Chile Heaven
This is my love letter to New Mexico. The chile harvest in Hatch, NM was always a statewide celebration as chiles were distributed through the state and roasted in large rotating metal baskets over gas flames in gas station parking lots and other sites throughout town. The fragrance of roasting chiles has recently been approved as the state aroma of NM.
Chlle Heaven was published in Rural Fiction Magazine. https://RuralFictionMagazine.com
It was the farthest north she had ever been, but it was nowhere near as far north as Clementina wanted to go. She had learned from maps that north was up. She had learned from lying on her back looking at clouds that the sky was up. She had learned in science class that the moon was in the sky up beyond the Earth’s atmosphere. She had learned in church that heaven was up somewhere beyond the moon—even beyond the stars.
Clementina wanted to go north to heaven and see her abuela; stand beside her again at the cracked Formica-topped kitchen counter and fold their Christmas tamales tight until they had made an even hundred. She wanted to go, but not yet.
She would settle for going north to the moon, but only if her friend Francisca could go with her. Francisca was Jicarilla Apache on her mother’s side and named after Francisco Chacon,
the Apache chief who kicked blue coat ass at the Battle of Cieneguilla in 1854. Clementina thought an ass-kicker would come in handy on the moon.
Clementina had been a little bit north before to Truth or Consequences with her mother for what her mother called a “girls’ spa weekend.” They had paid to sit in a hot spring pool and drink Coca-colas, the good ones from Mexico with real cane sugar. Her mother said she could have stayed all day soaking her bones, but they only had enough money for an hour. They saved enough to have carne adovada that night at La Cocina—with red chile, of course. Carne adovada requires red.
Clementina had traveled even farther north on a school trip to Socorro to see the Very Large Array of radio telescopes that listen for messages—greetings or jokes or recipes—from aliens in the north part of the universe. She laughed to herself to think of what an alien joke would be like. Would an alien recipe look anything like her tía Julia’s recipe for posole?
But now she was way up north in Albuquerque—the big city. It was an annual trip for her father, Miguel, a big man with a small chile farm who had been growing chiles forever. The harvest had been good, but it had been hard to find pickers. Miguel had picked along side the others from dawn to past dusk while Clementina helped feed them all. Miguel shipped most of his crop to the big processors, but he always saved the best of his chiles to bring himself to Albuquerque on his old flatbed truck with the removable sides. They were perfect chiles with just the right amount of heat.
Miguel loved having Clementina with him anytime, and she had finally been free to accompany him on his delivery to the Hatch Chile pop-up store in the South Valley that had been selling Miguel’s special chiles every year for over twenty years. Tiago, the proprietor, took time off from his regular job to sell chiles when the harvest came in. The site for his pop-up was a buddy’s vacant used car dealership, and Tiago depended on Miguel’s chiles. His customers knew they were the best.
Miguel sounded the horn when they pulled into the cracked asphalt parking lot next to the small shed where Tiago had his makeshift office. A small, black dog leapt up from under an outside table and barked a greeting. Tiago came from the shed wearing a green cap that read, “Chile Heaven.” It matched the chipped sign that hung over the shed. Tiago had used the same sign since the beginning.
The men hugged and slapped backs while Clementina patted Zoro, the grinning dog. Miguel brought his friend over and introduced him to his daughter, pride puffing his chest and widening his grin. “Bienvenida, señorita,” Tiago said, bowing low. “At last, I meet the famous Clementina. I have heard about you for 20 years!” Clementina laughed, “I’m only 13.” “Yes,” Tiago said, “But your papa has been talking about you for 20 years.”
Tiago had red chile ristras hanging across the front of the shed and roasting baskets ready to fill. It was mid afternoon, and Tiago knew it was the perfect time to begin roasting the chiles. Soon the distinct aroma would fill the neighborhood, and by the time people were getting off from work, the parking lot would be crowded with patrons carrying everything from burlap sacks to washtubs to fill with the seasonal staple they craved.
Clementina and Miguel pitched in to keep the chile roasting baskets full and turning and also to help serve customers. It was a fiesta atmosphere with mariachi music blasting from Tiago’s battered CD player. The site was crazy busy for a while, but by 7:30 p.m., the roasters were quiet. Tiago pulled a chain across the entrance.
Miguel went to Blakes for cheeseburgers, and they sat in lounge chairs eating and enjoying the evening air. They would soon drive back to Hatch, and it would be late when they got in. It had been a long, full day. Clementina felt good. Her papa had wanted her company, and she knew she had been a big help to him and Tiago.
Clementina lay back in the webbed, aluminum chair and looked up at the shifting clouds. She thought about being all the way north in Albuquerque from her little home in Hatch. Clementina knew she and Francisca may not make it to the moon, but maybe, when they were older, they could go as far north as Santa Fe. They may or may not have to kick ass when they got there. Clementina knew she would not be with her abuela for a while, but she also knew her abuela would have loved to be with her there that day under the big New Mexico sky in Chile Heaven.
David Cameron catches poems and stories half-formed from an off-hand comment or a surprising twist of phrase. His career was as a Presbyterian pastor in Virginia and New Mexico, and a Meals on Wheels director in western NC where he now lives with his wife and son.
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