Growing closer to God.
A short story written by Mario Emilio Nouel Mejía.
It was a warm spring afternoon in the Dominican Republic. The Medina Vidal family, known for their huge fortune, acquired via dubious means over the course of several generations, yet regarded by most men as rightfully earned, was having a get together at the pool of the company’s CEO.
Men were drinking whiskey with a lot of ice while having fun wearing sunglasses and talking about important and banal matters alike. One of the heiresses, whose name was Elizabeth, had recently married Rupert, who was known for working like a mule, and he thought all of them were important and perhaps he was right.
At some point, they called another of the heir’s, Marco, who had recently been elected to City Council and was on his way to become a congressman. Everyone thought the Presidency of the Senate was just a matter of time.
His family begged and begged for him to come over, but he had to work so he declined while promising to meet soon! “At least it is a politician’s word!”, exclaimed Rupert. Luis, who had married another heiress called Sofia, let out a slightly reluctant laugh while Sebastian, who married another heiress called Salome, smiled and looked everywhere.
It so happened that, on his way to an extremely important meeting, his car broke down for no apparent reason. In order to make the meeting, he decided to take an Uber. His security specialist immediately followed him to the corner where he was about to order an Uber, but Marco told him he wanted a moment unescorted. The poor fellow, who hated when he did that, had been instructed to issue a warning when Marco does that so the specialized discreet security detail could be alert. Marco’s dad had told him about it, but he wasn’t supposed to know it existed though they weren’t always that discreet, to say the least…
His uber arrived and he boarded. He immediately received a warm greeting, followed by an Honorable Mr. Citycouncilman. The driver headed, as requested, to the headquarters of the Dominican Chamber of Commerce, main private institution in charge of defending the main private sector actors of the dominican economy. He was about to receive a donation. He found their terms and conditions barely acceptable, he was about to totally swallow a rotten shark, with the rotten part of the fin chopped off for reasons unbeknownst to him.
He entered and was escorted to the main boardroom. Several important figures, most of them white dominican men, where seating there. The Dominican Republic’s main free newspaper, Diario Libre, was on the table near his seat, that days headline read “Experts worried about inflation”.
At some point, an unsavory character he sincerely couldn’t stand, accidentally drops some coffee on his light purple shirt. “Shit!”, he exclaimed with surprise and disgust.
They talked about how the capital city’s beach restoration was going to begin, as agreed upon. It was going to be privatized for ten years, with students and duty-free zone workers entitled to discounts.
Marco was about to exit the building, and order an Uber. He decided to walk home instead. Unescorted.
An old black lady, begging on the street corner of the supermarket he wanted to drop by before getting home because he was craving huge glass of Californian Pinot Noir, said “Con Dios, mijo”. “Quede con él, mi respeto y aprecio”, he answered.
She smiled. On his way out, City Councilman Marco gave her a bag: inside 2 pounds of white rice, 1 pound of pinto beans, a whole chicken of about 3.5 pounds, 3 plantains, the smallest bottle of canola oil he could find, a small pack of pork chop bouillon cubes and a dominican candy bar.
“Con Dios, mi rey”, she answered with a smile.
“¡Gracias mil, bendiciones en abundancia!
The End.
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