Bodega Dreams (26 page)

T
HE
next day I went to work. It felt good to go, because it took my mind off things. It felt good to be busy and not have to think about my own troubles. I wanted to see Bodega like I wanted to see a leper, so I avoided the places I knew Sapo might be driving around collecting. Besides, I had Detectives DeJesus and Ortiz to worry about. As for Blanca, I didn’t want to think too much about her, for I might have broken down and started crying in public, embarrassing the hell out of myself. I kept telling myself that she was safe and that she would return to me once she’d had the baby, maybe sooner. I kept telling myself that Blanca believed strongly that all kids should have a father and a mother. With that in mind, I tried to let it go.

After work, I had class, so I went home to pick up my books. As soon as I entered I knew that Blanca had been there. I saw that some of the boxes in which she had packed her clothes had been emptied and some were even missing. It made me feel sad. I gathered up the books I needed and got out of the apartment as quickly as I could.

After a few blocks, I bought a
piragua
from the old man dressed like a sailor who walked around the neighborhood pushing his
piragua
cart, which had fake sails. On the side of his cart read,
“Aquí me quedo”
—here I stay. He made the best
piraguas
in the neighborhood. I was asking for a
tamarindo piragua
when someone called my name.

“Chino. So, like, I hear you were asked to dinnah?” It was Sapo. His car was right next to the curb.

“Look, man,” I said, checking for DeJesus and Ortiz, just in case, “they want your boss. Now I told them nothin’, but from now on he’s on his own.”

“Thass cool. I heard you were a fucken rock. Like they brought in the nuns and even them bitches couldn’t make you talk.”

“I have a class,” I said, tired of Sapo and all the rest.

“I hear that. So,
mira
, Chino, I know your alleluia wife booked—”

“What the fuck—? Who the fuck told you that?”

“Negra, thass who. Somethin’ about gettin’ Victor beat up? Anyway, don’t sweat Negra, cuz—”

“Look, I have to go. Wan’ a
piragua
, tell me now,” I said to him.

“You. I wan’ you, bro. I was sent to get you, homey.”

“I ain’t going nowhere with you.”

“Yes you are, cuz Vera’s husband is waiting for you at Ponce de Leon Restaurant, you know that restaurant, doncha? That place by 116th and Lex?”

“I ain’t goin’.”

“You told Bodega you was gonna go.”

“Not anymore.”

“Well, this might change your mind. Afterward Bodega and Vera are gonna pay a visit to her sistah. Thass right, your alleluia wife’s mother.” I perked up. “Thought that’d get you horny.” Sapo smiled his Sapo smile and the old man finished scraping his big block of ice and packed the tiny icicles in a paper cup.

“See, Chino, this will make you mad happy. Bodega and Vera plan to stick up for you. Vera plans on convincing her sistah to convince her daughter to return to you. I mean, it’s not like you been dickin’ other women. Thass all the
bochinche
I have for you now. Still goin’ ta class?”

The old man colored the tiny icicles a light orange-brown by dripping a homemade
tamarindo
syrup all over my
piragua.
He wrapped a napkin around the paper cup and offered it to me. I paid, thanked him, and got in Sapo’s car.

“You know those two detectives, Ortiz and DeJesus?” I asked Sapo.

“Yeah, they sorry niggas.”

“This is serious, bro.”

“I know. They been sniffin’ at Bodega fo’ evah. They been like askin’ Bodega’s tenants questions and shit. Thass how they got to you, some fucken person in da buildin’ pointed your way. We’ll find out who and make the nigga homeless.”

“Sapo,” I said, “I know you didn’t exactly kill Salazar.” He didn’t answer me and I left it at that. Sapo then made a left turn and we were on 116th and Third.

“ ‘Memba the Cosmo useta be here?” Sapo pointed at a department store that was once a theater.

“Yeah, they showed the worst movies in all the nine planets.”

“You got good weed, though, and the movies were mad cheap.”

We reached the restaurant, which was down the block, just opposite where the Cosmo used to be. I got out of the car. I finished off my
piragua
and threw the paper cup in the trash.

“Inside, go to the back, Chino. All the way to the back. Behind the kitchen. You’ll see him back there. Can’t miss ’im. Nigga is old. I don’t know where the fuck Bodega dug up that fossil.” And then Sapo took off.

I walked inside to great smells.
Arroz asopado, pasteles, lechón asado, empanadas, camarones fritos.
A waiter saw me and seemed to recognize immediately that I was not there to eat. He ushered me all the way to the back of the restaurant and into a small room behind the kitchen. I could hear the sounds of dishes hitting against one another as they were washed by hand.

In the room was a small table with a candle and an old man sitting with a suitcase at his feet. He was well dressed. His suit looked expensive and he wore cufflinks. He smelled of good aftershave and his shoes were polished to a high shine. His watch was expensive too. But his face was a wasteland, as if his best years had been spent working in a coal mine. It made me want to trade in the watch and the suit in return for him not having worked as hard as he obviously had to get those things. I went over to him and introduced myself.

“Hi, I’m Julio Mercado.” I extended my hand and he got up from his chair to shake it.

“John Vidal,” he said in a tired, old voice. “Could you please tell me
what this is all about?” I didn’t say anything. “My wife called me a day ago hysterically crying, and told me to come up to New York.” He sounded worried. “I asked her why. Why she didn’t just return. She continued to cry, so I agreed to come. On the phone she gave me this address. I thought this was a hotel.” He sat down. I felt a little bad for him; he was lost and Miami was far away.

“I met your wife, she’s my wife’s aunt.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. He jumped to his feet again.

“Then you must know where my wife is. Vera is not like this at all. She wanders … but always comes back to me.”

“She’ll be here,” I said.

“The waiter said the same thing. But I’ve been waiting for hours.”

“Have you eaten?” I was desperate for something to say.

“No, I’m not hungry. I just want my wife.” He sat back down defiantly. “I’ve got things, important things to do back in Miami. Vera, you better have a good reason for doing this,” he said even though she wasn’t there. When the waiter walked through the door and brought us coffee, placing the cups carefully on the table as if they were live grenades, Vidal didn’t even bother to look up.

“Who are you really?” he asked.

“I’m Vera’s niece’s husband. My wife, Nancy, is her—”

“Yes, yes, yes,” he said, and waved away the rest of my response. “Yes, yes, you’ve told me. Now, look here, young man.” I would never have guessed he was Latin. He was more American than Mickey Mouse and just as old. “I’m going to go to the police. I get the feeling my wife is being held against her will.”

“Your wife will be here.” Bodega was punishing him. I was too tired to feel bad for Vidal or anybody; I had my own problems. I started to get hungry. The good smells were overpowering. I asked him if he was hungry again but he didn’t answer me. It felt uncomfortable to be in that room with him, but I had to stay. If what Sapo had told me was true, I knew that Vera’s talk with her sister would influence Blanca. I needed allies to get Blanca to return. What better ally than Blanca’s mother?

The time dragged. So I thought about Blanca and the early days. All the places we went to and the things we had done. Like the day she
told me she was pregnant. How she had wrapped a present for me and, smiling, said happy birthday. I told her it wasn’t my birthday and she punched my shoulder and said she knew. When I unwrapped it, there was a baby rattle. She hugged me, telling me that unplanned babies are the most loved. I got nervous because we were still in school and didn’t have real jobs, but I was happy. God, that was only a couple months ago. When did things start going bad? I needed to get this all fixed up. I wanted my wife back.

Finally Bodega and Vera walked in. Bodega was wearing a new suit. It wasn’t all white like the one I had last seen him wear. This was a very fine dark blue suit, probably Italian, with a satin red handkerchief poking out of the breast pocket. His shirt, tie, and shoes were color-coordinated, evidence that Vera had dressed him for the occasion.

When Vidal saw Vera, he shot up from his seat and headed over to her, but Bodega stopped him. I could see he didn’t want the old man to touch her. Vera was silent. Her head hung low. She looked like she had been crying.

“Vera, is everything all right?” Vidal asked.

“Everything is fine,” Bodega answered him.

“And may I ask who you are?” he inquired politely.

“William Irizarry,” Bodega barked. Vidal looked at Bodega for only a second. He was trying to figure it all out but couldn’t. He didn’t have a clue. He then looked back at his wife.

“Do you owe this gentleman something?” he asked her kindly. “Money? Anything? Vera, please, speak to me.” He was going to touch her hair, to comfort her, but Bodega knocked his hand aside. Vera was silent.

“Listen, Mr. Irizarry. I’m not sure what this is all about—”

“Stop it! Stop it!” Vera cried. “John, I’m … I’m … I’m leaving you.” She forced it out of herself.

“What are you talking about?”

“Your wife, she never loved you,” Bodega blurted as Vera buried her face in Bodega’s shoulder. “She always loved me.” His chest swelled up. Vidal stayed silent for a few seconds. Bodega stared at him like a cobra waiting to bite. Vidal looked at Bodega for a moment before his eyes returned to his wife.

“Vera, please, let me help you. Tell me what is this all about.” Like Vera, he was almost in tears. He looked tired and hurt. Bodega then cradled her face in his hands.

“Tell him,” Bodega almost whispered. “Tell him you never loved him. Tell him you’re staying with me.”

Vera looked at Bodega as if the suggestion was inappropriate. As if affairs were all right just as long as they were kept in the dark.

“William,” she cried. “I’m leaving him, isn’t that enough?”

“Yes, but tell him you never loved him,” he said gently, letting go of her face. She then looked at her husband, whose head shook in disbelief.

“John.” She sniffled. “John, I cared for you once because—”

“It’s okay, Vera,” he said tenderly. “Just come back with me.”

“Don’t you see?”—Bodega got closer to the old man—“She’s leaving you.” Vera’s husband seemed intimidated. Bodega was the block bully. Bodega took a step back and stood behind Vera, placing his hands on her shoulders. She looked at the floor. Her tears dropped onto the wood, leaving little clear dots on the floor.

“I’m sorry, John. But I still feel young,” she said, lifting her head and wiping her tears away.

“When I met you I was just a teenager and you were this, this man, from a world that was foreign to me.” She swallowed hard and Bodega squeezed her shoulders, urging her on. “I liked your life. My parents knew, I knew, I needed to get out of this place.”

“It’s all right, Vera. It’s all in the past,” Vidal said. “From now on, we’ll do things—”

“Don’t you see, John? I don’t need you anymore. You are an old man!” He staggered back. Her words were like daggers. “You are useless. You can’t even make love anymore.”

“I see,” he said calmly. But Vera wouldn’t stop.

“You are just an old man who can only find comfort in how much money he makes.” Bodega seemed proud of her. He watched with the assurance of a parent who is in the audience watching his daughter perform. I could tell by Vera’s hesitation in telling her husband those horrible things that it was Bodega who was really talking, through her. Maybe it was something that he had practiced with her, had her recite
until she got it right. Vera might have been in love with Bodega all along but somehow I didn’t think she meant to say all those cruel things to her husband.

“I see,” Vidal repeated. He then gathered himself up, adjusted his tie, and brushed his blazer. He cleared his throat. “And may I ask,” he said to her, “may I ask who was there when you needed money? For your salons? Your new clothes that remain untouched in your closets? Your health foods and yoga classes?” He paused when Bodega let go of Vera’s shoulders and clenched his fists. “The day I took you to the Met. Remember? You had been living in this city all your life and had never been there. Remember that day—”

“Stop it! Stop it!”

“You wanted to see everything and know everything.”

Bodega dug in his pockets. He took the ring and held it up to the old man’s face. He then let it fall slowly from his hand, like a drop of water. Vidal recognized the ring. He knelt down and silently picked it up, then held it in front of him for a moment before putting it in his pocket. His face was serene.

His eyes left Vera and looked at Bodega. “You want her? Then I must tell you things about my wife.”

“I don’t need to hear anything from you. I know everything about Veronica—”

“Veronica?” Vidal laughed, his eyes mocking Vera. “Veronica. I haven’t heard you called that since our wedding day.”

“Shut up, John.” She seemed desperate for him to be quiet.

The old man’s eyes returned to Bodega. “But you see, I must warn you about my wife. About her affairs. There have been so many. I personally never cared. She always came back to me. You see, her body is an international hotel, it has taken in men from all over the world.”

“Say one more fucken word and I break your face.”

“Ah,” the old man said, looking at Bodega more closely, “now I know who you are, you are that old boyfriend.” He started to laugh. “Now I know what this is about.” His eyes left Bodega and went back to Vera. “How long has this one been going on, Vera?”