THE CAVE MAN OF SAN MIGUEL DE ALLENDE

CAVE MAN

I have never seen him in clothes other than these.  He is my neighbor and he lives in a cave hidden behind an ancient wood door.   Once in awhile he leaves the cave and goes shopping.  One San Miguel block takes a good hour.  

Stooped from the middle he cusses as he inches along.  His right hand “cane” is a pick ax. 
His second cane is a mop wrapped in  oily cloth. 

Last week he yelled at a passing child to bring him a soda.  The boy returned with a Coke and heaved it at the old man.  Few get too close.


Once I opened my iron gate and there he was.  I almost toppled him over.  He snarled.  “Pase, pase, pase!,”  Which means move, move, move.  
I did.

But, he has people.  I think they're family.  Who else would come.  During the rains, I walked to his cave door.  There I saw a rather ordinary middle-aged woman stacking his garbage inside and an ordinary man up on his makeshift tree branch roof laying broken red tiles

I've got to find out who he is, how he came to live like this in a hovel of rocks.