Carnitas de Armando

     He was short as was she. He stood more straight than her and moved always with deliberation. She had a wizened chinese type face somewhat doubled over from a life of work I suppose. That's how I came to know them,, Armando and Felipa. They were always together,,, like beans on a tortilla. 
    Armando and Felipa ran a roadhouse for "carnitas" just up the street. Carnitas means "little meats". Doesn't translate well. There is nothing "little" about carnitas. Carnitas are all the parts of the pig deep fried in its own fat in a large copper pan. The meat is seasoned with different herbs, water and salt. Bone, skin, or viscera - and a combination of parts of the pig: pure meat, lungs, cheeks, heart, liver, tongue, Nenepil (uterus and stomach), ear, kidneys, trompa (nose), and (viril) penis are combined in the large cooking tub. 
     Sometimes on sunday mornings we would walk up to their roadhouse to enjoy a few tacos garnished with limon, cebolla and a salsa de tomate con chile manzano . Armando tended the meats simmering over a wood fire and Felipa made tortillas and served the customers. She used a simple machine that could turn out multiple tortillas. I knew them from their work and because,, as with certain people our paths crossed often. I would see them in the market and a veces we shared a cab back to Teneria. They were always together,,, quiet,, and secure. 

     I heard the churchbell toll, slow and deliberate the other day. This was not a call to mass but a deathnell. Someone died. Who? I asked the employees because they are more pegged to the neighborhood than I. "El viejo que vendio carnitas", one of them replied. Armando I said astonished. "Si el". 
     My thoughts fled to Felipa. My God, my God I wondered,,, what will become of her? 
     The day after Armando died the death bell sang its lonely song once again tolling this time for Felipa who survived her husband by one day.