The tumbleweed rolled into Dos Manos on a gray sunday.
The heavens looked dark and sterile.
The blood and rust sun was going down behind the only cloud in the sky.
Not even the meager patches of tall grass dared to tremble.
And I watched from my window the weed as she tumbled and stopped in
the shadow of a man.
A stranger with strange eyes.
He stood in the street then he stepped, and when his foot hit the ground,
instead of the jingle of spurs, I heard the church bells sound.
Seven times they rang, then again, and again, and when they stopped
the man said,
"My name is Don Manana. I've come here to kill a man."
El Guapo heard not these words as he suckled tequila, and counted his cards.
He folded his hand and when he was delt one again he pushed all of his
chips in the pile.
Save for two, he explained, this one is for me it's the same shade of
green as my eye,
and this one is red like my blood, and it's for the man who takes my life.
He stuffed both his chips in his pocket, flipped over his cards, he
had nothing at all.
But he counted his cousin Ernesto three sevens, he kissed his
forehead, and walked out of the bar.
In the street, young Rosa was crying, praying to Jesus and asking him why.
El Guapo stepped down to embrace her. He told her, "Today is the first of July."
He reached for his gun, and turning faced into the sun, just before she sank.
As he promised he would, there stood Don Manana at sunset outside of the bank.
"I've come for you Guapo," he spoke very slowly as though he we ready to weep.
Then pointing his gun at young Rosa El Guapo said, "Fine, but first
let me speak."
A shot then erupted and Rosa stopped crying forever, she fell
to the ground.
"Cabron," cried El Guapo. "For what would you kill me if not for the
woman you love?
You'll not have me Manana, bastardo!" He turned his weapon on himself.
"I don't want you El Guapo, you son of a bitch, but the devil, he
wants you in hell!"
Three shots then were fired and El Guapo was dead.
Perhaps it had been Don Manana that killed him.
Perhaps he'd taken his own life instead.
The next day El Guapo was buried wearing the same clothes in which
he'd been hit.
With his bible, and his Rosa, and his two poker chips.