I barely have enough time to run this business, as it is.
Even the garden I have is unkempt, full of weeds. You and I are going to turn this into something great.”
Layla began to lay out how Jesus would till and irrigate the earth and plant rows of vegetables and fruits under Layla’s careful planning and construction. He would fertilize the ground and water it daily, so that in the blistering heat of summer, the plants would grow tall and fruitful. He would keep the gardens free of weeds and pests and collect the products. When it began to yield enough, he would go into the markets in the mornings to sell the goods.
“But today, I want you to begin by weeding this whole area,” She said, indicating the garden where she stood. Jesus followed Layla back inside and ate his late breakfast before beginning on his task.
By lunch time, he had made a sizeable dent in the garden, starting from the outside edge and working his way in.
For lunch, Layla had laid out chorizo, cheese, lettuce, tomato, cilantro, rice, beans, and tortillas to make tacos. He ate with Andrea, the other inhabitant of his dorm, who had been sleeping that morning, a young, slight, long haired quiet man, and an American honeymooning couple, who were delighted to find that Jesus and Andrea spoke passable, if somewhat broken English.
“We’ve been here for a week. It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen!” The young woman said excitedly. “I’m so glad to find someone else who speaks English. John speaks some Spanish, but I only know a couple things. It’s been hard getting around but somehow we managed,” She looked at her new husband like a love-struck girl, which she was. Andrea snuck in a quick gagging face while they weren’t looking.
“Where did you learn English? You speak very well for someone so young,” She asked.
“We learned in school. Andrea and I grew-” Jesus said, but was cut off.
“That’s great! John learned in school. He was the best in his class. I wish that I could have learned in school, but I took French instead. That reminds me, when we were in LA … ” She droned on, speaking for her husband and not letting anyone else get a word in edgewise.
Poor guy. Probably won’t last long.
Andrea switched back to Spanish, intentionally leaving the American woman out of the loop.
“I’m going to finish my food upstairs. Good luck with this one,” She said, and abandoned Jesus there with the three strangers. The thin man followed suit.
“What did she say?” The woman said, turning to her paramour. He struggled, bringing into question the quality of his Spanish education. It occurred to Jesus that it had likely been several years since he had needed to use his skills.
“Anyway, like I was saying, you wouldn’t believe how John and I met. It was like something out of a fairy tale. He really was my prince charming. I was at the mall shopping with my girlfriends when … ”
It was like listening to a mosquito buzzing around your head, one that you couldn’t manage to slap out of the air. Jesus quietly tuned her out and wished he still had that joint from the previous night.
After lunch, Jesus re-dedicated himself to his work in the garden. It was meticulous, slow work.
When he pulled the weeds up, he would have to be careful to take them by the root, lest the top of the plant rip off from the base. If he did that, they would regrow and he would have to repeat the entire process again in a week or two.
Just before dinner, he finished weeding the garden and came inside. His knees, hands, and shoes were crusted with dirt and mud, and his fingers were sore from tugging on the resilient weeds. He set his clothes aside to be cleaned later and washed up again. Thankfully, the couple didn’t join them for dinner, which was a chicken soup. Jesus learned that the quiet man he had ate with earlier was a mathematics student named Alfred. He tried to ask Alfred about the university, but was met with unmotivated, incomplete answers. It was clear the quiet man wasn’t interested in conversation.
After dinner, Andrea and Jesus made another trip down to the beach to smoke, and were once again joined by their four-legged companion, Rufus. Stoned, Jesus stared out over the distant black expanse, trying to discern exactly where the starry sky met the equally abyssal waters, and which wavering points of distant light were genuine, and which were watery reflections. His vision swam before his eyes; the weed had made it hard to make out such precise details.
From somewhere in the tree line, a blackbird sang its sweet song into the dead heart of the night.