A So-Called Vacation (10 page)

“That's okay,” added Gabriel, loud enough for Victor to hear. “I'll just stay here.”

“He's right, Gus, it might be too boring for him.”

Gus had already grabbed a couple of towels. “There. One to dry myself with, and another for you to sit on.”

As Victor led the way, he saved all his small talk for Gus. It was not until they cut across several fields and then took a path that at times disappeared in the tall grass that he finally glanced at Gabriel. “It's where the older guys go to soak away the field dirt.”

“I wondered where people bathed around here. Or if they bathed at all.”

When Victor stared back at him, he tried to offer a sheepish smiled to admit his blunder, but Victor answered with dead seriousness, “Last year two guys from a nearby camp drowned there. They were about our age.”

The remark only worsened Gabriel's own dread of deep water. “But they were from another camp, right?”

Victor savored the anxiety he saw in Gabriel's eyes. “Different camp, same canal.”

“Listen, Gabi, if you want to turn back …” Victor snickered, which only steeled Gabriel's resolve to continue.

They trespassed through some property that had once been a field of some sort but had since been reclaimed by saplings. These days Gabriel had begun to wear his work cap everywhere, sometimes even inside the shack, and seeing Victor's nose peel up close he yanked down the cap bill to shade his own face. Victor, on the other hand, sported the kind of visor worn by card dealers, shielding his eyes but little else. He ran his fingers through his sun-streaked hair so often that Gabriel suspected he was trying to lighten it on purpose.

Suddenly Victor stopped and pointed. “There, hidden in those vines. You can see them.”

“See what?” Gabriel asked.

“The crosses of the guys who drowned.”

Gabriel scanned the field until he finally picked out the tops and crosspieces of two white crosses. Something about their being swallowed by their surroundings made the boys' deaths even more disturbing. Suddenly his peripheral vision told him that Victor was observing his reaction, so he crossed his arms to keep from shivering and nodded with total and quiet concentration.

“So,” asked Gus, “are they really buried there?”

Gabriel knew that if he had asked the question Victor would already be on the ground laughing. Instead the young man answered, “No. But still, you'd think their families would keep the area around the crosses clean.”

“They can't very well do that,” said Gabriel. “They're only around for the summer.”

“Well, it's summertime now.”

“Maybe the families went to work somewhere else. Maybe there are too many bad memories here.”

“Maybe, maybe, maybe …” Victor seemed to be buying time for a rejoinder. “Well, maybe we should ask the guys' ghosts. Some say they've heard them splashing in the canal.” He smiled at Gabriel, as if the thought had just crossed his mind. “Oh, I forgot. You're scared of the water.”

“Who said I'm scared? I can't swim, that's all.”

Victor now turned sharply to the right, and, Gus asked, “I heard you moved out of your parents' place.”

Victor gave a defiant nod. “I'm living in the big barracks with the other bachelors.”

“What did your father say?”

“He didn't say jack. He just pretended it was his idea all along. He said it was time I struck out on my own.” A moment later, without any prompting, he added, “We don't get along. He's weak. He acts like a lion when he's had a few, but then he has a few more and he's back to being a pathetic pussy.” He gave Gus a playful punch, but hard enough to smart. “You should move out too,
buey
. There are still cots available.” Gus gave his brother a nervous glance. “What, you need your kid brother's blessing?” Victor jeered.

Gus shook his head.

“So then what, you think he'll tell your father?” For an instant Victor stared hard at Gabriel as if daring him to
deny it, yet he didn't wait for an answer. “Listen, out in the barracks you can stay out Saturday nights until dawn.”

“So what?” said Gabriel. “We can barely get out of bed each Saturday.”

Victor turned point-blank to Gus to let Gabriel know his opinion didn't matter. “Guys only feel tired when they're bored out of their skulls.”

“I'll think about it,” said Gus.

“Don't think about it. Just do it.” He strode ahead with supreme confidence, like someone used to passing through places without even glancing sideways. Even in that rough terrain, he had a way of sauntering without a care, as if he not only belonged there but laid claim to everything he surveyed.

For that reason Gus looked up to him. Victor enjoyed his company too, but in the way a celebrity likes his fans and flunkies. His friendship was fed by the vanity that someone admired him. Gabriel did not think much of him, and Victor sensed it. In truth Gabriel did not dislike him, but even that indifference bothered Victor, whose world consisted of two camps: people who admired him outright, and those too envious to admit it.

They caught sight of the canal, its crest rising about twenty feet. One of the migrant boys was shouting and making a drinking gesture.

“You need a drink?” yelled Victor. “Jump in!”

“You said you'd bring a few beers!”

“My old man found them first!”

As the boy turned toward the water and disappeared, Gus asked, “Did your father get pissed off?”

“No, he just drank them. Hell, he should have thanked me.”

When they finally reached the base of the canal bank and hurried to the top, Gabriel knew it had been worth the walk. Although he had no intention of taking a plunge, he was immediately drawn to the current, calm yet daunting in its depth.

Victor tried to interpret his mesmerized look. “Don't let it fool you. Whenever they're irrigating downstream, they open the grates at the bottom. The current pulls you against the bars and keeps you there. That's how those guys drowned.”

“So how do you know when they're irrigating?” asked Gus.

He shrugged and plunked a pebble that immediately disappeared with a gulping sound. “After the undertow sucks you down, I guess.”

The boy who had first spied them was floating quietly on his back and already quite a way downstream. Gabriel drew closer until he touched the water that almost lapped the top of the cement bank. Suddenly the thought of falling in made a shiver ripple down his back. He carefully inched away from the bank as if teetering on the brink of a deep precipice. But after a while he returned to dip his feet into the water and pat his soles against the cool cement, leaving wet imprints just above the watermark.

“See that dark green patch?” Victor was pointing halfway to the horizon. “I'll bet we start on that next week.”

From where he lay, Gabriel could glimpse the strawberry field and beyond. Padding his elbows with his shirt, he leaned back with contentment, knowing how back in Texas he would be sweltering and surfing channels to blot out the boredom.

“This is a nice place,” said Gabriel. “Thanks for bringing us.”

The compliment threw Victor off guard for a moment. “It would be even nicer if we didn't have to work here. But if you're going to pop your cherry in the fields, this is as good a place as any, right?” He examined their expressions and then added, “Hell, I knew right away you guys had never done a lick of fieldwork.” Before they could protest, Victor said, “Don't worry. You'll get the hang of it. I had to learn too, like everyone else.” The confession made Gabriel feel better until Victor added, “Imagine, I was almost seven.”

“We wouldn't have looked so bad,” said Gus, “if Dad hadn't put us alongside those workaholic maniacs. They almost sent us packing the first day.”

“The Borrados? Man, what a way to lose your virginity! They'll run your ass ragged. Then they'll tear you another one and run that one ragged too. I hear their mom was the same way. That's where they got their energy. I call them the greyhounds.” He looked closely at one brother, then the other, as though sizing them up. “Old Don Pilo loves to feed them fresh meat.”

Gus agreed, “We felt like those mechanical rabbits at a greyhound track. Only they kept running circles around us.”

Determined that nothing would spoil the moment, Gabriel said, “Let them run circles. Let them chase their own tails. Who cares?”

“We should,” said Gus. “If they make us look lazy, we can kiss that Disney trip goodbye. Dad's just looking for an excuse to say we're goofing off.”

“What bugs me,” said Victor, “is how they're the only guys from camp the locals welcome at their pool.”

Gus sat upright at once. “There's a public pool?”

“Sure, three blocks south of the movies. That's where they're at right now.”

“Then why are
we
here?” Gus pointed to the boy downstream. “And
him
?”

“Lighten up, Gus. This isn't bad.”

“That's because you don't swim, Gabi. There are all sorts of amebas and crap in there. How come you don't see the Borrados swimming in it?”

“It's very simple,” said Victor, putting their bare arms alongside each other. “Tell me what color you see.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“I'll make it even easier. What color
don't
you see? White, right? You don't see the Borrados' color.”

“You're saying the pool has signs outside … ?”

“No, it's not quite that bad. They still want that green part of you. But afterward they make up any excuse to kick you out. So you end up paying a full day's admission for a few minutes of fun.” He could not resist a quick glance at Gabriel before adding, “Unless you're one of the kids who just wants to sit and soak his ass.”

“I'll come up with a plan to stay in,” Gus boasted. “Just wait and see.”

Victor hurled a rock in the water that made an enormous plop. “If the locals don't want us, screw them. It's not worth the hassle. Besides, the Borrados don't need Wile E. Coyote schemes to stay in.”

“They wouldn't be so white,” said Gabriel, “if they weren't always wearing long sleeves and those funny sombreros.”

“Look, kid, we could wear sombreros all summer long, day and night, and still not pass the test. It's their gray eyes. That's the ticket.”

“Never mind their eyes,” said Gus. “How do they even have any energy on weekends? I'm dead on my feet, and I don't even work half as hard.”

“Not them,” said Victor. “They're out there splashing with the farmers' daughters, nuts to butts. It's like they were spending the summer lollygagging like Anglos. You'd think their back-to-school trip would be enough for them.”

“What trip?”

“Like what you guys are getting. Old Don Pilo takes them on a vacation at the end of the summer. A real one, not like leaving one state to go work in the next.”

Gabriel expected his brother to explode at the injustice, but when he turned, Gus was staring at the strawberry field halfway to the horizon. Gabriel cleared his throat to catch his attention, but his brother only fixed his gaze farther in the distance.

O
n the way back to camp, Gus had little to say and showed no emotion until they reached the shack. Then, lying in his cot with his hands clasped behind his neck, he stared at the water-stained ceiling and muttered, “Those weasels.”

“The Borrados?”

“Everyone. Everyone who's pushed us around since we've been here. The town yokels, Dad, the crew boss … but especially them.”

“It's no biggie, Gus. The Borrados just showed everyone what we are—amateurs.”

“Well it's time to push back. And I won't rest till I come up with a plan.”

Gabriel wondered whether he could work up any indignity over fairness and favoritism at the local pool, so he simply replied, “But you
are
resting.”

“I'm thinking, damn it. And I'm serious. We have to beat them at their own game.”

Gabriel could tell that his brother, an excellent school athlete, was falling back on familiar clichés, so he went along with it. “Fine, but you need a game plan. Like what you said back there, about coming up with a way to hang out at the pool.” Even as he said it, the thought of soaking in cool, clean water started to become tempting.

Gus agreed with a pensive nod. “But the pool is just part of it.”

Gabriel waited for more, then realized Gus was being evasive because he lacked any clear goals or strategies.
“So then we don't just need a game plan. We need a master plan.”

Gus agreed, energized. “A master plan.” He rested his hands over his broad chest and interlocked his fingers tightly, as if by uttering the words, everything somehow fell into place.