A So-Called Vacation (16 page)

L
ater that day, after supper, Victor returned to their porch with a friend that Gabriel had seen around camp. He was nicknamed Strawberry Boy, and judging from his size he might have been Paula's age. Gabriel doubted it, though, since he could not imagine Victor befriending someone so young.

The boy always had an open smile, as if he liked everyone he saw. Up to now Gabriel had assumed that his nickname came from that lopsided grin, because it reminded him of cereal commercials for kids, where the various cartoon fruits wore a goofy grin.

But now, as he got a closer look, he realized that Strawberry Boy's face seemed flushed, like someone with permanent sunburn. His face was also dotted with a dozen or so tiny moles, which reminded Gabriel of seeds on a strawberry's skin.

Yet what fascinated him most about the boy was the rumor he had heard: Strawberry Boy was the only kid in camp who had ever given the Borrados a run for their money. When Gabriel asked whether the tale was true, Strawberry Boy's grin grew broader.

“Twice,” he answered. “The oldest one once and the middle one too.”

Even Gus was impressed. “So how did you do it? Drug them?”

“It's all in the eyes.” He moved closer as if to demonstrate with his own. “You can see it all there.”

Victor draped his arm around him in order to bask in his reflected glory. “My friend here is a master of psychological warfare.”

“You have to be a pretty good picker too,” said Strawberry Boy.

Victor backtracked at once, as if being careful not to upset him. “Well, sure, that goes without saying.”

Satisfied with the reply, Strawberry Boy added, “You see, I'd been messing with their heads for some time.”

“So have we,” admitted Gabriel. “But the whole thing just bounced back on us. It's like they've got a one-track mind. How do you get them off the rails?”

“I told you, the trick is in their eyes. You see, I started watching them real close. I noticed their eyes have this glow, almost like a little lightbulb inside. Well, one morning I saw how the oldest one's eyes were a lot brighter. It gave me the creeps at first. But by that afternoon the light started to flicker. Sort of like a lightbulb, just before it goes out. It gets a lot brighter for a moment. Then it starts to flicker and finally goes bad. So I was ready the next morning.”

“And I was there,” Victor boasted. “He walked up to that freak and took him on, in front of everybody.”

“It still wasn't easy,” said Strawberry Boy. “For a while it was touch and go.”

Gabriel admired his honesty. Unlike the other boys, who downplayed the Borrados' stamina, he gave them credit where it was due. Perhaps, Gabriel thought, it took another hard worker to appreciate it.

Victor must have decided that the conversation had dragged on too long without his being the center of attention, so he turned to Gus. “Are we still set for meeting those girls I told you about?”

“I never said we were set.”

“Come on, man. They're college girls.”

“From which college?”

“How should I know? Oh, wait … they had this thing on their car. It said …” He turned to Strawberry Boy. “What did it say?”

The boy's grin turned to laughter. “Unifornia of Caliversity.”

“Yeah,” said Victor. “I didn't get it at first, until he explained it.”

Gabriel seemed confused. “That's what they have? On their car door? Like it's official?”

Strawberry Boy laughed again. “No, it's just a bumper sticker, like a joke.”

“I still can't say it,” said Victor. He tried to pronounce it, but it proved too much of a tongue twister. “See?” he pleaded with Gus. “With this messed up English of mine, you're my only hope.” He hooked his arm around Gus's neck the same way he had done with Strawberry Boy. “Come on, let's do this thing! You're the main man here! You've got the mouth … you've got the muscle … and you've got the moves.”

Instead of answering him, Gus asked, “Which one?”

“What do you mean which one? What are you talking about?”

“Which university are they from?”

“Why, the University of California, of course.”

“But which one? Don't you follow college football? There's more than one campus.”

“I know there's more than one. Lots more. What difference does it make?” But Victor hesitated, perhaps worried that he might mention the wrong place. “Do you have a favorite team or something?” Still not getting any hints, he said, “Well, maybe it's the …”

“The Bruins?” asked Gabriel.

Victor, hoping it might be a clue, said, “You know, I think those girls did mention …”

“Or maybe the Bears?” added Gabriel.

“Or maybe that was what they said.”

“A bear and a bruin are the same thing,” replied Gabriel.

Victor nodded this time but said nothing.

Gabriel added, just to mess with Victor, “But they're still different teams.”

Victor spoke cautiously now, as if treading on thin ice. “Yeah … I … suspected … that …”

But the only thing Victor actually suspected was that Gus's brother did not intend to help him out. He was just toying with him, so Victor shifted the spotlight toward him by asking Gus, “So your brother thinks he knows it all, huh?”

Gus, reluctant to enter that discussion, asked instead, “So why are these college girls here in the first place?”

“I'm not sure,” said Victor.

“Well,” said Strawberry Boy, “as long as they're not dentists.”

It sounded like an inside joke to Gabriel, and when Strawberry Boy began grinning again he asked, “What's so funny?”

“You tell them, Vic.”

Victor didn't bother to add anything until Strawberry Boy opened his own mouth, and by then it was too late.

“It's just that Vic doesn't get along with dentists. We went to see one in a nearby town once. They had a free clinic day for migrants.”

“Are you afraid of them?” asked Gus.

“Not no, but heck no!” Victor stared at Strawberry Boy. “Who wanted to go in the first place? Me, right?”
Then he turned to Gus, “Now, do you think I'd go there if I was afraid of them?”

Strawberry Boy grinned again. “Maybe you took me along so I could hold your hand.”

“Besides, it wasn't even a real clinic, just a Winnebago with stuff.”

“But that's not what got you ticked off.”

Before Strawberry Boy could add anything, Victor admitted. “I wanted to get my two front teeth fixed.”

He didn't have to show the brothers what he meant. Gabriel had noticed the overlapping incisors the moment he had met him. Now that he knew about Victor's vain streak, he could see how something like that would bother him.

“So that's why I went to that stupid place. There was already a waiting line, like they were giving away free cheese or something. When I finally got in, I took one of the dentists aside and quietly explained what I wanted. But he told me they couldn't do that sort of work there, only stuff like cavities and cleaning. I'd already waited so long I figured I'd get my teeth cleaned.”

Strawberry Boy, whose grin had been widening all along, suddenly began laughing uncontrollably. He tried to interrupt and add to the story, but he was too busy bent over and clutching his sides.

“So,” Victor continued, somewhat annoyed, “I sit on a chair and this …
assistant
… says real loud, for all the world to hear, ‘You know, you really should get those crossed teeth fixed. They look awful.'”

Strawberry Boy paused the hysterical laughter long enough to add, “You should have heard the other guys! ‘Come here,
buey
, I'll fix them for you.'”

Victor was still furious at the memory.

“I mean, I almost jumped out of the chair and knocked
her
teeth out.”

“A girl?” Gus asked. “You wanted to punch out a girl?”

“She was older,” Victor insisted, “and very large.” The remark quieted the criticism long enough for him to come up with his own distraction. “Speaking of girls,” he said, and turned to Gus. “Are you with me or not?”

“You mean the college girls?”

“I saw them on the way over. We can still catch them if we hurry.”

“Ah, they're probably just do-gooders, like those Anglo girls from the church.”

“They're do-gooders, but they're also do-badders. We're not talking angels in the choir here.”

“So what are they doing here?”

“They're interviewing. So here's the plan. We go over there, and you give them a little bull. You act like you want to be interviewed. Just enough to get our foot in the door.”

“I still don't get it,” said Gus. “What's the interview about?”

“They're interviewing migrants, of course. We get a few every summer. Why else would they be here?”

Suddenly the cold truth splashed over him and sobered him up. Gus had insulated himself in the fiction that he was an outsider. He had fancied himself a tourist slumming through a strange land. But this time, try as he might, he could not see the idealized fantasy that his father had seen earlier. No Promised Land lay before him. There was only the sad squalor of the camp and a primitive road that took them to the fields and returned them to their shacks each day.

At that moment he saw their small group as little more than an assignment for college students. He wanted to distance himself from the teens, to pretend they were subjects in a photograph he was trying to take. But he found himself on the same side of the viewfinder as
they. He was no longer a tourist, as he had pretended all along. He was just one of the toured.

He turned suddenly on his heels and headed for the screen door. “I'm going inside,” he said abruptly, without explanation, and went into the shack.

A
couple of unusual sights awaited Gabriel when he woke the next morning. First, Gus's cot was empty. By now his having to nudge his older brother had acquired the predictability of a ritual, and for a moment he wondered whether Gus had finally made good on his threat to leave. He decided that was not the case because there had been no outburst the night before. Moreover, the rest of the family seemed unconcerned about Gus's absence, which meant that he must be up and about.

The second surprise came when Gus finally returned. He was already sweating. Beads of moisture freckled his brow, while the rest of his face shone with perspiration.

“Let's go, Gabi! We need to warm up for the main event.”

“You're more than warmed up. You're already melting.”

“You're nuts, Gustavo. Save all that sweat for the field,” their father said.

Gus turned around so swiftly that he flicked a few drops on the floor. “Don't worry, Dad, there's lots more where this came from.” Then he came up close to Gabriel's face and added in a low voice, “On second thought, you need to stay fresh as a daisy. Just follow the Borrados and snap at their heels. Leave the rest to me.”

They showed up at the field before the Borrados, who arrived as eager as ever. Gus strode up to them with his most intimidating pose, and at that moment they seemed no different than anyone else. By contrast he radiated a self-confidence so focused that he appeared menacing.
“Did I mention our father's taking my brother and me to Disneyland?”

“What about your sister?” asked the oldest.

Gus came closer. “What about her?”

His smile seemed more nervous than usual. “Isn't he taking her, too?”

Before Gus could answer, another Borrado added, “Our father is building us a huge house, like that castle in Disneyland.”

“With air-conditioning!” said the third one. “But we'll only use it in the summertime.”

Gus regarded them with withering disbelief, as if they were too stupid to see the obvious. “What good will that do? You suckers spend your summers in labor camps.”

Saying no more, he faced the morning sun that still hugged the horizon, as though it could bathe him with its blessing, then started his first row with an invincible expression. He barely paused to tell his brother, “Imagine, migrants in a mansion! Jesus, you just can't beat these guys! They never stop.”

By the time the sun had cleared the horizon, the last two sentences began to prove prophetic in a way he never intended. At first both brothers followed closely behind, trying to frame their opponents' moves into a predictable pattern. Yet the Borrados lacked even the automatic, effortless flow of veteran pickers. Instead they fed off a nervous energy, like hummingbirds flitting from flower to flower. Just watching them made Gabriel feel disoriented until their movements, rather than motivate, merely wearied him, until his fascination melted into fatigue.

“Let them pull out ahead,” said Gus. “We'll stay right behind, pushing until they tire out. Just like that fable, where the coyote chases the roadrunner.”