I Can See Clearly Now
I decided to walk across the old bridge into Ciudad ,Juarez from El Paso. I was looking for my favorite fighter Jose Napoles. In my hand was the portrait I made of him some years ago. I get these impulse and need to follow through with them. I had read various articles recently that he lived in Juarez and had a gym. He was struggling financially and physically. He had a wife who looked after him. Friends,and even a figure like Carlos Slim the billionare,made sure he wasn't put out in the street.There was enough money there to make ,in my vision,life tolerable for the greatest fighter I ever saw do combat in the ring. But I wanted to see for myself.
I attempted to look for him on Saturday afternoon. I walked across the bridge with my painting noticing that there weren't many people crossing the bridge into Juarez.Unlike the heavy foot traffic that crosses into Tijuana from San Diego,there was only an old Mexican couple holding hands slowly walking up the sidewalk of the bridge ahead of me. The sun was bearing down and the heat made me sweat profusely.After turning the curve on the downslope,I saw a female Mexican immigration officer searching a man's backpack. There was no anxiety in her motions nor with his reaction. She was working alone. Her efforts were probably an excuse for her to show that she was doing something. After reaching the otherside I became aware of the quietness. The heat.The glare. The slow movements of the few people in the area made me think that this city couldn't be the murder capital of the world. It would take too much energy to kill somebody.
At the bottom of the ramp I asked a soldier where I could find a taxi. He politely motioned for me to walk to the traffic light and cross the street.The light was red ,but there were no cars at the intersection. I saw three taxi cabs parked at the corner. I didn't see anyone sitting inside the cabs.As I neared the taxis and old gray haired man wearing a crumpled fedora limped out from behind a tree and asked if I wanted to go somewhere. I asked him if he knew where I could find Jose Napoles.I showed him the painting. He shrugged his shoulders.
"No, I do not know,but if you walk to the corner on the next block,he has friends there that know him.They are also taxistas."
I continued my walk. I was sweating and my hip was giving me trouble again. I thought that afternoon my efforts were going to wash out. At the corner I saw a man taking something out of the trunk of his taxi.Holding out the painting ,I tried again.
"Por favor amigo. Estoy buscando for Mantequiila Napoles."
The taxi driver looked at me and then the painting.
"I know him. He has a gym,but he doesn't go there on the weekends."
"Do you know where he lives?"
"We can go to the gym.Maybe someone there knows where he lives."
As we drove around a maze of streets,the cab driver asked me where I was from. I told him that I lived in San Diego.The taxista told me his name was Javier.He had a friendly face and was relaxed.I asked him if he knew who Jose Napoles was and he said that he knew of him,but was too young to recall any of his fights.
After turning many corners,the cab driver pulled in front of a big white building. The front of the building was dirty and there was graffiti on the front wall. A hand painted sign near the top of the wall said"Salon de Belleza y Gimnasio Roma."The neighborhood was rundown and empty.I couldn't see anyone around.Some cars were parked along the street.
We walked inside a spacious front room with a concrete floor. A young woman sitting behind an old wooden desk smiled at us.She was a little overweight and very pretty.
"Donde esta Mantequilla? Este senor tiene un regalo para el,"asked Javier
The young woman looked at my painting. She asked me if I had painted it.
"Yes,I want to give this to Mantequilla. Will he be here today?"
"No,"she replied." He doesn't come here anymore."
I had read that he had some physical issues.
"Is he sick?"I asked as my hopes for seeing my idol were dwindling.
"He gets confused,"she said. "His wife takes care of him."
"Where is his gym?"
"It's upstairs,but it is locked."
"Do you know where he lives?"
"He used to live around the corner.You can ask in the street if anyone knows where he lives."
Javier took my painting and put it on the back seat of the cab.I got inside the passenger side. I had a hard time swinging my sore leg inside the cab. Javier quickly got out of his seat to help me.
"No,no. I can do it ,"I said.
I finally managed to get my leg in and we proceeded around the corner. There were three men working under the hood of an old car.Javier pulled the taxi next to the men working on the car.The three men looked at us. I could tell from their expressions that they knew Javier.
"Mantecas vive in la colonia todavia?"asked Javier with a laugh.
"No," answered a voice. "He used to live on that house at the corner,but he moved. You could always see him walking around the street smoking his cigar."
"Ask if any of them know his phone number,"I tried another option.
Javier asked the three men.None of them knew the phone number.
"His wife has a phone," said one of them."But it is a Nextel. Nobody around here has a phone like that."
Javier drove back to the gym.I didn't want to give him the impression that there was desperation in my quest,but now I was hoping for some luck to break my way. The young woman at the desk said that maybe the janitor that was cleaning in the backroom might be of assistance. As she was motioning us to the backroom,a young fellow holding a mop walked out.
"I know where Mantequilla lives. I can give you directions."
I felt a rush and a sense of some relief. Javier and the janitor where talking ,but I couldn't pick up on their conversation,Javier told me to get inside of the cab. He put my painting on the back seat. We drove off.
"I can find him,but I'll need to ask for some directions."
After turning more corners,Javier stopped the taxi at a corner across from a church.
"Wait here,"he said. "I need to ask someone."
I didn't see were Javier went,but when he got back inside the cab he was looking straight ahead.
"I know where he lives. We need to go around the block."
Javier steered the taxi around the corner onto a small back street.The small stucco houses all looked the same. Rectangular with flat roofs.The only thing that distinguished them was that they were painted in different pastel colors. The street was narrow. So narrow that two cars could not navigate in opposite directions.In order for cars to get through the street the parked vehicles had their driver's side wheels parked on top of the curb. When the taxi cleared the corner,we could see Jose Napoles sitting on a chair under the shade of a tree. There was no one else in the street. He stood out as big as life. There was no doubt. Javier sped up the taxi and stopped quickly in front of him. Mantequiila puffed on a cigar and smiled.
"Campeon,"I said to him.
Still smiling he held up his fist. Javier parked the taxi up on the curb.He took my painting from ther back seat and handed it to me.
"Mantequilla,"I said excitedly."Este cuadro es para ti. Yo pinte."
Mantequilla didn't reach out for the painting. I held it out in front of him to see.Javier walked to the side and leaned against a wall. Mantequilla stared at the painting studying it. Then he extended his hand to me.
"This is where I live,"he said. "This is my wife's house."
Mantequilla never got off his chair. I asked him if I could take some pictures. He puffed on his cigar again,but it had gone out. Javier quickly took a lighter out of his shirt pocket and relit the cigar.
"How are you feeling?"I asked the ex champion.
"I feel very good. My wife is not here. She went shopping.She will be back soon."
"I was your number one fan,"I said. "I saw many of your fights."
Mantequilla was down to the end of his cigar. I put the painting against the wall of the house.
"You see this truck?"asked Mantequilla pointing.
There was a big four wheel drive truck parked with the wheels on the curb in front of the house next door.The truck was caked with mud.
"This is my wife's truck. She went shopping."
"They say you don't go to the gym anymore,"I said."We looked for you there."
"Oh no.I go.If I want to go my wife drives me."
Mantequilla looked at the corner of the street. A little boy walked out of the abarrotes holding a bottle of soda. Mantequilla waved and smiled at the boy,but the boy didn't notice him nor did he look his way.
"Many people see me everyday,"he said. "I have many fans.My wife went shopping with my mother in law."
"How did you meet your wife?"
"I was sitting here smoking my cigar and she waked by with her mother."
"Isn't she you third wife?"
Mantequilla burst out laughing.
"Oooo,I had many wives. Many wives."
"You're like Pancho Villa."
Mantequilla continued laughing. It was a subject I could tell he like to relish in.
"Then you have many ninos tambien."
"Muchos."
"And many mother in laws."
"No,no.I have only one mother in law."
"Dime Mantequilla.Puedes coher todavia?"
Now he was laughing so hard he almost fell out of his chair.
"But at our age screwing isn't that important,"he remarked. He tried to inhale on what was left of his cigar.
"Having a wife that cooks is more important,"I said.
"Seguro. Hay muchas que le gustan a coher. Pero una mujar que puede a cocinar? Es magica."
I told him my wife was Mexican born in Michoacán and that she was back in California.
"When my wife gets home from shopping I invite you and your wife to eat dinner with us."
Mantequilla then turned to Javier who was still leaning against the wall.
"Why don't you talk?"asked Mantequilla.
"I enjoy listening to the two of you."
'Mantequilla,didn't you know Ciro Morisan?"I asked.
"Ciro?The most beautiful boxer who ever lived."
"Didn't he commit suicide when he couldn't leave Cuba?"
Mantequilla didn't say anything. Then he started up again.
"My wife went shopping.She will be back soon."
"Campeon,did you know that you are going to be inducted into the California Boxing Hall of Fame in October?"
"I am?Then I will go with you."
"Give me your phone number.We can make arrangements"
"My wife knows it.She went shopping."
I gave him my card with my personal information .He took it and studied it. He then played with the card with his hands.
"A few years ago I talked with Emile Griffith,"I said.
"He comes by to see me all the time."
"He passed away last year."
Mantequilla tried to puff on his dead cigar.
"My wife is with her mother. They will be right back."
"I never saw a fighter who was as smart as you,"I said.
"I was always in tremendous physical condition. I ran through out the whole city up in the hills."
"You always knew what you were doing in the ring."
"I would look shoulder to shoulder,"he said pointing at my shoulders."My left foot was always in front."
"How many fights did you have in Cuba?"
"Thousands,"he said laughing. "My uncles would throw me in the street with the older boys and then bet that I would win."
"Did you win?"
"I had to or I had to fight my uncles."
"You had a good trainer with Kid Rapidez. Tell me. Do you ever hear from Angelo Dundee anymore."
"He comes by almost everyday to see me."
"Have you ever been back to Cuba?"
" I went one time. You see this truck? It belongs to my wife."
"Who is the best fighter in Mexico today?"I went on.
"There is this kid who lives near by. He used to come to the gym,but I don't see him anymore."
"I saw you after you retired with your band at the Rancho Grande Bar in Tijuana. Your wife sang and you played the trumpet."
"Musica tropical."
"Didn't you have a few bars? Didn't the police try to shake you down in your place in the Zona Rosa in Mexico City?
"We beat them up and threw them out into the street with no clothes."
As we talked that day,I couldn't help see the old scars crisscrossed on Mantequilla's eyelids.That fragile tissue around his eyes. He even tried plastic surgery to correct the problem.Visiting the track more than trying to sweat off the late nights in the gym.Age and some brutal fights at the end. By the time he lost to Stracey he wasn't running through the hills in the city.
I waited around. Mrs. Napoles never showed up .In a way I was glad she didn't I didn't want to hear the truth. Mantequilla Napoles is happy.He sits outside his wife's house smoking his cigars and waves and smiles to anyone who wants to stop by and listen to his stories.Maybe he stretches the truth,but the truth is nothing more than what it is at the moment.
Mantequilla holding an image of his youth
Me and my favorite fighter
Mantequilla enjoying a Cuban puro
