MORDIDA—The Little Bite
By Terry Hogan

      My wife and I were sound asleep in our home in San Pedro Tesistan which is a very quiet village at the west end of Lake Chapala. About two in the morning someone rang the bell at our front gate. It was raining steadily with gusting winds, the type of night where one doesn’t want to get out of bed. The bell started ringing again so I got up and went to the gate; when I opened the gate I was surprised to see the local police.
      The police asked us to come with them to the highway; two of our horses were out and there had been an accident. Dianne and I rapidly got dressed and jumped into the car which would afford some protection from the rain. When we arrived at the highway there were two men waiting for us.
      We asked, “Where are the horses, and how bad are they injured?” The men said, “The horses are back by the lake and they were not hurt with the exception that the black gelding had a small cut on his right shoulder.”
      We asked, “Why are we here then?” The police told us that the horses had got on the highway and the gelding had stopped traffic and had attacked the one man’s car causing the windshield to be broken. There was indeed a junk car at the side of the road about fifty feet from where we were standing. The windshield was broken completely out, but we didn’t see any dents in the hood or the front end of the car to indicate the horse had jumped up and somehow hit the windshield.
      The rain had stopped, so it was easier to communicate with the police and the two men. Everybody was excited and speaking rapidly. We started to think that this was all a hoax and the real issue was fresh money in the neighborhood. We couldn’t see how the horse could knock out the windshield without doing other damage to the car.
      One of the men said, “It will require 2,000 pesos to fix the windshield.” The other man said, “No, it will require 6,000 pesos.” They started arguing with each other about the amount that it would take to make things right again. At 10,000 pesos we said we doubted that the horses did any damage, and that the vehicle in question wasn’t even road worthy.
      That started a frenzy of conversation whose speed was beyond my capability to understand Spanish. The police joined in at this point and said if we didn’t pay they would impound the horses. I told them they were welcome to try to catch the horses.
      It had started to rain again. I could tell that the police were not enthusiastic about chasing around in the tall grass to catch horses who didn’t want to be caught. This kind of fun only goes so far. The more senior of the officers asked me how much I thought it would take to cover the cost of the repair. I suggested that 2,000 pesos was ample to cover the new windshield, and any stress related to the accident.
      The two men were graphic in their desire to let us know that 2,000 pesos would be totally inadequate to cover the repair. The police now became advocates in our favor and made it very clear that the men had better take the offer. Amidst moaning and groaning, the police actually wrote a contract. We arranged to meet at the bank in Jocotopec Monday morning at 10:00 AM in order to complete the contract.
      One of the men was told by the police to move the car off the highway, and after much wiggling and jiggling they got the car started. When he tried to put the car in gear it was apparent that there was no clutch. After grinding the shift lever he got the car to move. He parked it in what I believed would be the car’s final resting place. This made me re-value the car at 200 pesos, but then who knows how much value these men placed on the car.
      I thought we had got everything straightened out when the police asked us to take the owner of the car home. They had to report back at police headquarters so they couldn’t do it. It turns out that the man lived in the mountains between Jocotopec and Guadalajara and of course the rain was back. We followed directions without really knowing where we were going but after an hour we reached the man’s house and he invited us in for a drink. We courteously demurred because it was now 4:30 AM and we had an hour drive to return to our bed.
      We realized after some thought that we had been scammed. When we met at the bank on Monday morning the man was very friendly, and was happy to receive the money. He said, “You are kind people and I am glad that it is not too much money.”
      The meaning of mordida, the little bite, became clearer. Today, many months later, the car still sits at the second man’s house, waiting to play a part in the next drama.