No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

I met Marisol Segundo in La Cruz de Huanacastle in 2010.  She had a taco stand with four tables on a corner near our condo. Her tacos were heavenly! Originally from Mexico City, Marisol had the prettiest smile I’d ever seen. Neto and I went to see her every day for lunch.

The following year, when we were back in La Cruz again, Marisol confided that her dream was to create a small restaurant in that same space, a corner owned by her father. We wished her well.

In 2012, Neto and I were staying in Bucerias, but took a bus one day to check on Marisol and her restaurant. The restaurant was only halfway finished and Marisol was still serving lunch on the patio. All the city workers had discovered, like we did, that Marisol’s cooking was fantastic. She served comida corrida, a daily special with a main course, rice and beans. Her specialties were chicken enchiladas, marlin burritos and tortas cubanas. The cost was usually $3.50 (U.S.)

Before we left the restaurant, Marisol asked if she could talk to me. She explained that the restaurant was costing her more than she had counted on. She needed to apply for additional “permits” (bribes) and didn’t have enough money to finish the bathroom. Marisol wanted to know if I would lend her some money and assured me that she would pay me back.

I agreed to lend Marisol the money to finish her restaurant. I came back a week later and told Marisol that she didn’t need to replay me. The money was un regalo, a gift. I felt like Oprah, except that Oprah gives away cars and I gave away a toilet.

That was the beginning of a lovely friendship. Marisol opened her restaurant, The Little Hot Grill, and got great reviews on Trip Advisor. For the next few years, whenever Neto and I vacationed in La Cruz, we hired Marisol to be our personal chef. I gave her an envelope of cash at the beginning of the week and she cooked for us. 

I was proud of Marisol. As an unmarried woman, she worked hard and learned to speak English. She provided for her entire family with the money she earned. She hired her niece to help her in the kitchen. But I could see that, while Marisol was still the best cook in La Cruz, she wasn’t happy. She was working too many hours. Her family was always asking for more money. She couldn’t find anyone to help her run the restaurant.

One day, Marisol called me in Denver. 

“I have good news,” she told me. “I’m getting married.”

“Who is he?” I asked. 

“An older man who lives near the restaurant. He wants me to move in with him, but I can’t do that unless we are married.”

“How long have you known him?” I wanted to know.

“Just a couple of months. But he says he has a lot of money and he will take good care of me.”

Marisol asked me to come to La Cruz in the middle of July for her wedding. She wanted me to be her madrina ~ the godmother. I told Marisol that I was sorry, but I couldn’t come to Mexico in the middle of July. The weather in July is simply too hot. 

I also told Marisol that couldn’t be her madrina. It’s considered an honor to be asked to be a madrina. As a Mexican friend told me, “People are chosen to be the madrina because they are the wealthiest person in the neighborhood.” 

I’ve been asked to be madrina in other situations and I’ve always said no. It’s a custom that doesn’t translate well for me. Madrinas are expected to buy big fancy cakes. Madrinas are suppose to pay for a dinner for 100 people. 

I told Marisol that I appreciated being asked. “I understand that it’s an honor, but I’m not a wealthy woman.” I said.

I tried to explain that I was happy to help her with her restaurant, but I couldn’t pay for a wedding. I certainly couldn’t pay for a wedding to a man I never met. A man who I wasn’t sure would be a good husband. 

Marisol got married without me. When Neto and I went back to La Cruz the following November, we once again gave her an envelope of money and asked her to be our personal chef.  She agreed and, once again, we often ate at the Little Hot Grill. 

But Marisol didn’t seem happy. I noticed that while we were eating, an older man stood in the doorway, watching Neto and I eat. 

When Neto stepped outside to smoke a cigarette I asked Marisol, “Who is that man?”

“That’s my husband. He’s jealous of my customers. He wants to make sure I’m not flirting with any of the men.”

Neto and I didn’t go to the restaurant very often after that. The day before we were scheduled to leave, Neto went alone to pick up our dinner. He told Marisol that I would come by in the morning to say goodby. 

As Neto was leaving with our food, Marisol stopped him and said, “Aren’t you going to pay for your dinner?” 

Neto was embarrassed. His Mexican pride was hurt. He didn’t bring extra money with him because we had  already paid for more than a week’s worth of food when we arrived.

When Neto came home and told me what happened, I gave him additional money to take back to the restaurant. We decided that we’d helped Marisol as much as we could.

Marisol called me in Denver after Christmas. She wanted to know if I could send her some money because she didn’t have very many customers. I told her no. 

I will always think of Marisol with great fondness. But I know I won’t eat at the Little Hot Grill again.