Demon Dancer. Alexander Valdez

      Chapter 15

      The Israeli

      I would be leaving the following afternoon for Tucson, catching a ride with a freighter pilot who would bring materials up for my dad’s customers. He was an Israeli pilot leftover from the war in the forties when the country of Israel was founded. He served with all the famous Israelis who fought in the war and later made up the members of the government.

      I could never forget him; he was a man’s man whom all the women would do a double take at whenever he went by. His name was Sol Katzen, and I would be his copilot in his rickety old 1947 Cessna 195 airplane. I would say he looked like an early Sean Connery from the Goldfinger movie, but Sol was better looking, better built, and wore a dark tan just right. I hoped I could be him when I grew up. He owned his old Cessna, and it purred like a cat. Nobody worked on it but him.

      The morning came, and I had the best breakfast with my best friend and his brother, all the while reminiscing about the past few days and the shenanigans we managed to pull off. I hated having to go and swore that I would make every effort to return the next summer.

      Going back to the servants’ quarters, I expressed my sincerest appreciation and thanks to all of them. The old cook named Rosa asked me what stood out about the trip, and I told her that my adventure up at the dance hall was the most exciting. She had a look of shock on her face as she all of a sudden took a deep interest in what I might have experienced.

      I told her briefly about my meeting with old Grandma Lupe and her talking about Rayon. Rosa quickly interrupted to mention that she, too, was born in Rayon and knew old Lupe well. She wanted to talk more, but Aunt Lorenza approached, telling me to come in for a quick snack before my trip. Rosa was desperate to talk more, and I saw in her eyes many more volumes of information that would be of interest. It was time to leave though, and I gave them hugs to express my joy. George and Albert accompanied me to the airport and gave me a send-off.

      We all teared up a bit, but a better time couldn’t have been had. It was a sad departure for all of us. We were truly great friends, and we assured one another that letters would be written and sent.

      As Sol lit up the engine and throttled up the RPMs, we slowly taxied away out onto the runway where he released the brake, and we rolled away into the sky. I waved, all the while keeping an eye on my friends below.

      The flight was fun, and Sol let me hold the wheel and gave me some instructions on what to do if ever I found myself alone in a plane with the pilot passed out. That was a little freaky hearing about a potential scenario, but I digested it nonetheless because, well, you know, what if?

      There was no incidence of a relaxed sphincter, and all was well for the hour and a half, thank you very much.

      By the way, pilots talk, in case you didn’t know. I guess old Red had coffee with Sol, and they both shared a laugh at my expense. Sol asked me every five minutes if everything was cool. I had no idea that my prior incident was the reason for the constant questioning. I thought it was because I was flying the old bird and had a white-knuckle grip on the wheel.

      When we landed, Sol said, “Well, you made it, and my plane does not have to be hosed down.”

      I turned red in the face as he laughed at me. I felt embarrassed and would let Red know the next time I saw him. My dad was waiting for me at the airstrip, and we bid our goodbyes to Sol and drove off. We never went to a big airport, only this lonely strip on the outskirts of town.

      There were hangars where some pilots garaged their planes, and they could come and go as they pleased. Looking back, I guess one could have brought in drugs or shipped out other contraband, such as guns. I was young and too naive to know of such things.

      My dad would have never dealt with drugs or guns, but shipping out contraband items (contraband into Mexico, not into the US) was our specialty. Our liebreros (jackrabbit men, slang for smugglers) had their people greased along the way, so we moved many items for many years. It was necessary because the Mexican State Police, Federales, Army, and anyone with some kind of authority always had their hands out.

      One could lose a whole load of valuables if they weren’t careful. We had that business down to a science. Anyway, that old airstrip was closed down in the late ’60s due to a lack of business and the expansion of the city when housing began springing up around the airstrip.

      The last remnants of that airstrip can be seen in the movie Stir Crazy, near the end of the movie where they trade vehicles and depart the city. I spent many visits to that airstrip with my dad either loading planes for various customers or picking up passengers who had arrived for a mini vacation. All that was part of my youth that I kind of miss today.

      So I was back from Mexico, and I had many tales to tell my pals before we started back to junior high school in the coming week. I was looking forward to getting back to school. I would have moved up a level and looked forward to new faces and friends to meet.

      Somehow, I just couldn’t shake my experience in Mexico, especially the old dance hall and the demon whose eyes pierced through me like a hot knife. I shivered whenever that image came to mind. Still though, the million questions I now had left me hungry for more information.