I learned two days ago that the teenage son of my friend, Beto had been killed.
I was then and now beside myself with grief and sorrow.
This was Beto’s only child. A humorous, life-embracing 18 year old boy whom I’ve seen weekly, if not daily helping at his father’s carnerceria. A good boy with a great heart.
I’ve watched this lad grow up over the last almost 5 years and I’ve never witnessed a bad bone in his body. He was a good boy.
And now he is gone.
I saw my friend, Pancho today on the street in front of the Mercado and asked him if he had any news on what really happened.
I had tears in my eyes when I asked.
I told him I was heartbroken.
He patted me on the shoulder and told me, ‘I can’t tell you how many times my heart has been broken’. Meaning the violence is both relentless and pervasive.
(Let me remind you my friend, Pancho has the sad gravitas of the French actor, Jean Reno.)
I asked again, what happened? I said he was a good boy. I could tell he wasn’t doing drugs. I knew both his mother and father; both good decent people.
Pancho again patted me on the shoulder and asked. ‘What about his friends?’
I replied, ‘No se.’ Meaning, I don’t know.
Maybe one of his childhood friends was a badguy small times drug dealer. Who knows?
PS – To be murdered by association. SOB…
This is truly is a land of sorrow.