So during my time in Mexico I could immediately identify with an individual that was the epitome of "hobo" or "hermit", as they say. His name was Rafaelito.
I'd noticed Rafaelito around the place, and asked my neighbors about him. They knew him well, and explained that he in fact was a graduate of a Bible college associated with the Christian Church in Eagle Pass, Texas, about an hour north of us along highway 57. In his younger days Rafaelito had a serious girlfriend. Unfortunately, as happens in life, the relationship ended, and something in him snapped. Things just weren't the same for him from then on.
Rafaelito vowed never again to involve himself with a girl, and to depend only upon God for sustenance and well-being. And that he did, literally walking away from his former life, going out into the monte of the deserts of northern Mexico. There he developed a solitary, nomadic lifestyle, migrating from one ejido to the other doing odd jobs in exchange for food. I would have said food and shelter, but Rafaelito refused indoor accommodation when it was offered, preferring to sleep under the stars next to a tree or, when the wind was up, on the lee side of a crude lean-to fashioned from whatever was handy. At times, early in the morning, I would see him emerge from the countryside to use the restroom in our outhouse before stepping inside a close neighbor's house for a breakfast to start his day. I observed also that never far away from him was a shoe box in which he carried all of his worldly possessions.
Now one may think that such an individual would be odd, crazy, aloof, resentful, moody or all of the above, but quite the opposite was true. Rafaelito was friendly, approachable, and one of the most content human beings I have ever met. He was knowledgeable and conversant about the Bible, his favorite subject, and sought any opportunity to share his faith. With regard to his lifestyle he eagerly related that he had all anyone needs in life, and one time showed me the contents of his shoe box: a Swiss army knife with spoon and fork, a small mirror and razor for shaving, a few pictures, a bar of soap carefully wrapped in paper, a Bible and a hymnal. I was amazed.
I first got to know Rafaelito during the summer of 1980, and thereafter when I returned for a visit sometimes he would be there and sometimes not; his migratory pattern would take him to ejidos far and wide. When he wasn't around, sometimes at night I would look up at the starry expanse and wonder if he, at that very moment, was gazing at the same sky from under his tree of choice out in the monte. I imagined that yes, he was there, totally at peace with God and his station in life, no doubt more so than most of the rest of us.
But that is far from the end of the story. Years later, after I'd married, had two kids and a career, and was pushing through my mid-forties, my wife had a choice of places to go for a business trip: Dallas, San Francisco or Lubbock. I requested that she go to Lubbock so that I could show her God's country and my old haunts from back in the day. Her coworkers and friends thought she was crazy when she put in the travel request.
To Lubbock we went at the appointed time. And while Chenjean and our two kids didn't exactly catch on to the beauty and mystery of the West Texas vibe, I thoroughly enjoyed showing them around Amarillo and environs, including the slaughter house where I earned college money and the grave of a dear friend. And of course we visited some of my old friends, those most responsible for a conversion into the church and subsequently the trajectory of my adult life.
And not one person was more responsible for that than Ramón García. We were visiting with him at his house, when after an hour of catching up and small talk my friend became quiet for a moment, then said he had something for me. He left the room and came back with a small bag in his hand. It was the kind of plaid mesh bag you see in Mexico with plastic handles sticking up from the top.
Ramón said that Rafaelito had died a while before, and here were the contents of the fabled shoe box, though they had been transferred to the more modern mesh bag by then. Ramón showed me what he'd decided to keep (the Swiss knife), then handed me the bag with the remainder of the contents. He said they'd been saving it for me, since Rafaelito would have wanted me to have it. I was beyond words to think that, after decades of having not seen any of them or even visited my old home in Mexico, an humble campesino from the monte - my friend who slept under the stars - would have given a thought to this gringo who was with them for such a short time.
So now this precious possession, Rafaelito's mesh bag with almost all of his worldly possessions, sits high on a shelf in a closet of my suburban home. And when, in spite of all the worldly comfort with which I've been blessed, I get to feeling sorry for myself or consider myself under stress, all I have to do is glance at that bag, in the direction of my contented friend, and am again renewed with a more proper perspective on what our place is in the world.
God bless you, Rafaelito.
