Boy and the rest of his piole was in the process of gathering at the plaza in OJ, where they agreed to meet after they arrived from the Southside. They didn’t expect to get to OJ at the same time. So the onda was to go check out the plaza a few hours every day and gather the vatos and the lone ruca as they arrived. Plans were on hold until the piole was complete.
Among other things, this meant killing lots of time at the plaza.
Boy was the first to arrive. He’d been pulled out of school the weekend before the last day of school because it was only three days long. He le puzo to Los Montoyas that week cuz he didn’t expect anybody to show up until Fiesta, the first week of June. He made his first rendezvous the Friday before fiestas just to be sure, and he saw nobody, as expected. He went back the next day at noon and, after several hours killing time at the magazine rental corner, found Chabelita hanging around the church.
“I think Tudy, his brother and Salomón are getting here later today,” she told Boy.
“Salomón?” Boy asked.
Salomón wasn’t part of the piole, although he was well known to everybody in it. His jefito was a charismatic preacher who wouldn’t let him hang out in the streets or alleys with anybody. So his imminent arrival was remarkable.
“Simón, ese. Tudy said he was only supposed to catch a ride with them, then go straight to his uncle’s church near the train station,” Chabelita said.
“Órale. You know when?” Boy asked.
“Chansa in a few hours. I talked to Tudy just as my jefitos and I were getting into the car to come here. He said his family was leaving as soon as his jefito got out of work at noon,” she explained.
“So kill time here or go home and come back?” Boy wondered aloud.
“Let’s go stare at the marionette in the church,” she said.
Boy gave her a look of incredulity.
“Siról. That’s what the raza there are doing,” she said, pointing to a pack of chavos lingering in front of the church.
“They say it’ll look back at you,” she added.
Boy and Chabelita walked into the church together.
A piole was gathered around a sad wooden marionette in a colorful tunic. One of the chavos in the crowd was lifting the marrionettes’ tunic so the other kids could see under it.
“See? Tighty whities and a tattoo on its thigh that says 1848,” a chava kept repeating.
