A So-Called Vacation (22 page)

The next morning Gabriel woke up with the hopeful amnesia of the newly bereaved, convinced that somehow the previous day had been undone. The unfamiliar surroundings only added to his confusion, and for a moment he even thought of checking up on his father, until he realized he had spent the night in his bed.

Gabriel took the long way to the airport, past the garage where his father had worked. He glanced at the place as he drove past, half-expecting to catch his father's profile, when he noticed the funeral wreath over the office door. Although it was a painful reminder of his own loss, he also felt grateful for the thoughtful gesture. He told himself to bring Gus this way on the return trip.

Whenever he passed this spot he remembered the time, a few years ago, when he stopped at the garage to drop off a prescription for his father. He was getting back into his car when he was taken aback by the sight of the oldest Borrado. He approached Gabriel almost like an apparition, silent and with an eerie smile almost as if he had been conjured.

Gabriel greeted him because the somewhat sad smile seemed to impose an obligation on him, and it wasn't until they exchanged some awkward words that Gabriel realized the Borrado's smile had not been one of recognition. It was simply a social tactic to make a stranger pause long enough to commit to a handout. It was a ploy that transients sometimes used in that part of the barrio, and he usually refused on principle.

Instead of giving in, Gabriel tried reminding him of the time they lived in Don Rafa's camp. He figured that if he forged a more personal link, the Borrado might be reluctant to exploit an acquaintance. However the man tried using the bond as leverage to extract a greater helping hand. But try as he might to strengthen the link with
an anecdote or two from old times, the Borrado could only come up with vagaries and soon fell back on the speech he had practiced on many others—a litany of his present plight.

As Gabriel half-listened, he had the strange feeling that their encounter in California had taken place fifteen years ago, not five. It was not only because the Borrado's recollection seemed so blurry. There was something about the Borrado himself, his face and physique. Even after Gabriel factored in the Borrado's puniness as a teen, he still seemed faded, brittle, like the cheap lawn furniture Gabriel's father had once left out in the sun all summer. Had Gabriel not been aware that they were about the same age, he could have sworn that the man before him was anything but young.

A few times after that, he thought he saw the Borrado ambling through the barrio, but they never spoke again. On those occasions Gabriel wasn't even certain it was him, as he only caught a fleeting glimpse here and there.

By the time he arrived at the airport, Gus was already waiting at the pick-up curb. Gabriel spent so much time apologizing for his tardiness that he failed to get a good look at his brother. After that he did little more than offer an obligatory hug and load the luggage. It was only later, when they took the main road home, that he noticed the preternatural composure that Paula had mentioned.

They drove without saying much, but fortunately the silence fit the occasion. When Gus finally spoke he kept the topic safely on the mundane. “Say, wasn't there a convenience store on this corner?”

“It was more of a mom-and-pop store.” Gabriel was somewhat disappointed that Gus had forgotten their childhood days. “That's where we used to buy comic books, remember?”

“Well, now it's a video store,” Gus said, without a trace of nostalgic regret. “At least the neighborhood's made some progress.”

At that moment Gabriel was busy keeping an eye on a pickup truck following too closely, so he could not check whether the remark had been said with a straight face. “I don't know if I'd call it progress,” he finally said. “You should see the junk they have.”

“At least it helps people around here improve their English.”

All at once Gabriel realized that Gus had a more anglicized accent. He wondered why he hadn't noticed it until now. Perhaps, he decided, it was because Gus had said so little on the way.

“You're partly right. Their English has improved, but only about obscenities. I guess we have California to thank for that.”

“Hold on,” said Gus, also half-joking but with enough emphasis to make his point. “Not everyone over there cranks out movies.”

Gabriel thought of using the opportunity to ask point-blank about Gus' job, given his sketchy letters. But in the end he took advantage of his brother's scanning the old neighborhood to examine his profile. Gus looked larger, yet less powerful than he remembered him.

“Everyone's been saying, ‘It's been so long since we saw Gustavo.'”

“Gus.”

“What?”

“It's Gus now.”

“Oh, now that Dad's gone?”

“No, since way before. I changed it legally, so my son could be Gus Junior.”

The remark threw Gabriel off balance, but he dissimulated. “That's what I said a moment ago. It's been so long.”

“Well, time slips away. And starting your own family sort of takes over your life.”

“We all looked forward to those family pictures. Especially Dad.”

“And I can guess what he said. That now I'd learn it's hard work being a father.”

His remark came so close to the truth that Gabriel did not bother disputing it.

“Well,” Gus continued, “for once Dad was right. It is hard, at least if your kids truly come first. Right now I've saved up for a pool—”

“Wow! You're putting in a swimming pool?”

“No,” he answered a bit awkwardly, “a pool table.”

Gabriel also felt uncomfortable. It was the sort of comment his father might have made, but not as a deliberate put-down. “Gus, remember the time we got thrown out of the town pool?”

For the first time his brother showed genuine emotion, but so vituperative that Gabriel regretted having touched a scar that had never healed completely. At first Gus lashed out against the town's Anglos. Then he cursed the migrants, insisting that they had brought all that ill will on themselves.

Gabriel waited anxiously to change the subject. “And what about the time I jumped in the canal?”

Gus grew quiet again, so Gabriel added that he still remembered the moment he resurfaced and saw the sorrow and terror in his brother's face.

“You know, Gabi, for a long time I had bad dreams about that.”

“
You
had bad dreams? I'm the one who almost drowned.”

“That's why. I'd dream that if … you
had
drowned … that would have been the ultimate punishment for Dad, for tricking us to take the trip.”

“Well, excuse me for being alive.” By now Gabriel was almost glad they were nearing their block.

“What I meant was—”

“Just kidding, Gus. There's no need for apologies.”

“Maybe that's what I really regret about Dad and I. It's too late for apologies.”

“Don't worry. I don't think he ever expected one.”

Gus gave him a puzzled look. “I meant an apology from him.”

Gabriel did not know what to say, but he knew he had to say something. “Well, in the end you had the last word. You even moved to California.”

“You're not going to believe this, but I still haven't taken the kids to Disneyland. But next year I'm taking them, for sure.”

As they neared the garage Gabriel slowed down as much as possible without stopping outright. He pointed at the wreath on the office door.

Gus nodded and, for the first time, his tone betrayed a tenderness. “Nice touch. I'll bet he never imagined they cared so much.”

“It surprised me too. Those guys seemed even more hard-bitten than Dad.”

Gabriel was about to accelerate when Gus suddenly said, “Wait!”

Gabriel braked completely, startling the driver behind him, who was about to pass them. Gus was oblivious to the driver's prolonged, passing honk, staring instead at the opened garage doors. Then he blinked a few times
and finally said, “Sorry. For a moment I thought I saw Dad in there.”

“Lucky you. When I passed by earlier I looked hard, but nothing.”

“Lucky, my butt. It scared the crap out of me.”

They had not yet reached the intersection when Gabriel added, “That reminds me. A few years ago I came face to face with a ghost from our past.”

As Gabriel described his unusual encounter with the oldest Borrado, his brother grew increasingly interested, especially when he heard about the man's misfortune and his frazzled look.

“Gabi, that's what happens when you work as hard as they did. You burn the candle at both ends.”

“I guess you're right. You just burn out.”

“Did Dad get a look at him?”

“Not that time.”

“Too bad.”

“But I'm pretty sure I saw the guy hanging out in the area a few times. So maybe Dad saw him another time.”

“Did you give him any money?”

“I don't do that.”

“You should have, just to rub it in.”

“He wouldn't have gotten it, Gus. The guy seemed sort of out of it.”

“What do you mean, out of it?”

“Like I said earlier, he hardly remembered that summer. He just complained about his family, more precisely his father. But even that conversation was vague and not very coherent.”

“Maybe he went mental.”

“Maybe. A little, at least.”

Gus said nothing more until they turned into their block. “So then Dad didn't have any last words?”

Gabriel sensed his brother was still ruminating about the apology, and for a moment he considered giving in and lying. But in the end he simply repeated his father's anecdote about the customer under the car.

“That's the last thing we heard him say. They weren't exactly words of wisdom from an unforgettable death scene in some movie. But it
was
a classic. Classic Dad.”

Gus gave a muted smile, like something he was unable to suppress. “That was him, alright. Always poking and probing, just to get a reaction from people.” He started to chuckle. “Remember the time at camp when we were standing by a propane tank and he scared the hell out of a guy?”

Gabriel smiled too, as much at the memory as at the fact that his brother was starting to reminisce about happier, more intimate times. “I remember. But I also remember it was an accident, so I don't think it counts.”

“Accident my ass, Gabi! I'll bet anything he brought along that big-ass tool just to stir things up.”

Gabriel suddenly seemed to remember something. He pulled over, stopped at the curb, and reached for his wallet while Gus simply watched without a clue. Gabriel finally pulled out from the innermost, least accessible fold a dog-eared bill with permanent creases from where it had been folded. It had the texture of soft cloth from having been in Gabriel's wallet for years.

“Look, I still have my lucky ten from that summer. It was one of the bills I got from that first day of work. I always forget I carry this around, until it's time to replace my wallet.”

“Why do you consider it lucky?”

“I don't know. I guess I told myself at the time, And for many more to come.”

Gus smiled and slowly shook his head. “Well, we didn't get too many more, that's for sure.”

“But we ended up with other things, Gus. We got out of Texas, for one thing. Me for that summer, you for good, eventually.”

“Even better,” Gus added sarcastically, “we got out of that camp.”

“Besides, how many kids get to work alongside their parents?”

“And that was a good thing because … ?”

“Think of it. How many kids get to tag along with their parents when they go off to work? We got to see Dad work.”

Gus grinned again. “If you could call it that.”

“Whatever. At least after that he couldn't pull his ‘I-work-my-butt-off-for-this-family' routine, because we knew better.”

As they pulled up to the house Gabriel was pleased with himself. He had indeed managed to soften him up for Paula.

“Listen,” he said as he took his suitcase, “I have to meet Javier at the funeral home parking lot. Aunt Lupe needs someone to bring her down here, and he volunteered.”

“That's an eight-hour drive, each way.”

“Javier says he can make it in five. Besides, she insists she won't take the bus. She's afraid of the lowlife in bus stations.”

“Hasn't she heard of airplanes?”

“She's terrified.”

“Of heights?”

“Of hijackers.”

“Fine, but those terrorists make the bus station perverts look like altar boys. You'd think she'd see things in perspective and take the bus.”

“That's not how she sees it. That's why Javier's bringing her down.”

“If I were her I'd still take my chances with weirdos. Speaking of weirdos, did you know Javier actually visited us during one of his West Coast runs? Just pulled up out of the blue in his eighteen-wheeler. My wife kept a close watch on him the entire time, what with all those tattoos.”

Gabriel, hoping to take him back to the old days again, said, “He's seedier than a box of strawberries.”

“The kids kept asking, ‘Dad, is your cousin a carny? Is he hauling a scary ride in the back?' I should have said yes. At least it sounds more respectable than hiding dope in the produce.”

“I hear he started to move away from that. The only thing he's hauling this trip is a load of onions up north. At least that's what he says. Anyway, I have to go and give him directions to Aunt Lupe's. Let me know if you want to go to the funeral home now. That way you can pay your respects—”

“I'd rather rest for a while.”

“Well, if you change your mind later just give me a call. Paula has my number. I can swing by and pick you up.”

“Fine. But right now I could use some sleep.”