King of the Aztecs

    My father ran the mining operation in Chiapas before the murder, he was almost as powerful as the potbellied man. The rule was: nobody crossed  potbellied man. But no one ever told that to my father.
The matzos waded into green water hunting fish.
In the villa  the potbellied man watched  them from the balcony.
Across his bed lay  his brown girl casually puffing on one
of his cigars. The ceiling fan above the bed turned silently casting its  swirling shadow onto the naked girl below. The potbellied man sighed and returned to her.
    Down river men mined  the gold and sliced away the earth with water canons.   turning the land into rivers of mud.
The river ran a burnt gesso and killed the fish. A colored boy  had come to the camp from a town near by and was yelling  protests annoying the miners, fed up, they shot him.
    He fell dead and his blood mixed with mud and gold.
My father joined the burial as the body was carried along a jungle trail above the mining then tossed  into the river.
There  the body floated gently until an eddy of green water consumed it.  
   I could hear Shouts  coming from the villa in the morning  a voice that sounded like  my fathers was  insulting the potbellied man. “Eres un cobarde! Eres un cobarde!” over and over. The matzos found the potbellied man dead by the river and hour later his throat had been cut from ear to ear. There was no sign of my father. A week went by and he finally returned  The police  questioned  him   and then released him. It seemed the potbellied man had more then one enemy. Eventually The mining stopped in Chiapas the gold had run out.  But the matzos still waded into green water hunting fish, the brown girl lie on the bed and I watched the jungle from the villa for the ghost of the potbellied man.