Tales From Taxi World
Jann Burner
September 14, 2006
Two Aztec Queens
I picked them up in the Richmond district. They were very old, eighty or ninety at least. Two sisters from Mexico. Two reincarnated Aztec queens. One sat in the rear and one sat in the front next to me. She liked the way I drove.
"You handle it like a toy," she said. "You are very good, so careless and yet so sure."
She was wearing a bathrobe with a night dress under it. They had come up from Mexico City after the war, in '46. When they got in the cab, I assumed the one in front was ill and they wanted to go to a hospital. Instead they wanted to go to an alley off 16th and Mission street.
I found it disconcerting speaking with them at first because, though they looked ancient, their voices were the voices of young women. The one in the rear, whom I couldn't see because she sat directly behind me, sounded no more than a mature thirty. The ancient one in front kept laughing and speaking of death and dying. She sounded no more than twenty five.
"Everyone wants to go to heaven," said the one in front with a slight Valley Girl lilt. "But no one wants to die..." and then she would laugh and laugh. The way she laughed made me laugh. She sounded very funny and very wise. There was something so alive and quick about them both that I hated to see the ride come to an end.
As we turned the corner into the alley at 16th and Mission Street, the one in front motioned for me to pull over behind the bus parked at the curb. "GAMBLER'S SPECIAL", said the sign emblazoned along the side.
"Everyone wants to go to heaven," she said again. "But first, we go to...Reno!"
I picked them up in the Richmond district. They were very old, eighty or ninety at least. Two sisters from Mexico. Two reincarnated Aztec queens. One sat in the rear and one sat in the front next to me. She liked the way I drove.
"You handle it like a toy," she said. "You are very good, so careless and yet so sure."
She was wearing a bathrobe with a night dress under it. They had come up from Mexico City after the war, in '46. When they got in the cab, I assumed the one in front was ill and they wanted to go to a hospital. Instead they wanted to go to an alley off 16th and Mission street.
I found it disconcerting speaking with them at first because, though they looked ancient, their voices were the voices of young women. The one in the rear, whom I couldn't see because she sat directly behind me, sounded no more than a mature thirty. The ancient one in front kept laughing and speaking of death and dying. She sounded no more than twenty five.
"Everyone wants to go to heaven," said the one in front with a slight Valley Girl lilt. "But no one wants to die..." and then she would laugh and laugh. The way she laughed made me laugh. She sounded very funny and very wise. There was something so alive and quick about them both that I hated to see the ride come to an end.
As we turned the corner into the alley at 16th and Mission Street, the one in front motioned for me to pull over behind the bus parked at the curb. "GAMBLER'S SPECIAL", said the sign emblazoned along the side.
"Everyone wants to go to heaven," she said again. "But first, we go to...Reno!"
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