The Long and Storied Life of Jose Montoya

The Long and Storied Life of Jose Montoya 19natural, everyday stance was an almost-slouch, so standing at attention, in particular, always gave him aslight pain between the shoulder blades.After lunch was what he thought of as schoolwork, time spent studying manuals and regulationsand pictures and more things than he had ever before considered would be necessary to run an army.Sometimes a corporal would make Jose stand at attention while he tried to recite things he had learnedthat day; then both his back and his brain would hurt. Those were Jose's least favorite times. His mostfavorite times were when he was marched to the armory and given his rifle. Then he would practicedrill, or crawling with it, or working the bolt, or cleaning it. One of the sergeants instructing him in itsuse would even make Jose hold it up in firing position while the sergeant balanced a nickel on themuzzle. Then Jose would have to squeeze the trigger without the nickel falling off, to teach him to be asteady aim and to not jerk the rifle when he pulled the trigger.He was always issued the same rifle. It bore the serial number 1021062, and he had itmemorized within seconds of receiving the rifle on his first trip to the armory. In his mind, he hadanother name for the rifle: El Flaco, the Thin One. He thought this was appropriate. Not only did itdescribe the rifle, but La Flaca was another name for his beloved, La Catrina. Throughout the day,until he had to reluctantly hand it back to the armorer every evening, he cherished every minute with it.He never let it hit the ground, never left it lying around. To Jose, the rifle was a tangible symbol of hislove.March 8 th came, and Jose's first week as a soldier was almost complete. Most of his fellowtroopers were given a pass and left the camp to do what good soldiers everywhere do: Drink. Otherthan cleaning out the stables, Jose was also given the day off. He had not been in the troop longenough to be given a pass out to the town, but otherwise the day was his own. He cleaned his boots.Twice he started a letter to his family, and two times the paper ended up as crumpled balls tossed intothe trash. He brushed his uniforms off carefully, followed by the good civilian suit that he had received