Dirt to Uncover

"You should tuck in your shirt," he said. "People might think that you are hiding something." Juan Turcios had a slow way of talking, and knew that he had my attention and will slowly roast me before giving me what I wanted.

I had already learned to wear my shirts tucked, but I did not expect to follow this nuisance on a school bus. In Honduras, every important store, bank, or business is well guarded. If a guy has his shirt sticking out he is searched and followed inside the building. Talk about high pressure shopping!

"Ramon Manzanarez was my grandfather," I said after verifying it through a series of questions that revealed this relationship. "Tell me more about him."

"He lived in Coclan for almost 40 years," he said. "He gave me jobs in his milpa where I helped grow corn, and when we were done with corn we planted beans and followed this cycle throughout the year."

Don Turcios was easily in his sixties. A man that probably worked the fields from a very young age. His face was wrinkled and cracked by years of sun exposure and his long sleeve shirt stained through and through by sweat and dirt.
"He was a good boss and paid reasonably," he continued. "He made his living through his crops which we took to Otoro on Tuesdays to sell at the weekly market."

"Did he have any family?" I probed.

"No," he said. "Not what I would call a real family," he explained.

"As far as I know he always had company at home."
"What kind?" I asked.
"Look," he said. "I'm Christian, and I always see the best in people. There is more to your grandfather but you will not hear it from me."

"All I can say is that there was always someone in his life."

He was being reluctant to say more and so I focused the conversation on my side of the family. "Did he ever mentioned that he had family in the States?" I continued.

"Never." he replied. The feeling was mutual on the other end I thought.
"But then again, I was not that close to him, " he said.

"The closest to a son he had was Pucho who was left under your grandfather's care by his mom. The understanding was that she was to come back for him, but never did. So he cared for him like a son."

He then proceeded to tell me about my grandad's later years. He told me that as my grandfather grew older they could not keep up with the crop cycle and so had decided to sell his milpa.
"He must have made a lot of money from it," he said. "There was probably no need for him to work after he sold the eight manzanas of milpa. But he was not the kind to remain idle and so acquired an easy job with Otoro's municipality and was the central park's caretaker until the day he died."

"I was told that he died quietly in his sleep from a heart attack. The lawyer that rented out a room to him found him lying on his bed. Someone had come from the municipality asking for him after he had not reported to work that morning."
"Considering the size of Otoro and Coclan, his funeral was well attended . Almost three hundred people came. He had become a money lender in his last years and was probably owed by many, but was always forgiving and never really behind anybody for owing him. Everybody loved him and knew him by Moncho or Monchito."

After a long pause he said the following, "There is more to your grandfather, but I will not get into details. Search for other people that knew him better. Ask for Monchito and not Ramon, I don't think anyone remembers him by that name."

I would have been disappointed if all that was needed to know about my grandfather was what Juan Turcios had offered. But I had not expected to uncover too much dirt about him.
We had arrive at a crossroads before Otoro which was Juan Turcio's stop. We said goodbye.

(I have been to Otoro's two burying grounds twice, and have yet to find my grandfather's tomb. So I still do not know the precise date of his death.)