THE BORDER REPORT
Is he or isn’t he? That’s the question to the statements given by Mexico’s craziest archbishop about Joaquín Shorty Guzmán living in Durango.
Hector González caused a minor uproar last Friday when he insisted that Shorty lives among the pine trees of the mountains of Durango. Been there a few times; an eight hour haul from Sinaloa, up a winding, narrow road that breaks out into the clouds. I like it there. Scorpions and fog and handmade blades, Pancho Villa’s headquarters while he waged war north in Chihuahua.
The state also comprises the third corner of the Golden Triangle, Mexico’s richest marijuana and opium plantations. Shorty married there about two years ago, taking 18-year-old Emma Coronel as his new bride, Los Canelos de Durango performing at the wedding.
In my opinion, yes, Guzmán lives in Durango. But he also lives in Trincheras, Sonora, a ranching town just south of the Arizona border where he stopped by a few months ago; and he lives in Santiago de los Caballeros, Sinaloa, and in Guadalajara and in Cd. Obregón.
About a year ago, rumors started buzzing around that Shorty had stopped by Nogales where his men had commandeered the entire Frey Marcos Hotel, the finest hotel in the city. The top floor, I was told. He’s staying on the top floor.
I went to see; no reason really, just interested, and if I could, it would have served as an opportunity to slip him a business card.
Nothing. Of course not. Why would there be? Just one of those ghost whispers that surface from time to time.
Something.
“
Se dice que vino, pero pues quien sabe,” a good friend who works near the hotel.
I sat in the bar across the street from the main entrance, just watching. “
Anoche, cerraron la calle fuera del hotel,” another ojo told me.
Something.
The archbishop is running into the same problem, those secretos a voz that I love so much.
Friday, he sparked the latest scandal in Mexico, saying, “Beyond Guanacevi, that's where El Chapo lives.”
I cannot imagine what instinct could have prodded González to try and out El Chapo. It had to be the same base instinct that makes jackrabbits jump in front of an oncoming car. But whyever he did it, it must have been a long weekend for González.
His remarks sparked a federal investigation, questions in Mexico City, in Washington, the governor of Durango and senators
demanding that the archbishop be brought before the inquisitors to declare everything he knows.
Monday, he redacted his statements, trying to capture his voice back down from the airways and let people know he was merely trying to express the sentiments of Durango as a whole. Context in these matters is important.
“The people affirm that he was here, or there, or anywhere,” reads the press statement disseminated Sunday. “This knowledge may sound inside, or ingenious or even fantastic. But this is knowledge of the public domain.”
Tuesday morning grew even worse. By today, the poor bastard had nothing to more to say
than "I am deaf and mute." Then a bishop from the Yucatan piped up, saying that narcos in general, "respect the consecrated men and women of the church."
I hope González doesn't become the crucible of that delicate theory.
Everything’s a secret in Mexico. And nothing is. That’s just its charm.
