Empire of Dirt

 

I looked back with an ominous glare, my reflection in the murky waters stared at me with contempt, jaded violet eyes were peering into mine as they surfaced from the swamp, while I stood within the mire, lost in thought. The forest’s path was a winding labyrinth of dust in the midst of unknown and dark terrain surrounded by nature’s beasts. Long ago, I took this path, and it led me right to this same spot, but after ages of being in absence of these surroundings, my memory has betrayed me. I cannot decipher and recall the roads that have led me here.

The darkness was bitter and caustic, like the cold perpetual winds that blew in the midst of these meadows. All had been silent and still, except for the rapid pounding of my skipping heartbeats. In the presence of the white, melting snow my flesh was dripping with sweat, exhuming a pungent odor of my own bodily scents. I was nervous, petrified, and anxious; this was not like me to find myself stranded in the middle of a place that was essentially cut off from any form of civilization.

As I stood, an echoing tap in the distance suddenly erupted, and my heart became silent to my ears as the sound grew in frequency and volume. A luminous flame glowed in the distance, from its dim origin it became brighter and brighter. As the flare became larger and larger, a figure appeared before my eyes. As it began to close in on me, I realized that it was a human being. He was a dark skinned man with no hair dressed in tiger fur skins, with a tooth dangling from his neck. His face was painted with black and red lines. At that moment, I realized a day of reckoning was to approach me, a moment that I had been dreading ever since I realized that I would have to face it.

I waved my hands, so he would recognize me. He nodded his head in response and began to rapidly approach me. When he stopped, about a foot away from where I stood, there was an awkward moment of still eye contact between us strangers. He did no sort of greeting; the matter must have been more serious then what I had assumed.

“You are here for the matters about Klymene?”He asked with a grave tone.

            “You must be his brother,” I asked.

            “Yes, I am Protis,” he said.

            “You must know, he is dead,” I told him sympathetically, as I bit my upper lip.

            “I have heard the news, it is sad,” he replied.

“But, you requested that I speak with you. What is it that you need to know?” I asked.

            “Why is he dead?” he asked.

            “He was killed,” I said.

            “But why so young?” he asked.

            “He had enemies,” I replied with the best answer I could offer.

“I would not ask you to wonder such great lengths so far away from your home just to give me such a simple answer. Ever since we got separated in that raid a long time ago, we never spoke since. I want to know who he was, who he became, and what he died as,” he said.

“You want me to tell you about his life?” I asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “Please, let us rest shall we,” he said as he guided his hand in the direction that pointed to a long log that had been the remains of a befallen tree. We walked slowly side by side, and sat beneath the shade, where it was surprisingly warmer.

“Well, he was my husband for ten years. He and I married in the summer of 1977 in Ensenada; it was beautiful, far greater then what I had ever dreamed of. Before him, I was a poor girl living in Ciudad Juarez in Mexico. He was my escape from it all; he brought me from poverty and assured my survival and happiness. His wealth was far more than what I could have imagined, and his charm and handsome face were irresistible,” I told him.

“Why was he so wealthy?” he asked me.

“The same reason why he is dead now,” I said, trying to hold my tears back.

He sat in silence, replying to my words with nothing but a stare. It was not a statement of confusion, but curiosity. I understood his desires completely, he wanted me to tell him of his brother’s tale with as much knowledge and detail as I could. The only problem was that I did not know where to start. So began where I could, I told him the story and the painful truth of his brother and his brother’s fate.

 

Klymene, whom was an original member of the Pygmies (a native tribe that lives among the Amazon River in South America), introduced himself to me on a summer night as Frankie Lopez Jr. My older sister, Consuela, worked in a Brothel as a Dominatrix. The streets were mean and cruel that night, so my mother did not want us both to be at the apartment that night while she worked a graveyard shift at a local bar three blocks away from where we lived. Consuela considered it to be a good idea to bring me along; her pimps would protect us that night if anything happened. He was a John that night, but not hers, another woman named Felicia serviced him. I was standing out in the hallway smoking a cigarette when he left the room, dressing himself as he walked down the hall. He approached me and asked me for a light, so I let him used my matches.

“You kind of young to be working around here,” he said.

“I am with my sister,” I told him.

“Who is your sister?” he asked me.

“Consuela, they call her the ‘black widow’” I replied.

“She is kind of rough,” he replied with a hint of laughter in his voice.

“I would not know about that,” I said chuckling.

“What is your name? You have such a pretty face,” he said. He was a handsome and clad gentleman with dark brown eyes, short brown hair and dark skin.

“I am Esperanza,” he replied.

“Ah! You do seem like a hopeful person. Such an angelic smile behind sorrowful eyes,” he said, as he gazed at the frown on my face. He pinched my cheeks and pushed them up slightly “, you should smile more often dear, you are so beautiful,” he said.

I gave him a small warm smile. He was so charming.

“When does your sister get done?” he asked me. The door next to me suddenly opened, and there Consuela came out hot and sweaty, scratching her face and her arms.

“This leather crap makes you itch!” she said harshly.

“Serves you right, you left a bruise on my thigh,” he replied jokingly.

“Well you wanted it rough,” she said.

“Wow!” I awkwardly remarked.

“What are you doing for the rest of night?” he said turning his head over to me.

“I really do not know,” I replied.

“How about I take you tonight out on the town,” he said.

I looked at my sister, waiting for her approval (or not). She looked at me and shrugged with an apathetic look on her face. “I have to go home, before it gets too late.”

“You need a ride?” he asked.

“That would nice,” she said.

So, I accepted his offer. After he dropped Consuela off at our apartment, he took me to the other side of Ciudad Juarez; it was nothing special compared to the cities in America and other places of the world. It though, was a fun night; he took me into a classy bar where men and women were dressed formally drinking champagne, gin, and whiskey. I got drunk that night after drinking a bottle of domestic beer and two Margaritas. We danced gracefully and soulfully for the rest of the night. When we danced slowly, we were at our most passionate moments when our eyes met for prolonged moments of time. After that night was over, he took me home, and I went to bed, waking up the next day with my first hangover. What woke me up the next morning was the sound of his Nissan’s horn honking, and the heavy music blasting from his car stereo.

When I looked out my window, he was waving jubilantly with his head poking through the rear window. He called me down, and that day we went to lunch. I had never had a heartier meal. From those days on, I barely stayed home, he made me happy and gave me such love that I had so long desired for. My first and last kisses were with him, I never felt closer to anyone, and I do not think I ever will again. After a year of being together, and of me being young and in love, he proposed to me on a Sunday morning in his patio at his mansion in Ensenada.

We got married in a lavish Catholic Cathedral; seven hundred people came to our wedding and our reception that night. None of those people were related to me, they were mostly friends of his, with some distant family members. Our honeymoon was in Cancun for two weeks. Life was perfect for the first year: it was full of passion, money, and an unlimited flow of drugs. But, after that year had passed, life began to turn sour. Tensions between his organization, that “The Dragon Mafia”, and the Columbian cartels began to heighten badly, not to mention, law enforcement began cracking down on him.

Frankie had built a drug and sex empire, in which his power, wealth and fame had been infused from the sale of heroin, cocaine, marijuana, and opium; and the worldwide sex trade that he owned and managed. He had billions of dollars in blood money stashed below his mansion along with buried dead men. Every day, news of a hit being made against someone was delivered to us, and everyday there was a new body buried below our diamond isle of pleasure and glamour. The stress became imminent; the stress of being hunted by the Columbians and eventually being discovered by the police took its toll on me. Frankie and I tried to conceive three times, but all the attempts ended in miscarriages. The only child I ever conceived was not even his, one of his friends, Juan, sedated me and impregnated me. Up to this day, he still has not found out the truth.  After the birth of Celesta, I began to use heavily, my drug use was not casual anymore. I became heavily addicted to the cocaine and the rush from injecting heroin. It became so bad that at one point I overdosed on both drugs at the same time and was revived at the last minute before my heart came to a complete halt. I would snort up to a gram of coke a day, and inject at least twelve times, if not more than that.

After five years into our marriage, I caught him having sex with his stepdaughter that he knew from a previous marriage. She was only sixteen, while he was thirty-five. It was her first time having sex. I walked in on them while coming back home with Celesta, they were right in the living room on the red velvet loveseat. At first I did not notice anything, but then I heard screaming as soon as I walked into the kitchen. I rushed to the living room, thinking that Celesta was in trouble. When I rushed into the living room, they were naked, mating like pigs. When I saw her face, I shrieked with horror and disgust, and ran out of the room. He pulled himself out and ejaculated on the couch, leaving a stain on the velvet fabric, and ran after me pulling his pants up.

“Who the hell do you think you are!” he yelled, slapping me hard across the face.

“I’m your wife!” I cried.

“I don’t care!” he yelled.

“You don’t care about me!” I screamed, and with that shriek he delivered a second blow harder with his backhand, leaving a bruise right under my eye. I silenced myself instantly, as he peered into my face.

“You will not speak another word of this,” he said sternly, and so I complied, this is the first time in which I have ever mentioned these events. I wanted a divorce so bad, this was not a life worth living, even with all the luxuries that may have came with it, but I had nowhere else to turn, I did not want to be a w***e like my cousins and my sister, and I did not want my daughter living in penury.

After that day, my drug use became heavier and heavier. Coke and heroin were not enough for me to ease the pain; I began to use other drugs such as crack and LSD along with the others that I had been using before. Then, one day, while I was in my bedroom getting ready to inject, Frankie and three other men came running in.

“Hide that! The policidad are here!” Frankie yelled.

I peered out through the opened door, and I saw a large unit of officers and tactic members armored with guns and rifles. So, in response, I quickly injected the needle into my vein, and threw the rest of the drugs I had down the toilet. The police searched the entire property, and did not find anything but a half an ounce of marijuana that they just seized for themselves. There was a secret entrance to the basement, but the police officers could not find it, and ‘nor could the tactic team, as a result they had to end the search, leaving the home with no substantial evidence of his crimes. It was a day of short relief, but an invisible fog of darkness had set over with a saddening truth that sometimes evil can win, and that karma at time can be terribly unjust. But, I did not care, I lived another day to see and breathe freedom.

Frankie, a man who promised to never use his own product began to break his oath. Every day, he began drinking more, smoking more, snorting more, and injecting more. None of us could stop,  it was a winding spiral of misery. One day, Genghis, an arch nemesis of Frankie, came over and wanted to discuss truce with him, it was long planned, but extremely hostile.

“So after nearly a decade, you still have not given up?” he said.

“As long as I live and breathe, I will not stop,” he replied as we sat in the dining room, discussing business over scotch, gin and whiskey.

“You do realize you may be a dead man soon?” he warned.

“Genghis, is that a threat?” my husband sneered at him.

“Not my threat, but Carlos’s,” he remarked.

“Tell Carlos that I do not offer any bargains ‘nor will I accept any,” he said.

“Be weary, realize you are still two billion in debt with him. Remember long time ago, when we started the business, and you got cute,” he said.

“No, I was tired of being his goddamn b***h! I decided to make a name out of myself instead, and it worked,” he said.

“It’s all an illusion,” he said.

“Better than reality,” he replied.

“You would not know reality, even if it crawled up inside you,” Genghis replied with sarcasm.

“I know better than him,” he said.

“You do not want to mess with this puta, remember that,” he replied.

“I will take my chances,” he replied.

“There are no chances, I know you, and I still have a heart for you, but you messed up bad. Be warned and beware, Carlos does not play, he will ice you if you step your foot in the wrong direction. Do not step out of his line,” he said sternly.

“I refuse to pay him. I do not owe him anything, if anything he owes me. I am the reason why he is what he is today,” he said.

“A savage,” he sneered.
            “I make no deals,” he said.

“Honey, I think he is serious,” I said to him, shaking nervously.

“This is men’s talk,” he said to me.

“Listen to your wife, men who do not listen to their wives are fools,” he replied.

“It is Carlos who is the fool,” he said.

“Well, do not say I did not warn you. I will see you again soon. Very soon,” he said harshly.

Frankie stared at him silently, as two of his private men escorted him out. He glared at him while holding a cigar in his mouth, and turned to me.

“Idiot,” he said.

“I think he is serious,” I replied.

“You know nothing, we listen, we have nothing,” he said.

“So it is all for money?” I asked.

“It is all money, that is life,” he said.

“I pity the fool. Whoever it may be,” I replied. There were no altercations ‘nor debates from there on out. For the next six months, my husband spent his days pacing back and forth the house. There was something terrible on his mind that he could not cast away. A memory from my mother arose from those six months, she told me that right before someone dies in struggle, they will constantly pace back and forth until that day of reckoning.

 

That day that she might as well have predicted came on July 19, 1997. My husband was in his office reading the newspaper and smoking a cigar when one of his good friends, Encino, came into his office and told him that a very important drop needed to be made. Frankie complied with his request, and as soon as he stepped out his office. Ten Columbian men dressed in all-white suits armed with AK-47s opened fire on him, splitting holes everywhere in his body from head to toe. He died standing, and once the gun-shots ceased, he fell dead, as I fell mortified from such a horrific scene. His body appeared to be a mummified cast painted in vermillion colors, as the pearl white walls behind us were painted crimson with bits and pieces of his brains sliding down to the white carpet.

I attended his funeral the day after, only a handful of men and women showed up, afterwards he was cremated, and his ashes were thrown into the Pacific. I still think about him up to this day, I do not miss him, but who he was.

 

“How old was he?” Protis asked, as I ended the tale of his brother’s woe.

“Forty,” I said.

“So young,” he replied softly.

“Where are the rest of his relatives?” I asked.

“I do not know,” I lost them all; he hesitated with tears slowly rolling down his cheeks.

“I am sorry,” I said sympathetically, placing my hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said looking into my eyes.

“You and your brother have the same eyes you know that,” I replied.

“So did my mother,” he said. “Thank you so much, I must return, and I figure you must to,” he said.

“Farewell,” I told him.

“Be careful, and thank you so much for everything” he told me in a kind, gentle voice.

“I will,” I said.

Slowly, he ascended from the log, and grabbed his torch. He limped away, disappearing within the forest’s horizon. The sun had begun to set, and that feeling of darkness had succumbed me again. Thoughts raced through my mind, but that was the day when I truly became enlightened. What was lost, had been found. Those forgotten values suddenly reappeared in a new light.

 

The Pygmies: “civilized” people look down on them and their choice of living, assuming that because they are accustomed to primeval ways that they are savaged. But, decadence can make a human so blind to what reality truly is. We live among temptation, we do not walk beside the serpent, but he serpent walks with us, entangling us within its hold as we are slowly being suffocated by its choking and twisting grasp. It makes perfect sense, the forgotten morals are not what religion has taught us, but the humanity that humans have within. But, that essence of pure goodness has been abandoned; it is lost in the sands of time, buried beneath the ashes, the smoke, the green paper, the blood, and the dust of our societies today.

I have realized that in the end of time, I will be my only friend. Nothing can save me but myself, and if I had known that years ago, I would have never fallen for such petty cheap tricks of romance and false pretenses of love. The only love that I knew afterwards was when me and my mother talked for the first time in decades, but it would be the last time that I would ever reconcile with her again. She was sick, dying of AIDs, two days before she passed away she had told me that I was forgiven and that there was always a place in her soul for me. That day; me, my mother, and myself made our peace.

But, the stain of mind and the saddening truth still remains. The roads that lead us into darkness, make us unaware of what light truly is. The stairs that lead us below wind forever, only we can choose to stop climbing down. In such a natural world, unnatural and supernatural things still remain: they are evil forces of destruction that slowly wait to pull us under. Resistance is hard, and after a while it begins to fade as our spirits become weak with restlessness. The world is extremely complicated, and so is karma since it is not distributed evenly. But also, since the times have become more complex, so has evil itself. Maybe that is what drives many of our elders insane. I hear the incoherent talk of ordinary days, where it was all simple and deeds were dirty, but not filthy with blood and tears.

But, I can do nothing to solve anything. All I can do is observe and learn. Perhaps I am to be condemned according to Dante’s philosophy “the darkest circles in Hell are reserved for those who do nothing in times of crisis.” I did nothing to ease my suffering, the suffering of my family and the suffering of my husband. But, those sins are small. I wonder about the rest of the world, men who hold the fate of millions of children in their hands can be cruelly wicked. Are their fates sealed?

And so the question comes back into being; if one would cut the source of the flow of faith and virtue, would conviction fall under the shadow of the righteousness. A hissing voice whispers in the back of my mind day after day, behind my conscience, like a serpent attempting to draw me in. Every day it grows a little stronger; maybe it is the phantasm within my mind calling me to go deep within myself to an unhallowed place, where morals are defied and the victims lay as prey. This is though within myself, I try to resist it for that I know what it is. It is that voice, that unholy ghost that beckons us to defy what is good, and carry out evil’s bidding, it is the voice that channels the blood of this Earth and demands that we be who we utterly are, savages. But every day, I tell that voice you can have it all, it’s just an Empire of dirt, this forsaken planet, but this is your barter, not mine. I have no more use for these deals, I have lived too quickly down this highway into the depths. But, now I am turning around and walking in the opposite direction far, far away from the ruins.

And so, when I left those woods, a beautiful yet magical vision of scenery of nature’s finest creations, I began my life as if my old soul was purified in the flames. I moved to America and settled in Compton, Los Angeles. Many people speak of how bad crime is around there, but many of them have not seen anything yet. I think, that no matter how hard things are, there is worse, and no matter how good things are, there is always something better. We cannot judge ourselves and others by what we have, not even how we live our lives. Only God can judge our choices, but even then he is probably the most lenient man of them all.

And so I conclude this tale of a man’s rise in blood with the tale of his end in a pool of blood. Such sin and such creations are nothing, but an Empire of Dirt, in the end it is all worthless. It is earthly and shallow. As a poor girl, I never understood why Jesus told us it was worthless to save valuable things, but now I understand it all, I understand it all completely. Experience and knowledge really can drive one to salvation.

Reviews

[Flo_writer]

Wow this was an amazing story. I feel like a just read a movie or something. I can see that your a very passionate writer. You captured everything within this one. From rags to riches through many experiences. I was caught off guard my a lot in this story. It was a great read and I was done before I knew it. You do have one or two grammar mistakes. I only remembered this one though....

"This leather crap makes you itch!" she said harshly. I think you meant to put "me" instead of "you"