The Last Dance Of Don Diego

by John Kojak

About the Author: John Kojak is a graduate of The University of Texas and Navy veteran who now lives and writes in the foothills of Northern California. His short stories have been published in Bête Noire, Pulp Modern, Switchblade, Serial Magazine, and Blue Room Book’s Stories of Southern Humor and Southern Crime Anthology. His poetry has also appeared in Poetry Quarterly, The American Journal of Poetry, and California’s Best Emerging Poets 2019.

Excerpt

My name is María, and when I was fourteen I witnessed a murder. I still remember everything about that day. It began, like most days, with the feral heat of the rising sun upon my back as I labored through my morning chores, and the bitter words of my parents buzzing in my ears like angry bees.

Most days were difficult, but I knew this day would be especially bad. Don Diego, the wealthy owner of a silver mine in the hills above our town, had decided to throw a lavish fiesta in honor of his birthday. Our town was poor, so most people saw it as an act of generosity, but not my father. He hated Don Diego.

 “Fiesta? For what?” my father seethed. “That chingado? Who is he? He is nothing.”

“Be quite you old fool. Look at you. You are the one who is nothing,” my mother replied.

“I forbid you to go! This family takes nothing from that man.”

“If you worked, if you still gave a damn about providing for this family, maybe we wouldn’t have to.”

“I work …” my father said as he raised another cup of liquor to his lips.

“Really?”

“I work every day to restore this families honor!” He slammed the empty wooden cup down on the table and it went careening to the floor.

“Ha!” my mother scoffed. “A drunk, that is what you are.”

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