Mondongo

Bradley recognised the street vendor that was hawking arepas. He walked over towards the small cart and asked her what the filling was today.

“Chicken and onions,” replied the street vendor, presumptuously picking up one of the nicely browned discs from the grill and slicing the top open with a knife. She stuffed it with a generous helping of the filling and wrapped it in a napkin, holding it out for Bradley.

“How much do I owe you?” asked Bradley, being careful not to let any of the filling spill out as he took it from the street vendor.

“5000 pesos,” she replied.

Bradley sat on a bench in a nearby square, next to a fountain that didn’t have any water in it. As he began to eat his salty street snack, he saw a group of young teenagers turn the corner into the square, stopping next to a very small church. They were blasting reggaetón from more than one portable speaker.

All of them were wearing tracksuits and baseball caps, the rims of which were at 90-degree angles to their faces. They deliberated amongst themselves, eventually deciding that this was an optimal place to loiter. Bradley smiled to himself, reminiscing inwardly on how much of a nuisance he had been at that age.

He had taken two bites of his arepa when the unmistakeable sound of screeching tyres prompted him look up. Two military trucks appeared in the road running parallel to the square. Before the vehicles had even come to a complete stop, uniformed men began to descend from them. They set about corralling the teenagers.

Some of them froze, the colour draining from their faces. Others frantically dispersed in all directions. The remaining boys were ordered to stand against the wall of the church with their hands on their heads while some of the uniformed men chased after their scattering companions.

Bradley stood up to remove himself from the situation. One of the teenagers, in his panic-stricken escape attempt, clattered into him sending his arepa and all of its contents tumbling onto the ground. A uniformed pursuer whipped past Bradley shortly afterwards, his imposing, black military boots pounding on the quaint, picturesque cobblestone of the square.

One-by-one, the captured fugitives were frogmarched back into the square and lined up with the others against the church. The uniformed men frisked them all roughly, barking orders and questions as they did so. After a short time, the boys were loaded into the back of the trucks which drove away as quickly as they had arrived.

Bradley scooped up his lunch from the floor and dropped it into a bin on his way out of the square and back to his apartment.

He found his roommate Gustavo smoking a cigarette at the table in the living room.

“You’re not looking fresh,” said Gustavo, as Bradley closed the front door and took a seat opposite him.

“I think I just saw a group of kids get arrested,” replied Bradley. “Some soldiers came and took them away.”

Gustavo looked back at him blankly and after a brief silence said: “They weren’t being arrested. Everyone in this country has to do military service, that’s the reason they were being taken away.”

“And soldiers will just pull kids off the street for military service?” asked Bradley.

“Well… yeah,” said Gustavo, in a tone that suggested he didn’t really understand why the question was being asked. Then his features lightened and he broke into a laugh. “Unless your family has enough money to buy you out of it,” he carried on laughing. “Have you had lunch yet?”

“Barely,” mumbled Bradley.

“Why don’t we walk down to the restaurant?” asked Gustavo. “I’m starving and you are Don Ernesto’s favourite.”

As they approached the restaurant, the rotund figure of Don Ernesto appeared at the entrance.

“Gentleman!” he said, effusively. “Will you be dining with us today?”

“What’s on the menu, Don Ernesto?” asked Gustavo.

“Mondongo,” he beamed back them.

Tripe stew.

“I’m not going to be able to eat that,” Bradley quietly informed Gustavo.

*

Dazzling street art bespattered the walls on the opposite side of the street along which Bradley was walking. He slowed down to drink in the intoxicating, vibrant images that hummed with creative brilliance. The façade of the building directly across the road from him proudly exhibited a scaly serpent. Its body began in the bottom-left corner of the wall and slithered upwards, cresting above the doorway, then continued down into the bottom-right corner where its head was depicted. The nose and mouth breathed iridescent fire and the length of the creature was surrounded by a coterie of multi-coloured butterflies. Bradley wound down to a stop, awed by the mural.

He noticed that a man wearing a motorcycle helmet was standing in the doorway, which was about three feet deep. The man had his back pressed against the closed doors and could not be seen by approaching pedestrians until they came within touching distance.

A young woman toiling along with a bulky handbag was nearing the doorway. Just before she drew level with it, the man wearing the motorcycle helmet sprang out and started to wrest the handbag from her. She began to scream helplessly as she fought a losing battle to keep hold of the straps. The awe that Bradley had been feeling seconds earlier quickly transformed into startled dismay. As he waited for a break in traffic to cross the road, he saw the assailant successfully seize full control of the handbag and sprint to the corner of the block. He jumped onto a tactically parked motorcycle and sped away. As he did so, the all-consuming cacophony of a frenzied accelerating engine filled the street.

*

“Is something up?” enquired Gustavo. “You’ve barely said anything since yesterday.”

“I saw a woman being robbed,” replied Bradley. “That’s the third time I’ve seen something like that happen since I moved here.”

Gustavo laughed. “I’ve been robbed more times than I can count,” he said. “Listen, do you remember Paula and Sofía? They asked if we wanted to meet them tonight for dinner.”

Later that evening, Gustavo drove them both to the north of the city where the double-date was arranged to take place. Bradley looked out of the window as they passed Colpatria tower, all of its sides were lit up with patriotic reds, blues and yellows. It soared upwards, as if the city itself were wielding a neon Bolivarian sword.

*

Following a 90-minute power cut, Bradley was running embarrassingly late for a breakfast engagement with Paula. He was on the brink of taking his phone out of his pocket to inform Paula that he wasn’t going to make the agreed time when a taxi slowed down beside him and began crawling along at the same pace he was walking. The window on the passenger’s side whirred as it was wound down automatically.

“Bradley?” a man’s voice boomed from inside the taxi.

Bradley crouched down to look through the passenger’s window to see who was driving.

“Don Ernesto?” asked Bradley, surprised to see the restaurateur at the wheel.

“Get in!” he said. “Where are you going?”

“Can you take me to Plaza Bolívar? I’m running really late,” Bradley said as he got into the car.

“Of course, I can get you there in five minutes.”

“Why are you driving a taxi, Don Ernesto?”

“I drive taxis in the morning and run the restaurant in the afternoon,” he said. “I’m thinking about selling the business and becoming a full-time taxi driver. My wife says that running the restaurant is turning me into something that belongs in a Botero painting,” he chortled and tapped his protruding gut with the hand he was using to operate the gear stick. “Will we see you for lunch today?”

“What are you serving?” countered Bradley, unable to stop his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“Sancocho,” replied Don Ernesto.

The well-seasoned chicken and root vegetable broth from the pacific coast was an appetising prospect and Bradley’s mouth began to salivate at the thought of it.

“Yes, I think you’ll see me for lunch today,” said Bradley.

They pulled up at Plaza Bolívar and Bradley reached into his back pocket to pay for the lift. Don Ernesto feigned disgust at the sight of his wallet and made an exaggerated gesture for him to put it away, dismissing his protests.

Thanking Don Ernesto for his generosity, he got out of the taxi and saw Paula waving and walking towards him with an affectionate smile on her face.