Carry Me Like Water (57 page)

“What?” Eddie asked.

“Nothing, I was just talking to myself.” Jake put a cigarette in his mouth but did not light it. He put it back in his pocket. “It’s funny to live in a town where the other half of it is in another country.”

Eddie nodded pensively. “I can’t get used to it—it’s—”

“It’s like living on the edge—”

“Maybe it’s not such a bad thing.”

“Sounds like something Joaquin would have said. You’re like
him—in some ways, anyway. But you think too white.” His voice trailed off as if he had run out of breath.

Eddie knew instinctively when his brother did not want to discuss certain subjects—it was in his voice, his body moved as if he were waving away a mosquito. He was curious as to why his brother had never had a white lover, and always those remarks about white men as if he wasn’t one—or didn’t want to be one. Perhaps it was a peculiar form of self-loathing, a self-loathing he knew something about. Perhaps they would talk about it someday, but it would have to be on his brother’s terms. Eddie made a promise to himself that he would not let his older brother die without talking about these things, but today he could wait. After waiting so many years to find him again, Eddie could be patient. Today, he would respect his brother’s silences. Jake was private by nature, he thought, or perhaps by necessity.

“When you stop to think about it,” Jake said looking out the side window as he changed lanes, “we grew up on a border, too. I mean isn’t San Diego on the border?”

“Yeah, but what the hell did we know, Jake? All we knew was La Jolla. What the hell did we know about Mexico, about anything—even about our own damn country? Besides, San Diego isn’t literally on the border.”

“Actually, I went to Tijuana a lot in high school.”

“Yeah? What did you do there?”

“Get drunk mostly. Typical stupidities, I guess.
I
slept with a whore there once.”

“Really? Man or woman?”

“Not a man.”

Eddie looked at his brother curiously. “How was it?”

“Well, it was awful. It was one of those initiation rights between me and my jock buddies. She was nice to me—
I
remember that.” His voice faded away from Eddie as though he were trying to fit together some of the pieces from that part of his life.

“Did you have good friends in high school?”

Jake snickered at Eddie’s question. “Are you kidding? I hung out with morons. I always wondered why everybody wanted to be like them. The group I hung with, they used to pick on this one guy—and
I used to pick on him, too. Funny thing, was, I didn’t get it.
I
didn’t get why it was supposed to be fun picking on this guy. He was very smart. We made him cry once. We followed him down the hall shouting “Faggot! Faggot! Faggot!” I sort of had a crush on him, and there I was yelling with the rest of them.” He shook his head. “And you know something? I think we jocks hated that guy because he didn’t admire us, and so we decided to ruin him. Isn’t that stupid, isn’t that the stupidest thing you ever heard?”

The sun was rising.

Eddie watched his brother as he spoke, and said nothing.

“Didn’t know I could talk so much, did you?” Jake said.

“I like it when you talk,” Eddie said.

They eased into a comfortable silence as they drove toward the border. It was early, five-thirty in the morning, and as they quietly entered Juarez, the Mexican border guard smiled and waved them through. “Even the smells are different,” Jake said. “You ever notice that we erase smells in the United States?”

“We like things nice and sanitized.”

“It’s what I’m beginning to like about this place, Eddie, it’s got rough edges. It’s gritty. In La Jolla we used to ship out all our trash—we made it invisible. El Paso feels like a more honest place.”

“Didn’t know you felt that way.”

“You think your big brother’s just a good-lookin’ airhead?”

Eddie laughed. “I don’t think you’re an airhead.”

“You just think I’m too angry to think.”

“Thai’s not true. I just don’t know you, that’s all. It takes time.”

Eddie looked at the map, and gave Jake directions toward the highway to Casas Grandes. Maria Elena had told them not to stray from her directions. “And come right back,” she’d said. “You two gringos are bound to get yourselves into trouble. Don’t act cocky. Try and be humble, and don’t act as if you have a lot of money. Act ordinary.” Eddie chuckled to himself.

“Whatcha laughing at?”

“Maria Elena. She told us to act ordinary.”

“Aren’t we ordinary?”

“Right. Just two ordinary men driving to Mexico to spread a young man’s ashes in the desert.”

Juarez was still quiet as they drove through the avenue that would turn into the freeway heading for Chihuahua. A lone cigarette vendor stood quietly at a corner as he smoked his own cigarette. As Jake stopped at the light, he signaled the man over. “Marlboro Lights,” he said, and then held up two fingers. “¿Cuánto?” he asked. “Uno cincuenta,” the man said as he handed Jake the two packs. Jake handed him two dollars and signaled for him to keep the change.

“I didn’t know you knew Spanish,” Eddie said.

“I don’t really. I know how to ask how much, I know how to ask for a bathroom, and I know how to order a beer. And I know how to introduce myself. J taught me—but that’s it. You?”

“Well, I listen to Nena and Lizzie carry on in Spanish and sometimes I can really follow them—then they take a right turn and I lose them.” He studied the map. He looked over at his brother and laughed, “Sometimes I still can’t believe I found you.”

Jake nodded. “Can I smoke?”

“Only if you share.”

“Didn’t know you smoke.”

“Every now and again. They’re good sometimes.”

“I could never be a pan-time smoker—either I do or I don’t—all or nothing. Guess I’m that way about a lot of things.” He took the pack from his pocket and tossed it at his brother. He tossed him some matches. Eddie lit a cigarette for each of them and handed one to Jake.

“Air,” Jake said.

“What?”

“Thai’s what gets me through the day. Being able to breathe. I can still breathe. I like breathing.”

“
I want you to stay.”
Eddie kept himself from uttering the words. His brother was nothing like his wife—he didn’t want to know everything he was thinking. He took a drag from the cigarette he was smoking. “Can I ask you a question, Jake?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Are you sad?”

“I’m sad about J—yeah I’m sad. I’ve been sadder. In some ways
I’m happy, I guess. I’m not a happy man, Eddie—never have been. But the thing is, I’m not as sad as I used to be. I mean, I really like living with you and Nena and Lizzie. They’re terrific, you know? And Rose—well, with Rose it’s like a having a mother. You know, Joaquin had a lot of women friends—well, he had a lot of friends in general. Me, I never hung with women much. I wasn’t interested in them—not their bodies, not their minds, not anything. J used to say it was because of the way Mom was. Who the hell knows? He liked Freud, J did—armchair intellectual—like you, Eddie. Anyway, I thought these women would drive me crazy, but they don’t. They kind of make me happy. It feels real nice.”

Eddie nodded.

Jake took his eyes off the road, and smiled at his brother. “Can I ask
you
a question?”

“Sure—shoot.”

“What’s it like to be straight?”

“It’s the best.” He broke out laughing. “Nothing like it.”

“Be serious.”

“It’s a silly question. What if I asked you, ‘What’s it like to be gay?’ What would you say?”

“I’d say it sucks. It really sucks, Eddie. I hated it for a long time. And then I either got used to it, or stopped noticing that I hated it or stopped noticing that I hated myself. The only thing I really liked about being gay was the sex. The sex was great. I’ve had some great sex, Eddie. Better than you’ve had, I bet.”

“I’m not willing to concede that point. I am willing to concede the fact that I’ve had less sex than you. A lot less.”

“Yeah, well, now it’s killing me.”

Eddie reached over and touched his brother on the shoulder, “Being straight isn’t so great, you know?”

“Yeah, well you never had to defend your sexuality, did you? I’ll bet you’ve walked a thousand sidewalks with Maria Elena next to you—and a thousand people looked at you and said ‘What a lovely couple.’ You think those people would’ve said the same thing about me and J? It sucks, Eddie. Straight people are so fucking superior.” Eddie listened to the anger in his voice. It made him sad, and yet
he knew his anger was what had helped him to survive. “You know, something, Eddie? I didn’t have any straight friends—Joaquin had them—but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I was too angry.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie mumbled, “it was a stupid thing for me to say—”

“I’m not mad at you, Eddie.”

“Maybe a little mad—why not?”

“Well, we were raped together, weren’t we? It’s made you different—different than most men.”

“Don’t give me so much credit.”

“I know what I see.” His lips stayed perfectly still. “But I’ll tell you something, Eddie, no straight guy ever messed with me. I lifted weights. I worked construction—the whole thing. I only got out of construction work because Joaquin put me through school. I had a friend I worked with, construction-worker type. He always wanted to know why I was with a Mexican. He was like a lot of guys I know—only hung with whiles. Funny thing, Joaquin was one of the first people
I
ever met who even cared if I had a mind—him and Tom.”

“The doctor?”

“Yeah. Anyway, it was my turn to put him through school—and then—well, he didn’t live long enough to finish. Funny thing about Joaquin, he grew up with nothing—not a goddamn thing—and this guy was happy. I don’t mean he didn’t get angry—he got angry plenty. But it was a good anger—not like mine. I needed to be with someone who wasn’t born cursing the fucking world. He never hated anybody comfortably. He never held grudges. He didn’t hate himself.”

“It’s a family thing,” Eddie said, “In our family, we were taught to hale ourselves.”

Jake nodded, took a puff from his cigarette, and blew out the smoke through his nose.

Eddie watched him. “You should have been a movie star, you know that?”

Jake laughed. “Yeah, just like Rock Hudson.” He sneered and took another puff from his cigarette. “You were one sad kid, Eddie. I always wanted to make you happy. You’re not like that anymore.”

Eddie put out his cigarette in the ashtray. “I got tired of being atone. I got tired of pushing people away. And one day, I saw this woman. She was sitting on a bench at UCLA and she was reading a book and laughing. There was something about her. She looked as if she didn’t need anybody—
I
liked that. I went home and cried, just cried like some kid in junior high school. There was nothing in me but want and more want. I wasn’t angry like you—just, well, just sad and pathetic. The next semester, I saw that woman again. She was in an English class, and a part of me knew her instantly—because she was as sad I was. When she wasn’t laughing she looked lost. And somehow I just knew. And I married her.” He laughed. “And damnit, that woman saved my ass.” Eddie laughed, “Strange that we both wound up with Latino lovers from the other side of the tracks.”

“Just a coincidence,” Jake said as he lit another cigarette.

“Yeah,” Eddie said, “just a coincidence.”
But Mom would have hated it.

“Of course, our side of the tracks was just grand, huh?”

“We didn’t starve, Jake.”

“We had fucked-up parents, Eddie.”

“And now we have their money, Jake. A lot of people get to be poor
and
have fucked-up parents. A lot of people never have shit. Esperanza—she never had anything till Mom and Dad died.”

“You’re raising your voice, Eddie.”

“Sony. It’s just that a lot of people never got the chances we got.” Eddie stopped, “It’s just that—hell—did either of us have to work as hard as Joaquin?”

Jake nodded, but he immediately decided to change the course of the conversation. He didn’t want to fight with his younger brother. It wasn’t worth it, “She was a nice lady, Esperanza was. Did she like us or did she feel sorry for us?”

“Both maybe.”

“Did I ever tell you that I visited her after I got out of jail?”

“No. How come she didn’t tell me?”

“I made her promise not to say anything to you. It would only make you sad. I wanted you to forget about me. They were never going to let me take you with me. Anyway, I just wanted to see
her. When I was growing up, she used to make me smile. She was the only person in that household that knew anything about touching. She was the only person I knew who ever said ‘thank you’ and meant it. Everyone else said it because they were trained to say it. When she thanked you for something, she looked right at you. Sometimes
I
felt as if her sense of gratitude might break something inside me. Not like Mom and Dad—they weren’t touchers. I’m still amazed Mom and Dad had children. Amazing, They hated each other, you know?”

“But they understood each other.”

Jake nodded.

“Were you surprised when Mom shot him, then pointed the gun at herself?”

“I don’t know, Eddie. I remember sitting in a coffee shop staring at this guy. I tried to pretend I was reading the newspaper—and then I saw the headlines. I just ran out of that place as fast as I could. I tore up the newspaper—I remember doing that—and I remember crying.
I
didn’t know why I was crying at the time, but I know now: I cried because I wasn’t sad. My parents killed each other
and I wasn’t sad.
And then I just got drunk. You know, I should be dead. After the way I’ve lived, I should have died a long time ago. How come you’re so sober?”

Eddie shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows?”

“Maybe sad was your addiction.”

“Not anymore, Jake.” He rolled down his window and stuck his head out. He laughed. “I think I’ll get a dog.” He laughed again. “Did you know, Jake, that the only reason I survived our parents was because I carried the memory of your face in my body? Did you know that? Your memory, it was everything.”