CABRITO

I walked across the bridge in the late morning. I wanted to eat barbacoa at one of my favorite restaurants. I had to take a circuitous route to my destination. Soldiers were guarding the entrances to the old city's streets. They explained that the municipality was restoring many of Matamoros' historical buildings, which would include bullet holes in the facades from the revolutionary battles.

I arrived at the restaurant, eerily empty except for a few customers. I ordered my traditional breakfast, but the barbacoa had a strange taste.

"They're using human heads," said a patron.

I assumed he was joking, but he sent a shudder down my spine when he added, "The heads are more abundant these days and the cilantro eliminates the acrid flavor."

I arrived at my former in-laws' house. We have no hard feelings. I needed to take a shit, but I had to wait a half-hour for them to unlock the front door. I watched Cruz Azul against Chivas, but I grew bored with the scoreless duel and late in the second half I bid adieu and ambled to the Old Market two blocks away. Except for the hunchbacks shining each other's shoes, there was little activity.

The shop owners lamented that global warning had led to the extinction of the snowbird. I wanted to inform them that they were returning to South Texas like the swallows at Capistrano, but they feared they would be shot out of the sky and opted for nesting on the north side of the river.

After buying a group of stuff frogs playing musical instruments for a dollar, I sauntered to El Norteno's for cabrito. The splayed animals in the window bore an uncanny resemblance to infants, but the kid tasted normal except I complained to the waiter that the kitchen was using an abnormal amount of cilantro.

I once again embarked on a wayward route to the border, but I stopped at Garcia's for a drink. The trio, which in the old days charged me five dollars for one song, wanted only one dollar for five songs. Bloody Marys were but a dollar apiece.

I wobbled across the bridge three hours later and flagged a taxi home. I think I'll take my oldest sons across next weekend. The Brownsville Herald was right in the article it published a few months ago: The deals are unbelievable. With the army patrolling the streets and automatic weapons at their sides, one couldn't feel safer.