Broken Mirror (40 page)

Elena’s fa, Hector, and her granma Julia were lounging on a wicker sofa. Hector had wild black hair as if he’d never met a comb and slow-shifting eyes that made him appear perpetually lost. Julia, on the other hand, had a hard stare and a quick tongue always ready to give a verbal lashing. Her gray hair was gathered in a tight ponytail. Victor imagined yanking it and almost giggled aloud.

Hector jumped up when he saw Elena and rushed over to her, wrapping his arms around her tightly. “Where have you been?”

“
Hola
, Papá.”

Hector held Elena at arm’s length. His gaze played over her face, inquiring. “We were worried.”

“I’m fine. You remember Victor.”

“Hello,” Victor said. The sound of his voice alarmed him; it was hoarse and unsteady. The less he said, the better.

Hector shot an angry glance in Victor’s direction. Victor felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. Julia, who was never a woman to waste words, even on politeness, nodded grimly to Victor. His skin chilled.

Victor started to lose his grip on the tray he was carrying. “Elena, the glasses,” he said, panicking. She steadied the tray. Working together, they poured the iced tea and then sat on the wicker couch in the gloom. The tea tasted strongly of cinnamon and something he couldn’t place. The lightstrips buzzed, and the tentacle-shadows writhed. Victor’s thoughts moved on autopilot toward a dark and twisted place.

“The police broke the cease-fire today,” Julia announced. “Two Puros dead. But I guess they deserved it.”

Elena looked out at the yard. Victor imagined he heard her teeth grinding together, and then, glancing over, he realized that they actually were. Elena turned to Julia and said, “I’m sure they didn’t.”

“Good riddance,” Julia said.

Hector and Elena both opened their mouths, shocked, but neither spoke.

Julia continued, “They are terrorists! No one feels safe anymore while they run about, doing as they please. They should be put down and
—
”

“Abuela!” Elena slammed her glass on the table.

Tea sloshed over the rim, and Victor felt weightless in his gut. The liquid splashed down on the tray with a crystalline tinkling that reminded him of wind chimes. It was almost beautiful enough to make Victor spill his own tea to hear the sound again.

Elena said, “They are not terrorists.”

Julia snorted.

“It’s a social justice movement, Abuela. They started farm collectives, joint savings banks, education funds, antinarcotics patrols. I mean, from what I’ve heard there wasn’t much of a government in R.O.T. at the time, was there?”

“Still isn’t one worth paying taxes to,” Julia said. “I don’t need a lecture from you about the past, Nieta. And you mind your manners. It’s been months since you paid us a visit, and we know why. Don’t make me regret allowing you back here.”

“Mamá! That’s enough,” Hector pleaded.

Elena wiped her wet palm on her pants. “I’m just saying the Puros don’t go looking for fights, so the police must be to blame. You don’t see them arresting Corps, do you?” She sounded ready to snap. Victor put a hand on her shoulder. Both of them should eat and go to bed.

“They should get rid of all of them! Half your generation turn to drugs, thanks to the Corps, while the other half adopt that purity mumbo-jumbo. Kids should study, work, and start families like they used to. I assume that’s why she dragged
you
here?” Julia looked at Victor, expecting a response.

Elena squeezed Victor’s knee, which triggered a wave of nausea. He shook his head to himself. If only he could pick and choose his symptoms.
I’ll take one portion paranoia and a double helping of spontaneous orgasms, please.

He put down his glass and shied away from Elena. Of all the bad synesthetic effects he’d experienced, nausea was the least desirable. If he stayed perfectly still, the feeling might pass.

Hector cleared his throat. “I also overheard that the Puros found a new cause.”

“What are you talking about?” Elena said, perhaps a bit too quickly.

He cocked his head. “The Human Life movement,” Hector said.

Elena said, “That’s ridiculous.”

“What’s ridiculous?” Maria came onto the porch and sat down in a nearby rocking chair. “Just a few more minutes until dinner,” she added.

“What’s the Human Life movement?” Victor asked, trying to ignore the ways his body was misbehaving. Information was good. Information was neutral. And it would distract him from the crone scowling at him.

“A bunch of sociopathic nutjobs,” Julia seethed.

Elena turned to Victor, ignoring her granma’s cursing. She looked surprised. “Seriously, you don’t know?”

Victor shrugged his shoulders. Dizziness rose up and blotted out his vision. He said through his blindness, “No. Whatever it is, we don’t have it in SeCa.” His view of the porch returned, first in gray, then in color. Maybe he wouldn’t pass out after all.
Hooray
.

Elena crossed her arms. “I guess it’s only in R.O.T., or maybe it started here.” She chose each word carefully. “It’s a social movement. They believe human life is sacred and that we need to preserve our natural heritage.”

“
Chiquitita
, what does that
really
mean?” Maria asked.

Elena sipped her tea. “They take the Puros philosophy to the extreme. It’s on the papers they hand out in the plaza. Preserving humanity against technological corruption. Antiscience paranoia, most of it, but some of what they argue makes sense, especially about food. Without natural food, we can’t be natural humans.”

“See?” Hector said. “A bunch of horseshit. Enhanced food is more nutritious and affordable. They sound like they’re a perfect match for the Puros. They can be insane together.”

Julia pointed beyond the dusky yard. “The Puros used to be local boys fighting for independence from Washington-fascist Corps. Now they’ve all lost their way.”

Elena tensed. Victor squeezed her knee, and she smoothed her hair, apparently rethinking the wisdom of getting involved in a discussion of Puro ideology with her family.

Hector turned to his ma. “What you say is not true,” Hector said. “The Corps were trying to keep the States together.”

Julia tut-tutted at her son. “That’s what you were
taught
!” She wore a cruel smile. “They’ve got no representation in the government, and let’s hope they never will. Enough lunatics live there already. They’re trying to pass a bill to investigate the invasion of Miami.”

Maria sighed, and her gaze wandered across the yard. “That again.”

“That was decades ago,” Victor said.

Julia said, “It’s never too late to fight over the past.” The scorn on her face hadn’t gone away. Victor felt her derision like static electricity on his skin.

He could feel the family’s annoyance with the old woman brimming over. His own volcanic anger wanted to escape. He needed to calm himself. He pictured covering his anger with an ocean, trapping the heat in his core with cool, firm pressure.

Julia clucked and continued. “They say the invasion was masterminded by President Kennedy before he was impeached.”

“What?” Hector yelled. “That’s crazy!”

Julia said, “A lot of people benefited from the invasion. Federal monies went to Florida and Cuba for rebuilding. The president doubled the defense budget overnight and got to look
so strong
. Venezuela established naval bases and won all sorts of trade concessions. I guess the only losers were the Miami people who died, but there are memorials for that sort of thing.”

Hector said, “The death toll in Havana alone was many times worse than all of Florida.”

Maria smiled at Julia. “That’s a flawed theory. Kennedy definitely didn’t want European troops on A.U. soil
again
.”

“The law of unintended consequences,” Julia said and then sipped her tea. “Or maybe he was secretly German.”

Elena cackled. Maria and Hector were dumbfounded. “Okay,” Elena said, “that’s actually the funniest thing I’ve heard in weeks. Also the most insane.”

Julia said, “It derailed the American Union’s plans to enter the Sino-Nippon Conflict.”

“Please, can we not talk about the Chinese Empire again?” Maria said.

Julia said, “We can’t pretend there’s no world beyond our borders. Millions of people were displaced.”

Victor said, “I know. A lot of them came to SeCa.”

Julia laughed, but it was closer to a bark. “And look what a mess that became. The Pacific Coast is going to slide into the ocean one day, and all those foreigners along with those fog-headed, sun-dazzled fruits and nuts are going to throw a party at the bottom of the ocean.”

“Let me check on the food,” Maria said, and went back inside.

Victor’s head swam with hunger. He could make it a few more minutes, and then he worried he might literally lose his mind. He turned to Hector and said, “I want to ask you about the Corps and why there are so many at the Lone Star Kennel.”

Hector froze.

Victor hesitated, puzzled. What could Hector have to hide?

After a moment of quiet, Hector turned and asked, “Victor, are you and Elena together again?”

“Papá!”

Victor reddened. The shadows under the porch probably helped conceal his reaction, but he couldn’t think of a response.

Hector cocked his head, waiting.

“How much are you worth these days?” Julia asked with a mocking lilt in her voice.

What could Victor say? Truth, lies
—
they both dried up in his mouth, and he had nothing left. He took a sip of ice tea, which slipped into his lungs and set off a coughing fit. He doubled over, almost retching, feeling every drop of the tea burn in his throat as he coughed up a fine mist of saliva.

Elena patted him on the back.

“Excuse me,” Victor said once he had recovered. “We haven’t
—
”

“Are you an item or aren’t you?” Julia asked.

“Abuela! That’s not—”

Julia opened her mouth to speak.

“Drop it,” Elena said with such ferocity that Julia rocked back in her seat.

Hector pointed at his daughter. “Elena, you shouldn’t talk to your
—
”

“Enough!” Elena said. “We need to wash our hands before dinner. Come on, Victor.”

Victor rose unsteadily and teetered past the table, following her inside.

Elena dragged him upstairs. Every step required focused effort. In her room, Elena hissed, “She always drags me into fights about nothing. Shocks, I wanted to smack her!”

Victor slumped against the bed. “Calm down. And don’t let me fall asleep. If I don’t eat . . .” He could taste the cooking smells in the air so strongly it was like chewing on garlic cloves and leaves of cilantro.

“I can’t believe she said what she did. She knows just how to push my buttons. Laws!”

He asked, “How should I have responded?”

“You should have told her to stuff it.”

They sat for a few minutes in silence.

“You know what?” Elena said. “I’ll bet Abuela is secretly Catholic.”

Victor’s eyelids drooped. “Why?”

Elena said, “The way she hates on the Puros. You know they take credit for the Communion Crisis.”

“I didn’t know that.”

Elena rummaged in her closet and brought out a set of square painted-metal plates. Victor examined them. Printed across the top, in bright orange letters, was “The Purity Caucus.” The plates depicted scenes of protest outside cathedrals. The people wore fancy dress: elaborate hats, men in suits and ties, women in ankle-length dresses with bustles and corsets.

“These are from the late 1800s,” Elena said, “before they named themselves the Puros. Anyway, they stopped taking communion and started documenting the withdrawal symptoms. When they published
A Microbial God
and petitioned the A.U. to start an investigation, the Communion Crisis began.”

“Ah,” Victor said, “that’s starting to sound familiar. I didn’t realize the Vatican’s fall started here.”

“Not
here
here. San Antonio, I think.”

“Still.”

“Yeah, I guess sometimes what happens in the middle of nowhere matters. But you see now why I joined the Puros? They’ve got
guts
. Abuela would drop dead if she knew. Not that I want my family to know, so make sure you don’t say anything.

“Cross my heart,” Victor said.

Elena laughed. “How do you say ‘Cheers’ in Latin? That’s certain to set her off.”

“I have no idea.” Victor gave back the plates and rubbed his eyes. “Your fa didn’t answer my question about the kennel,” he said.

“We’ll ask again at dinner,” Elena said. She put the plates in the closet and started pacing. “I hate being back here. They shouldn’t have asked you about us. It was rude.”

The mattress beneath Victor’s head was luxuriously soft. He wanted to crawl under the covers and sleep. He closed his eyes. For a brief delicious moment, he slipped into unconsciousness.

Elena’s voice woke him up. “Why do you always trust everyone?”

Victor blinked, trying to stay awake. “Huh?”

“You could have come here without me.”

“Do you think your fa would have helped me?”

“Is that all? Come on, Victor. Truly.”

“I guess . . . I always assume that other people are more reliable than me. I’m so preoccupied with what’s in my head, I figure everyone else has theirs screwed on better. I was disappointed that you screwed up. But you forgave me. You deserve my forgiveness too.”

“Hmm . . . You’ve got a better grasp on things than most.” She held out her hand and helped him to standing. “Come on, let’s eat.”

They took turns washing their hands in the upstairs bathroom and then went downstairs.

“Do you need help setting the table?” Elena asked her ma.

“Yes,” Maria said, “but Victor can get started on that. I want to talk to you.”

Victor collected plates, silverware, glasses, and napkins and began setting the table. He eavesdropped on Elena and Maria in the kitchen. They seemed to be discussing Elena’s behavior over the past few months. Victor arranged all the place settings twice to keep his mind off the mismatch between his empty stomach and the piles of food just a few steps away. He wanted to eat spoonfuls directly from the simmering pot.