CityView Magazine

12 | September/October 2017 Before leaving home, we had been told to plan on leaving our work boots there. By American standards, they would be ruined. Mine died quickly. On the second day, while pushing a loaded wheelbarrow across wire mesh and wood decking, the sole of my boot separated. Santa called the flapper la boca de su zapatos. e mouth of your shoes. Reynosa apparently missed its summer shipment of duct tape, so I used cloth tape from the emergency medical kit. at repair lasted me an hour. During a break, Santa took a roll of string and tied the mouth shut. Somehow, I got through the morning. By far, my favorite local was José. He was about half my size and about five years my senior. A mile or two from that roof, we were building him a new 400-square-foot cinder block rectangle in which he and his son and his three granddaughters would live. at way, those five could move out of the other 400-square-foot rectangle in which they were currently living with José's daughter, her husband, and their two children. I spoke broken Spanglish (heavy on the "glish") and José spoke no English. e only manner for the development of our intimacy was a language of the heart. At the end of that second day, I discerned him telling me something about new shoes tomorrow while pointing first at himself and then at me. His eyes were loving and his smile was warm. I shed those battered boots at the trash heap in front of his land parcel and headed for my cold shower. e next morning, our assignment was to lay block for José's walls. When I got there, he waved me over to an avocado tree. Over his shoulder, tied together at the laces, was a pair of size 11, steel-toed brogan boots. Again, his eyes sparkled and his smile was prevalent. Where does a little-footed man who lives

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