A So-Called Vacation (23 page)

“Well, your old bed's still there. I slept in it last night.”

Gabriel did not mention that more recently the bedroom had been their father's. He figured Gus would find out soon enough.

J
avier was already waiting at the funeral home parking lot and offered his condolences and an effusive embrace when Gabriel arrived. Gabriel thanked him, then handed him a crude map and directions that an elderly relative had jotted down. “I'm just passing this on, Javier. I can't promise it's accurate.”

Javier seemed anxious to start. “I understand,
primo
. They probably visited Aunt Lupe when dinosaurs still roamed her barrio. But don't worry, it's a two-horse town, so I'll find her.”

Gabriel invited him inside the funeral home, but he declined. “Look, I'll be honest with you. Those places creep me out, especially right before I hit the road.”

“Suit yourself. By the way, Gus says hello.”

“Great! He's here already?”

“He's at home, resting.”

“I once dropped in on him out in Califas. His neighbor got a little pissed when I parked my semi out front. He's a tough nut to crack, that Gus. For that matter so is Paula. Don't take this the wrong way,
primo
, but you're more like your mom. You take things to heart.”

“Well, right now everyone's taking our father's death to heart.”

“Maybe I can help.” Javier patted his windbreaker above his left chest.

Gabriel was trying to decipher the gesture when a pair of cavernous eyes from a passenger in a nearby car
caught his, like a stranger daring him into some dark, dangerous corner. Javier, noticing his concern, turned and stared the stranger down.

Gabriel thanked him again for offering to bring his father's sister. “But take it easy. We want Aunt Lupe here safe and sound, and in one piece.”

“I've been accident-free for as far back as I can remember.” His grin betrayed him. “Just don't ask how far back I can remember.”

“Well try to remember this. Bring her back safe and sound, and in one piece. That includes her mind.”

“At least she won't have to sit next to some weird geezer on the bus.”

Gabriel glanced at Javier's tractor rig, parked close to the street. “And she'll be traveling in style, too.”

“You bet. One of your Dad's buddies, some sixty-year-old hippie, did those double eagles on the doors a few months back. At first he wanted to spray-paint Janis Joplin and Esteban Jordan. I had to talk him out of it, saying they were before my time. To be honest I didn't want to draw attention at the Border Patrol checkpoint up the road. Not that type of attention, at least.”

“Then that explains the birds,” said Gabriel. He studied the graphics on the driver's door, a belligerent bald eagle armed to the beak with weapons that bristled from its splayed talons. “I guess the law-and-order crowd likes that sort of thing.”

“They eat it up like Thanksgiving turkey, especially the Border Patrol. Look, I like Jordan as much as the next guy. But tell me the truth—would they feel the same way about some accordion player with an attitude and an eyepatch?”

Gabriel noticed another design. “And what's with the Confederate flag on the grill, Javier?”

“A buddy of mine, another trucker, did that. The cops seem to like it too.”

“Maybe so …” He paused, hoping that it would give his cousin an occasion to reconsider.

“Anyway, my buddy said it'll save me from getting a few tickets. He says cops figure you're alright if you have one. One trooper even pulled me over just to tell me so. He scared the piss out of me, though.”

Gabriel eyed the man inside the car. “Too bad it also draws the attention of other types.”

As the man stepped out he draped his head with the hood of his sweatshirt, tapped on the car roof signaling the driver to leave. At first Gabriel thought the man might be one of the unsavory characters his cousin befriended. But then he wondered whether his cousin was being watched by plainclothes cops. While he himself had nothing to hide, Gabriel still felt uneasy.

Javier nodded to show that he was in the know, and then gestured toward his rig. “It's like an ice-cream truck drove up.”

“Must be the pictures and bright colors,” said Gabriel.

Javier's eyes crinkled. “Works every time.”

Gabriel suddenly noticed Javier turn serious with concentration as he surveyed a car that pulled up a few yards behind them. For a moment he thought that he had walked into a police bust. Gabriel turned slowly and was surprised to see his father's car. No sooner did the driver step out than Gabriel called out, “Gus! Come say hi to Javier!”

Javier responded with a nervous giggle of relief. “Gus! For a moment there I was sure it was your dad! I thought I was tripping.”

“Paula suggested I get out here before Dad's buddies leave work and take over the place.” He thought for a
moment and shook his head in disbelief. “And guess what? I actually listened to her. I must be getting old.”

“No,” said his brother, “you're just getting wiser.”

Gus greeted Javier, but this one seemed just as interested in the car as in his cousin. “I remember Uncle's car from the times I'd have my truck checked in the garage. I knew he'd make sure they'd look over my rig as careful as if it was yours or Gabi's.”

Gus didn't quite know what to say, so he took out his self-conscious unease with a thump on the hood. “I tell you, this old heap still has some kick in it.”

“That's what I told your dad. ‘You know what you have here, Uncle? A muscle car! A classic! They don't make them like this anymore. You've got to get inside there and juice it up.' And you know what he said?”

Before he realized it, Gus was imitating his father's unfazed nonchalance. “‘
I'm
the classic. They don't make them like
me
anymore.'”

Javier slapped his thigh. “That's right! Then he gave his left chest a tap and mimicked, ‘Better yet, what if they put some of that juice into
this
muscle?'” He covered up his mouth and lowered his voice. “Say, I hope I'm not being disrespectful to your dad.”

“Don't worry,” said Gabriel. “Besides, I don't think he'd want us moping all over the place.”

In fact, Gabriel remembered the times he had come to the same funeral home with his parents. He always preferred to stay with his father, who waited out in the parking lot with the other men while the women stayed inside and mumbled through their mass rosary. Gabriel recalled how the men generally passed the time in subdued but entertaining conversations. Every now and then someone would remind the group why they were gathered there, and they would pause and say a few good things
about the deceased, along with some of their better times together. Then soon they'd return to their muted banter.

Gabriel considered asking Gus whether he was ready to view their father's body, but then decided to wait a while. He was glad that despite the occasion his brother was easing into a more lighthearted state of mind. Gabriel even directed his brother's attention to the rig. “If you think you made an entrance driving up, check out what Javier brought.”

Gus examined the eagle as closely as Gabriel had. “Those bombs hanging from its claws … they look like nukes.”

“Thank you,” said Javier. But a moment later he reassessed his beaming pride. “You don't think it's too over the top?”

“Oh, not at all,” said Gus, with a straight face that would have made his father proud.

Javier seemed relieved. “My girlfriend says I got carried away with all the arrows and bombs.”

“Not at all,” Gus repeated. “Like I used to say in high school, if you have to show your guns, they'd better be big ones.” He flexed his own arms for emphasis.

“On the other hand,” Gabriel added cautiously, “Maybe you could do without the rebel flag.”

“But it's just harmless stars and bars,
primo
. No guns, not even a mean-looking eagle.”

Gabriel wanted to bring up the racial message it sent to nonwhites like themselves, but he didn't know where to start, so he didn't.

Gabriel noticed that the man who had been watching them had pulled back his hood. Usually he was bad with names and faces, but the man's eyes were unforgettable. “Isn't that one of the Borrados?”

“Oh, you know those guys too?” asked Javier. “Yeah, he's the oldest.”

Gus agreed. “What's he doing here?”

“You tell me,
primos
.”

“He's not here for Dad's funeral, is he?” asked Gus.

“Could be. I remember he dropped by the garage one time. Your dad and this other guy gave him some spare change. So did I. In fact, I got the impression it was a regular thing.”

Gus turned to his brother first. “So Dad
did
know him!” Then he turned to his cousin. “Did he know he was one of the Borrados?”

Javier shrugged. “That I don't know. What I do recall is his telling another worker afterward how fortunate he was to have two successful, able-bodied sons.”

Gus looked at him closely. “Dad said that?”

“His very words,
primo
.”

“How come you didn't tell me that when we talked about him back home?”

“Simple. It hadn't happened yet.”

“You're sure? You're not just telling me …”

“It hadn't happened yet,” Javier said once more. “I know that for a fact because after your dad made that comment he asked me about my recent trip out there. He kept asking me about you and your family.”

After Gus grew quiet, his cousin added, “Your dad was a good man, Gus. He was a character, but he helped out other characters.” He gestured toward the Borrado. “Maybe he's paying his respects.”

“Talk about ghosts from the past,” Gabriel said, almost to himself. “We met them one summer, at a migrant camp in California. In fact, Gus and I were just reminiscing about the place.”

“Oh, the time your dad took you guys out West.” Javier paused and glanced at Gus. “Hey, I'm not touching a sore point, am I?” Gus made a never-mind motion with his hands.

Gabriel tried to get a better look, then averted his gaze when it seemed the Borrado might bolt at any moment.

“Say,
primo
, does the guy owe you money?” asked Javier.

“Who, him? He wouldn't be asking me for money. His other brothers must have a fortune by now.”

“The Borrados, you say! You're sure you met them in this world?”

“Sure. They worked like ants,” said Gus.

“Isn't life strange? This one hasn't done a full week's work in years, and his brothers aren't much better.”

“All that work as kids must have worn them out,” said Gabriel.

“I'll have to take your word for it.” Javier tried to savor the irony. “So you knew the Borrados as kids, huh?”

The phrase had a strange ring for Gabriel as well, and he realized that even back then he considered them miniature adults. “Well, I sort of knew them. They didn't hang out with the rest of us guys, though.”

Javier's tone turned more incredulous. “And they worked their butts off, you say?”

“I'll say,” said Gus. “Their father would just set them loose, step back and rake in the money.” He could not help but think of his own father, and how they had let him down that summer. His melancholy continued until he realized that the disappointment had been mutual. “I wonder if their father ever built them that air-conditioned castle he promised.”

“Now that you mention it, old Don Pilo does have a big house, right outside town. But he's the only one living in it. Right now his middle son lives in an even bigger house. The kind with burglar bars, except they keep the burglars in. And he's locked into that lease for a few more years.” He said this so matter-of-factly that it took Gabriel a moment to figure it out. Javier added, “Maybe that's the castle Don Pilo promised them. It may not have a moat, but it's got watchtowers.”

“What happened to the one who worked with you?” asked Gus.

“Good question. One day he took off for Dallas with a load of Mexican mangos and never returned. Poof, not a trace. It's one thing to disappear when you're small and scrawny. But you tell me how an entire eighteen-wheeler can vanish into thin air.”

Gus couldn't, so he simply stared at the Borrado, until he could no longer see his face directly.

“So,” Gabriel said, “this one ended up with all those empty rooms in his father's mansion. All to himself.”

“Are you kidding? He hates Don Pilo! Don't ever get him started on one of his ‘our father' stories. I mean, none of our old men are perfect, but why keep harping on it? He even said his mother's passing away was the old guy's fault. Can you imagine?”