I would only be in Mexicali, Mexico, for a couple of hours, but I had a half-dozen things to do. So I grabbed the first cab I saw at the border and asked the driver what he’d charge to buzz me around town.
He thought a moment. “Twenty dollars an hour,” he said.
I talked him down a couple of bucks and climbed in.
The first thing I did was ask his name.
“Policarpio,” he said sheepishly. “Policarpio Soto. But people call me Poli.”
“I’m Jerry,” I said. “And in my 65 years I’ve never met a Polycarp.”
“Nobody has,” he said. Then shaking his head he added, “It was my mother’s idea.”
I asked if he knew who Polycarp was.
“Not really,” he said. “My mother said he was a holy man.”
“Your mom was right," I said, "He was a Catholic saint. According to the legend, they tried to burn him at the stake, but when the flames wouldn't go near him they had to stab him to death with knives.”
“Ah,” Poli said glumly.
“But he was a hero,” I quickly added. “They say he knew the Apostle John. And he was one of the first Christian writers. I write for a newspaper and I have a lot of respect for him.”
“Are you from California?” Poli asked.
“No, from Utah,” I said.
“I’m from the state of Sinaloa,” he said.
“Ah,” it was now my turn to say, “the kingdom of the drug lords.”
He nodded.
“The drug cartels have their saints, too,” Polycarp said. “Like Jesus Malverde. They pray to him. They have statues of him. He was a drug runner who spent some of his money to make his hometown better. “
“Well, in Sinaloa,” I said, “I suppose that passes for a saint.”
“My only saint is Christopher,” Poli went on. “He protects taxi drivers and truckers.”
“I know,” I said. “It’s because they say Christopher carried the boy Jesus across a river. That’s what Christopher means, ‘Christ carrier.’ ”
I paused.
“How much do you think Christopher charged Jesus for the ride?” I asked.
The thought drew out a smile.
“Do you go to church?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “I work. My wife goes to church. She takes the kids.”
Poli, his wife and four children left Sinaloa to get away from the drug craziness. I figured when a family looks for refuge in a tough border town like Mexicali, it shows how bad things are getting everywhere else.
We made a few stops and, seeing I had some time to spare, I offered to buy him lunch. We stopped at Sanborns — Mexico’s most famous chain restaurant.
“So what are you going to write about next?” Poli asked over a chile relleno.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe you.”
He laughed at that.
“Me?” he said. “I’m nobody.”
“No,” I said, getting serious. “Nobody is a nobody. Everybody has a little something to share. Besides, writing about you would let me use the word Polycarp in a column. A chance like that doesn't come around every day.”
He nodded, then quietly set a portion of his lunch aside to take home to his wife.
Email: jerjohn@deseretnews.com