La Banda de Los Hermanos

Detta är kapitel 1, eller ja, ett skelett/en grund till kapitel 1 av "Marcado de por vida", alltså det som kommer efter prologen ;) Som jag så fint döpt till "La banda de los hermanos" vilket ungefär betyder "The band of brothers", titeln har lite olika innebörder för resten av storyn.

Som vanligt, detta är inte det slutgiltiga resultatet. Det kommer göras om massvis med gånger så det kan finnas en hel del fel här i just nu. Jag lägger upp en bild på hur jag menar att de gör "djävulstecknet" det var då lite klurigt att beskriva med ord. Men enjoy!

It was evening and the members, homies, of the Mara Salvatrucha gang also known as MS-13, held a burial ceremony for my brother at one of the small funeral halls which belonged to a few priests who had decided to voluntarily take care of ceremonies like these.

For each death caused to/in this strange family of brothers and sisters the members hated their enemies more. After this night the number of murders would escalate, more blood would be spilled for what had been done to their homie. It was their duty to make the enemy pay for what he had done.

A ceremony like this was purely based on the respect for life and death. A member had sacrificed himself in order to save others. It was the most respected thing you could do for your gang.

Hardly being able to breathe in the overly hot and crowded room the homies put their clinched fists together side by side and with their index fingers pointing up in the air and let their hands rest in front of their foreheads making it look like they had horns. This was the infamous devil sign.

With mad faces they sobbed and grieved. Maybe some of them feared the day they would lie still in a place like this having their brothers and sisters remember them as a hero?

One after another they reached over the white coffin my brother had been put to rest in. It had a glass window for his face to be shown. The gang had walked around the neighborhood collecting money for the coffin, the rest of the money they had been able to raise they had tried to give to my grandmother as a “we are so sorry for your loss” present. You should have seen her face when they came to our house. My grandmother is in her late 70s but she's not afraid of anything. At the door she yelled at them:

“I ain't scare of all of you inked faces. I've lived through the civil war! There's nothing that scares me now-a-days!” And then added. “So get the HELL out of my house!”

With surprised faces they left with the few dollars they had collected. When she caught me laughing my eyes out in the kitchen she said with a mad look:

“And what are you laughing at you little sneak?!”

There's a lot of fire in my grandmother. When me and my brother were younger she used to ask what would happen to us if she wasn't around.

A young woman made her way to the coffin. I could tell she'd been crying for quiet some time because her eyes were all red. She leaned over the coffin while sobbing my brother's name. I guessed that was Victor's girlfriend Luna. He hadn't talked much about her but I knew enough to understand that must be her because none of the other women in the room sobbed like her.

Then a tall, normally built man stepped forward and placed himself in front of the coffin. It was their leader, ranflero, Diablo. All the noises died and everyone turned their attention to him.

My brother had died just before his 22^nd birthday. He'd spent most part of his teen years being a Mara, a member of the MS-13. Just a few days ago we had invented plans together. In the dim light of the bedside lamp we'd pictured ourselves going somewhere in the dark green Chevrolet Victor had inherited from our father. Together we would get away from El Salvador. Maybe as far as America. His words were simple:

“The world is just standing there right in front of us waiting for two men like you and me to discover it. There's nothing stopping us.”

Diablo cleared his throat.

“We all know why we're here tonight, to celebrate the death of a brother. A brother who gave his life to the gang so that the rest of us could walk freely. This kind of homie deserves our uttermost respect. May he rest in peace.” He ended his speech with the devils horn and in a choir they all chanted:

“For the Mara Salvatrucha.”

After this the ceremony was pretty much over. I made my way out of the room to get some fresh air. Something in me, like an instinct, told me I belonged to these “homies”. It felt weird. I was nothing like them. Sure, the weapons they carried and the free life they were living excited me. What twelve year old boy wouldn't find those things interesting?

“Small boy!” A voice behind me said. I almost shit my pants. Damn it, I was always such a day-dreamer.

“Yeah?” I turned around.

Diablo was staring at me from a few feet distance. His face was harsh and some parts of it was covered in large tattoos.

“You're Amarillo's brother, right?”

I nodded. I didn't dare to talk to this guy. He looked dead crazy.

“Come here.” He gestured with his hand for me to join him.

While moving my body in his direction I felt like I was walking towards my own death. Every part of me was stiffening. When I was close enough he put his arm around my shoulder.

“I'm glad you came little brother. Let's sit over here.” He walked me over to a bench on the other side of the small road.

“It must be hard for you.” He said when we had been seated. “Losing a brother when you're so young.”

I looked down at my hands resting on my knee. Suddenly I felt like crying. I hardly ever cry, it's not in my nature to but now I did. The tears just seemed to stream down my face without there being a stop to them.

“It's okay chico.”

“No it's not.” I sobbed sounding even more pathetic then when I was just keeping quiet crying.

“You know, I lost my brother too. I still remember how I felt about it.”

“Did you cry too?”

“I did. Off course. You should cry when a brother dies. It's normal.”

I wanted nothing more right now than to lie in my bed having my brother tell me one of his crazy stories of his life as a Mara.

“I'm just angry with why he had to die.” I began drying my wet cheeks with the back of my hands.

“I know chico.” He pulled me to him and embraced me. “It's okay.” He kissed my head then released his grip on me to look into my eyes. “If there's anything you need I'm here for you. You can come to me anytime you want chico. You're one of us now.”

Prólogo (=Prolog)

Nu har jag gjort mitt skrivande på MARCADO DE POR VIDA för idag (?). Än så länge i alla fall. Mitt huvud dunkar från all reggaeton musik och allt intensivt stirrande på dataskärmen. Usch mina ögon! Jag har lagt till lite grejer på vissa kapitel så att de blir lite längre, förhoppningsvis ännu längre med tiden. Sist ut blev att fortsätta med min prolog. Här är den som den ser ut för tillfället.


Karaktärer: (Namnen med "" är deras gängnamn.)
Ángel "Chico" Martínez (huvudkaraktär)
Victor "Amarillo" Martínez (Ángels storebror, MS13 medlem)

PRÓLOGO

“Run Ángel!” My brother yelled.
“But...” I stuttered like a little baby. I felt my heart pounding faster and faster, wouldn't it burst out of my body soon?
“Look at me, chico.” He put his hand under my chin, it was warm, loving and his eyes filled with a constant worry. There was sweat on his forehead and from time to time he looked in another direction.
“Just run. Run as fast as you can. And don't look back, okay?”
He didn't hug me, just put his hand up in the air and I did the same and we both formed our hands as a devil's horn.
“Hermanos para siempre.” He said.
“Hermanos para siempre...” Brothers forever.
He took out his handgun from the pocket of his pants and gave me a push.

I started running and while I did I repeated Victor's words in my head and on my lips. I whispered them as I ran away from the alley where we'd been hiding. Hermanos para siempre. It has been all my idea. Victor had disagreed to it but I had nagged about it all morning and eventually he'd shouted:
“Fine! But it's not my fault if you get shot.”
It wasn't really allowed. But Victor had said that his leader, El Maquina, had already approved of me as a sympathizer, someone who was in, let's say, a quarantine, waiting for the day when he could join.
Having succeeded with my nagging I had managed to go a “look out” with my brother not too far from where we lived. My brother's gang, the Mara Salvatrucha, ruled in our neighborhood but from time to time they had to go on look out's in order to prevent the chavalas, the enemy, from entering their territory.

Because of the morning's route Victor had been appointed to keep an eye on he didn't think it would be at all dangerous for me to come along. But of course, he was so wrong.
I looked over my shoulder to see if my brother was still there. He was sitting knee-bent in the dark alley looking in the opposite direction. Then the rain begun to poor down on the people of El Salvador. I ran too fast and accidentally lost my left shoe. I tried to keep the same pace as before but failed and eventually I kicked off the right shoe to be able to run faster. I stumped into a puddle of water and that's when I heard them, the shots aimed to kill. I stopped as if I'd been put on pause in a video game. It felt as if I'd lost my breathe. I knew right then what those bullets had done without looking.

Even if I shouldn't have I turned to glance who the man pulling his trigger was. He stared at me with harsh eyes. Everything around me just stopped existing. All but those eyes. It felt like we stared at each other for hours. The man's face was mostly covered with a white and blue scarf – the colors of El Salvador. I shifted my gaze to the gun in his hands. Surprisingly he didn't point it at me. Instead he turned his back on me and ran away. When he was out of my sight I ran back to my brother.
“Victor?” I bent down next to him. His wet clothes were painted in red.
“Tu eres loco chico!” He growled. (=You're crazy boy!)
“Qué?” (=What?)
He grabbed my shirt with his bloody hand.
“I told you to run! Didn't I?” The rain made it hard for him to look directly at me.
I dropped my gaze to the ground. He pulled my face closer to him.
“Didn't I?!”
“Yes.” I hissed.
“So why didn't you listen to me?”
“Because I...”
Victor released his grip of me. I fell backwards in to the muddy ground.
“I'm sorry.” I sobbed.
“Stop crying, Ángel. A Mara* never cries.” (* Mara = Mara Salvatrucha medlem)
Even if the lump in my throat kept growing I shut up. Instead I lied down next to him with my head resting on his chest.
“Promise me, chico.” He said.
“What?”
“To never look into the eyes of the devil.” (= att inte bli en Mara och fastna i det livet, djävulens ögon tillhör såklart Diablo.)

Till prologen lyssnade jag om och om igen till låten "Yo te esperaré" (= Jag kommer vänta (på dig)), lyssnade mycket intensivt till den sista dialogen. Jag blev alldeles blödig :P

Det stod förresten om Mara Salvatrucha i Expressen häromdagen. Lite roligt tyckte jag. Det var en väldigt liten notis som handlade om att El Salvador firade att det var den första dagen på tre år som det inte skett några mord i landet. Det var en bra notis tyckte jag :)

(Marcado de por vida) El Joker's change of heart

EL JOKER CAMBIO DE CORAZÓN

CAPÍTULO ?

There was something different about Joker. I could feel it. He didn't talk to me, really, he didn't talk much to anyone. It was as if he was hiding from something. He drew back from all of us.

One day, at morning when we had nothing to do for the moment, we sat by the river we used to sit by pulling the grass out off the ground or throw rocks in to the water. Today we did nothing like that. We just sat there as if we were waiting for something to happen right in front of our eyes. Like, maybe the whole river would catch fire or something, just something...
“What's up?” I asked him. I couldn't stand the silence and I had a hard time sitting still for too long.
“Not much Chico.”
We began talking about nothing really, about the weather about what we thought Diablo would make us do today, what we would do for the rest of the week, if anything special would happen.

Then he said:

“Have anyone told you the story of The crazy brother´s of El Salvador?”

I shook my head.

“No.”

“No? You wanna hear?”

“Sure.”

"They'll be the end of you Chico.”

“Try me.”

Joker laughed at my hopeless.

“Okay. But promise me you won't go looking for him or something else stupid like trying to be like him.”
I shrugged my shoulders.

“Oye. The crazy brother's of El Salvador consisted of two brothers. Okay?”

“Mhm.”

“They were El Soldado and Arcangel. El Soldado was the older brother and Arcangel the younger.”

I nodded.

“And El Soldado is the father of all maras. You know that, right?”

“Yes.”

“Together the brothers ruled the MS-13 community, not only here in El Salvador, but in the Honduras, Guatemala, Costa Rica. Even New York in America. El Soldado and Arcangel were the most powerful duo you could ever imagine, they were like the Godfathers' of Central America, like freaking Vito Corleone.” He gestured with his hands in the air. “I was just a kid when they controlled these streets but I still remember the fear they put in all Salvadorans. You didn't dare to say their names because you thought they would kill you. I almost shit my pants when I thought about it. I mean, they were the real deal Chico. There was no idea to go against them because then there was nothing else to do but arrange your own funeral. They literally killed anyone who got in their way. They were real maras.”

I could only sit back and think “wow, there were gangsters like this? Why hadn't my brother ever talked about them? In comparison to this Diablo and El Maquina seemed small and meaningless. Joker gave me a push.

“Hey, don't get too carried away by this okay? I can see it in your eyes.”

I looked at him.

“Those eyes will never be able to lie to anyone.” He said. “Anyway, the two put major fear in all of us and killed whoever they liked, they weren't picky. They were having the time of their lives, living la vida loca. But then El Soldado decided to go America and recruit more people from New York. But he ended up settling down there, maybe he liked the idea of being the boss of the gangs in the US more than the gangs here in poor Centroamerica? Anyhow, Arcangel felt confused over his brother's decision and felt, perhaps, deceived? They say blood is thicker than water but Arcangel didn't give a fuck about all that, he started hating on his brother and his rage colored the streets of San Salvadora red. Now we really feared for our lives.”

I pictured it before me. The streets filled with blood. Dead bodies stacked on top of each other. Flies everywhere. People staying inside their houses for days not able to sleep, scared to death because all they could think about was the slayers out there who didn't spare anyone.

“Then the war of gangs broke out. It was us against them, the chavalas. It was killing twenty-four hours a day. Neither of us gave up, only one could win, right?”

I nodded.

“Then the real turning-point came. It was revealed that the crazy brothers' were actually sons to the chief of police in San Salvador. Talk about putting shame on the pigs.” Joker laughed. “Can you believe it Chico? Those every man and woman had put their faith in to solve this problem weren't any better than the dogs out there.” He had to wipe his eyes because he was crying from laughter. “Isn't it the funniest thing ever? The police chief – the father of two mass murderers. It doesn't get any better than this.”

“And El Soldado? Did he come back?”

“Well...”

Heavy footsteps approached us from behind. Joker glanced at me. His eyes were like: “Don't tell anyone, okay?”

“Joker. Chico. What are you doing?” Cuchillo said.

Joker picked up a small rock from the ground and threw it in to the river.

“Nothing.” He said.

“Diablo wants you back at the house.” Cuchillo said, then added. “Playtime's over.”

Joker snorted with a twisted smile.

“I'll pretend I didn't hear that.”

We both stood up. I whispered to Joker when we followed the gorilla back to the house.

“Promise me you'll tell the rest of the story later.”

Joker chuckled quietly, but then something in his eyes changed. It was that look again. I don't know how to describe it. It was as if he was hiding something from me, like he was holding something back.

A few days later we went back to the river again. It was early morning and the sun had just settled on the sky.

“I promised you the rest of the story, right?”

I nodded.

“Okay. So El Soldado came back to San Salvador after he'd heard what his brother had done. You know, rumors spread so fast in our world. There's no way we can keep anything from each other. Once you've told someone you've told them all...”

He looked down at the ground.

“But with you Chico, it's different.” He grabbed a handful of grass and pulled it up from the ground. “You're not the typical mara. I noticed that the day you arrived. You didn't fit in. You weren't as bloodthirsty as all the others before you.”

I glanced at him.

“What do you mean?”

“I know secrets are of no use in this place. But... could you keep a secret for me?”

I thought about it for a minute or two. He looked more nervous the more I stayed quiet.

“Okay.” I finally said. “I can keep a secret for you.”

He leaned over to me.
“I have a family, Chico. I have a little niña. She's only a few month old. I'm telling you this because you're the only one I can trust. I hope I can.” Our eyes met. “I don't know what to do... I'm so confused. My girlfriend wants me to leave this place, if I don't she'll leave me. I can't.... I want to be with my daughter.”
“What's her name?” I said.
“Sophia.” He pulled out a photograph from his jeans pocket and handed it to me.
I smiled.

“She's beautiful. But she doesn't look anything like you. You sure she's yours?”

I tried not to laugh but eventually that was all I could do. He hit me in the back of my head and withdrew the photo from my hand. Then he too began laughing.
Our eyes shifted to the river again. The morning air was already getting warmer.
“I've been here for almost 10 years now. This is all I know. I grew up here. El Maquina, may he rest in peace, taught me everything I know of how to be a man. I owe him everything. He raised me in a way my parents couldn't. He gave me shelter and taught me how to survive... But I've come to realize this is not my kind of place. I always wanted to do something different with my life. I want to become a teacher. I want to show children and youngsters there is another way then the gang's way. I want to build a house and I want to live in it with my family. And I want a son so I can teach him to play football. I want to hold my wife at night without having to tell her she doesn't have to be afraid of what will happen to me.”

At that moment I didn't yet know what happened to those who wanted to walk away. Those who wanted to leave the Mara Salvatrucha lifestyle. But Diablo would teach me and he would use one of his own soldiers as an example.

- God natt

Författarverkstaden är en härlig plats

Jag har typ bosatt mig mentalt i El Salvador i x-antal dagar denna vecka och det fortsätter, lyssnar tex. inte på någon annan musik en min inspirationslista, jag lever verkligen mig in i mina karaktärer och det lilla område allt utspelar sig på. Jag gråter och skrattar med de och tyvärr har jag ihjäl de jag älskar. Jag förstår nu hur författar kan älska det de gör så mycket. Jag hoppas att min kreativitet håller i sig.
Visade upp min "baby" för familjen, lillebrors kommentar var: Hur orkar du? - Jesper, jag kommer så inte tillägna detta verk till dig!
Mamma och pappa var lite mäkta imponerade men mamma klarade inte av att läsa hela för att den är på engelska och hon var trött :P
Pappa tyckte som vanligt att jag ska skriva klart och skicka in. Ja, det där med att skriva klart har ju aldrig varit min grej, men nu kanske. Har förresten en fortsättning på detta verk som verkligen är "baby numero dos".

Världens bästa "komma i inspiration-mode" : Amor de Bandido (= Love Bandits)

Muy contento! Författarverkstad

Jag är så lycklig just nu, känner mig som en världsmästare i författar vm eller något?!
Tänk om min lilla baby verkligen kunde bli en riktig bok?! Gaaaah!!
Estoy muy contento ^^
Och nu har jag döpt om den också från "In it for life" till "Marcado de por vida" vilket betyder "Marked for life" med "undertexten" Once you're in, you're in it for life.

Åh jag ryser av lycka! Nu vill jag sitta och redigera en massa kapitel och snygga till, lägga till, göra om, börja om, utöka. :D


PS. Alldeles överlycklig sprang jag ner med datorn för att visa min familj vad jag lyckats åstadkomma. Men ja, då ligger mor och sover och pappa ska iväg på något och lillebror sover också. Man bara, Sacha vill du se? Suck....