He stubbed out his cigarette in a chipped bowl he was using
for an ashtray. “They let you do that here?” I asked, pointing to the pack of
Marlboros and Zippo lighter on his lap.
“They can tell me what to do inside there,” he said as he
gestured over his shoulder to the heavy front doors of the nursing home, “but
they can’t tell me what to do out here.” Out here was the front portico of the
sprawling nursing home where we’d come to visit some of our relatives. David
was a distant cousin of my father in law, and I chatted with him while waiting
for my husband to drop off some papers with the office on our way out. David
had seen better times, and indeed some of the stories I’d heard about his
younger days were incongruous to his now frail frame resting in a wheelchair
and wrapped in a light blanket even on this warm day.
He fiddled with his pack of cigarettes as he spoke. “Mija (daughter, a term of endearment), did you ever hear about the time I
saved Marlon Brando?” I waited for a laugh or smile to confirm it was a joke,
but his rheumy eyes remained fixed on me as he tapped the lighter
gently.
I’d heard my father-in-law’s stories about being an extra on
the movie Viva Zapata, filmed in the
area and starring Marlon Brando in the early 1950’s, but hadn’t heard anything
about this. “No, I haven’t heard about it. THE Marlon Brando?”
“Yes, THE Marlon Brando,” he choked as a coughing spasm
overtook him. He gasped but regained control. “You
remember the movie Viva Zapata?” I
nodded. “They filmed some of it around here, right down there on the river.” He
pointed vaguely to the south, where I knew the Rio Grande curved its snaky
course. The hills of Mexico sat like a hazy mirage on the distant horizon.
(The Rio Grande near where scenes from Viva Zapata were filmed. Mexico is on the far side.)
“Well, I was an extra, too, just like your father in law.
They fed us well, but we weren’t supposed to mix with the stars, so we kept our
distance. One afternoon, though, I had an old lasso and was practicing some
roping tricks while we waited for the next scene. I heard someone come up
behind me, but didn’t pay any attention because I thought it was just someone
from around here. I looked up and it was Marlon.”
He lit a fresh cigarette while another coughing spasm
threatened to squeeze up his gullet. He suppressed it and continued. “We talked
and one thing led to another and Marlon ended up meeting me and some of my
friends that evening for some roping lessons. We brought the beer and Marlon
brought the tequila.” He whistled weakly and shook his head while he chuckled. “We
thought we were pretty tough, but hijole,
that man could drink. He polished off most of that tequila by himself and
pulled out another bottle from somewhere. He started on that one and still
acted like he was as sober as a missionary.
“We were all feeling pretty good as it got dark and we started
roping. We were out in a pasture that belonged to my uncle- lots of cactus all
over, black animal holes, not too smart a place to be after sunset. I still remember how loud the coyotes were that night. We didn’t care. I had a
pistol with me and we started shooting the empty beer cans for targets. I guess
all that beer and tequila finally hit Marlon and he stumbled and fell, but he
was laughing so hard he didn’t seem to mind.
“We all laughed, too, but my friends froze when I suddenly
pulled my pistol and shot right by Marlon’s ear. Marlon stopped for a minute,
and looked at me, wide-eyed. When he rolled over and saw the dead rattlesnake I’d
shot right through the head, he slapped his knee and passed me another beer.
David looked off into the distance for a moment, as if the
1950’s were still faintly visible, like those hazy hills in Mexico. “Drunk or
sober, I was always a pretty good shot.” He smiled. “Not everybody can say they’ve
saved a movie star. Nosirree, but I have. I surely have.”
Marlon
