My father and I were sitting in a large living room in his home in Portsmouth. It appeared I would be staying in Portsmouth for a while, and my father began talking about the courts and judges there. I wondered if the court system was the same as in Texas with justice of the peace courts, county courts and district courts. My father mentioned the names of several judges whom he knew and he gave brief descriptions of each. I had a law suit I was thinking about bringing in one court and I wondered what the judge in that court would be like.
After a while I rose, walked outside and saw that the house was in the country on the outskirts of town. My father had a large estate and as I walked along, I was surprised to discover throngs of poor-appearing Hispanic people moving along the dirt path I was traveling. I remembered my father having told me that some poor people were living there on the farm, but I had no idea there would be so many. I began to realize that my father was an extremely wealthy man if so many people were living on his land. But I was still unsure he was collecting rent from them.
I noticed a wooded area off to the side of the path, and I thought how my original intention had been to seek a quiet place where I could stop and think. Since I could see so many paths diverging through the woods, however, I was sure the woods would likewise be crowded with people. I came across a large square pile of some brown substance and climbed up on in. It was a bit spongy and I jumped from the stack I was on to a smaller stack and finally back to the ground. I concluded the substance was either dried manure or wood chips.
I reached a small white house where I found a man sitting on a concrete bench and reading something. I remembered my father having mentioned a man of some influence who lived among the poor people there, and I thought this was the man. He likewise was Hispanic (probably in his early 30s) and wearing a white shirt. I sat down and introduced myself. He didn't seem impressed by my presence and I told him I was my father's son. Still unimpressed, he indicated that he already knew that.
Another fellow (probably in his early 20s) walked up and asked me if I would like to read some poetry with them. When I responded that I would, the first man became more animated and friendly. They mentioned the name of a poet which sounded like Don Carlos or Don Roberto and I indicated that I would be happy to read that particular poet. Someone produced a small electronic gadget and handed it to me. I turned on the gadget and began listening to a Spanish poem. Since the area around me was rather loud, I was having difficulty understanding all the words, but I did discern the lines, "Hay arboles en que no vuelan los _______________; hay arboles que si."
I knew the word I hadn't understood was a word for "bird." I also knew that Spanish had more than one word for bird, but the only word I could think of was "pajaros," which didn't seem as if it had been the one used in the poem. Nevertheless I repeated the phrase, "Hay arboles en que no vuelan los pajaros; hay arboles que si," and it seemed acceptable to me.
The three of us walked inside into the living room of the house. The first man mentioned that a woman had asked him to go out with her that evening and that I could probably go out with her if I wanted. I imagined that she was a beautiful Hispanic woman, and thought I probably would go out with her.
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