NEW SERIES: “Hatched” is the first short story in a new La Cucaracha News feature – excerpts from books. In keeping with Halloween and El Dia de los Muertos themes, we chose “Hatched” to kick off the series. A second installment will be posted in one week.
HATCHED
By EMILIANO TRUJILLO MEDINA
“It’s weird,” said Chuck. “They even look weird.”
“I don’t know, it’s just what the boss ordered,” Estevan said.
“Hatch chile is so overrated, and it looks like it’s covered in highlighter, like it’s… glowing…” said Chuck.
“Well, the sloppers won’t make themselves, maybe no one will notice,” Estevan said.
“I mean it’s like, treason or something not using Pueblo chiles”, Chuck sneered. “Hatch is wack.”
Estevan and Chuck looked at each other and nodded. “Hatch is wack,” they said together.
Chuck and Estevan fire up the roaster and begin to roast bushel after bushel of chile. They work for Gary’s tavern, notoriously good food and great atmosphere. A staple ma and pa restaurant in town. Today there will be a change to the menu, and the unsuspecting patrons of Gary’s tavern will ingest something even worse than hatch chile.
The chile is; roasted, peeled, packed, and prepared for the annual Chile festival. This weekend people from all over Colorado will come to Pueblo to sample the best food around. Gary’s will enter its notorious slopper.
(For those of you who aren’t from around here, a slopper is a burger, sometimes open faced, covered in green chile that is made into a stew. Throw some fries on the side and you’ve got a unique delicacy.)
Estevan, stirred a large stock pot full of green chile, with the care and focus of a mad chemist.
“Try this!” Estevan asked Chuck
“No way, bud, hatch is wack! Remember? And put a little more salt” Chuck said as he was cutting lettuce.
“How do you know if you don’t taste it? How do you always know?” asked Estevan skeptically
“My gramma taught me to cook, and if it smells good, it tastes good!” Chuck said as he waved the aroma towards his nose. Estevan sniffed a spoonful and tasted it, “You’re right, just a little salt.”
The lunch rush was dying down and it was time to figure out lunch breaks. Estevan was working on to-go orders and insisted he has everything under control. Chuck warmed up some chile from home, Pueblo chile of course, and made some chile fries. He went out and sat in his car. He watched people go in and out of Gary’s. He knew if it looked like it was getting busy, he had to finish up and go help.
Chuck took his time to enjoy his meal and snuck in through the back door. He went into the bathroom to wash up, when he walked in there was an old man writhing in pain on the floor. It was a regular that Chuck knew.
“Mr. Martinez! Are you ok?!” A concerned Chuck asked.
“It hurts… it hurts…” Mr. Martinez’s eyes sprung open, his agonized facial expression dropped into a blank vacant look. “You need to try the chile,” he said. Chuck was confused. “You need to try it, hatch is the best.” Mr. Martinez stood up, straightened his shirt and walked out of the bathroom as if nothing had happened.
Chuck followed him out, he was greeted by a restaurant full of people with the same look, staring through him, slowly approaching.
They said in unison, “Hatch is the best, hatch is great”
Chuck backed up until he stumbled into a booth and scuttled into the back of the seat. The crowd closed in, “Hatch is the best, hatch is great,” all in a monotone chorus.
The crowd opened up, Estevan walked through with a slopper on a plate, he set it down in front of his friend, “Hatch is the best, Chuck, just try it,” Estevan said blandly. The crowd closed in on Chuck.
A view of Gary’s shown on a screen from an aerial view. The image pulled out showing all of downtown, then all of Pueblo, then Colorado, then the United States. Two figures shrouded in darkness studied the map. Hundreds of dots covered southern Colorado and New Mexico.
“Soon,” a deep voice said to the other figure. “Soon, we will control most of the population, then we will strike”.
A long gray finger pressed on the map, it zoomed in, showing an aerial view of downtown Pueblo, smiling people on the riverwalk, buying chile by the bushel to take home. Enjoying their food, beer, and music. Unknown to them, their festival not only has been invaded by something heinous from New Mexico, but something not of this world.
To be continued…
