She bent to run her roller in the paint tray. “Out of hypothetical curiosity, if you had kids, what would you want their surname to be—Tholet or Penda?”
“Huh. Good question.”
“You haven’t thought about it?”
“I’ve thought about kids, sure, but the last name part didn’t occur to me. He or she would be a Penda, though. I guess yeah, I’d want to include it somewhere.”
“Penda-Tholet has a nice ring.”
Jude glanced at Tej again. “Khoury-Tholet is nice, too.”
Serena started painting again. “Can I say something sappy?”
“Can I stop you?”
“I’ve been thinking about the divine order. Things happening for a reason. People being born when they’re supposed to be born, to the parents they’re meant to have. Yadda yadda. It got me to thinking. I could’ve had an entirely different older brother growing up.”
“You could have.”
“Everything would’ve been different.”
“Nah.”
“I mean it. A lot of who I am is from being your sister.”
Jude’s roller stopped on the wall and he looked at her. “Really?”
By contrast, Serena was painting vigorously, her expression fierce. “Do you know I wrote hate mail to Juan-Mateo Díaz for years?”
Jude nearly stepped in the paint can. “Shut up.”
“Swear to God.”
“You wrote him while he was in jail?”
She nodded.
“Do Mami and Papi know?”
“Nope. I wrote a bunch of scathing letters to Feño Paloma’s family, too. Which wasn’t as satisfying as breaking their car windows with a baseball bat would’ve been. But I’m a peaceable person.”
Jude stared. “I’ve literally never seen this side of you.”
“I hate that family,” she said. “I hate what they did to you and Feño. But. And…” She inclined her head toward Tej and smiled. “Who is he going to be now?”
Jude chewed on the question the rest of the afternoon. Looking at the divine order from his sister’s vantage. Then taking one more step back and realizing the wheel she’d put in motion by bidding on DNA kits at a silent auction. If she hadn’t won, the family wouldn’t have spit into tubes and learned the truth. Without the shock of his revealed parentage, Jude wouldn’t have stormed out of his parents’ house and into a bar in Capitol Hill. Without everything he thought he knew about himself in question, he would’ve rebuffed the bold advances of a guy like Tej. He would’ve missed the chance.
But he didn’t. All because Serena took a chance. The rest followed in divine order.
Everything that happened to me, he heard Cleon say, happened so you could be my boy.
He was still quiet and contemplative when he and Tej got home.
Tej rifled through the collected mail. “Letter for Señor Tholet,” he said, handing over an air mail envelope. The return address read: Servicio de Registro Civil e Identificación | Ministerio de Justicia y Derechos Humanos | Gobierno do Chile.
“I know what this is,” Jude said, working his thumb under the flap. He drew out and unfolded the heavy paper of his new birth certificate, printed under the seal of the civil clerk.
CERTIFICADO DE NACIMIENTO
Nombre: Juleón
Apellidos: Penda-Vilaró de Tholet
Fecha de nacimiento: 25 November 1973
Lugar de nacimiento: La Reina, Santiago
Madre: María Clementina Vilaró
Padre: Eduardo Gabriel Penda
“Wow,” Tej said. “How’s that feel?”
Jude looked over the certificate. He’d never use it in an official capacity. He was still a Canadian citizen, with Penny and Cleon’s names on his Canadian birth certificate. He’d still travel on a Canadian passport and be a permanent US resident.
“It doesn’t change anything,” he said. “But it feels like mine.”
“Happy re-birthday then.” Tej reached, smushed Jude’s mouth and kissed it. “This calls for cold beer and hot sex.”
He went into the kitchen. Jude stood still, tapping the folded paper on his palm. Finally, he called, “Tim?”
“Yahbay.”
“I was thinking…”
“What, you want the sex before the beer?” Tej clattered around in the fridge and came up with two bottles. He grinned as he twisted the caps and handed one over. “Too late.”
Jude held up the certificate. “I’d really like one of these with your name on it, too.”
Tej’s brows pulled together. “Hm?”
“I mean, if you want to join the madness.”
“The fuck are you talking about?”
Jude swallowed above a pounding heart. “See, I have this beautiful, whacko, unique and complicated family history. And I want you to be part of it.”
Tej blinked.
“I’m saying I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
Tej said nothing.
“Like, I want to marry the shit out of you.”
Silence.
“Hey.” Jude put down the beer and the paper and took Tej’s hands, suddenly nervous. Regretting the spontaneity and the joking tone, wondering if Tej wanted something more formal. “I don’t have a ring, but…” He hesitated, then put a knee down. “Will you marry me?”
Tej just stared.
“See, this is where you say yes.”
Tej’s mouth opened slowly, then shut. He nodded.
“You can’t possibly be speechless.”
Now Tej slowly shook his head, lips pressed tight. His eyes were brimming.
“It’s okay,” Jude said, standing up again. “You don’t have to talk.”
Slowly Tej’s head lowered onto Jude’s shoulder and a shiver went through his body. “I am not fucking dressed for this.”
Laughing, Jude held him away, looked him up and down. Crappy jeans, ripped T-shirt, both smudged all over with paint. Splatters in the hair of his forearms, worked into his nail beds, a dollop at the edge of one sideburn.
“You’re beautiful.”
“Christ, shut up,” Tej said. “Just tell me where I am.”
Jude slid a hand up the back of Tej’s neck and threaded into his hair. “You’re in my house.”
Guelisten, New York
June 2011
The day was gloomy, with a stubborn sun attempting to squeeze through gaps in the cloud cover. Together, Jude and Alex sprinkled a bit of Luis Felice Tholet’s ashes over the Pendas’ gravestone, binding the two families forever. A short distance away, Tej and Val were by the Lark family plot, tidying up the markers, their laughter carrying on the breeze.
“Those two,” Alex said, brushing off his hands. “It’s like they were married in a past life.”
“You want to come to our wedding?”
“The question is how would you stop me?”
They sat on the bench by the grave. Elbows on knees, hands clasped and chins on top. Like twins.
“Can I ask you something?” Jude said.
“Mm.”
“You being eleven years older than me… Was that gap planned? I mean, did Lalo and Tina try to have kids between us?”
These nicknames were Jude’s solution to the problem of addressing two sets of parents. A stubborn chagrin wouldn’t share the Mami and Papi he’d used all his life for Penny and Cleon. Calling the Pendas by their first names felt disrespectful to Alex, who insisted it didn’t matter. But Jude insisted it did, and began calling his birth parents Lalo and Tina, elevating the diminutives to honorifics.
“Mami miscarried when I was nine,” Alex said. “I don’t really remember if she was pregnant any times before that.”
“Were you psyched I was on the way?”
“Oh yeah, I was excited.”
“No.”
“Did they have names picked out?”
“Mami wanted Hernando. I wanted Leonardo after one of the Chilean football players. Papi wanted whatever we wanted.”
“What about girl names?”
“I didn’t pay any attention to those.”
“Story of my life.”
“Look,” Val called. She and Tej were pointing up, heads tilted back. An enormous bald eagle was circling the skies above Guelisten.
“Holy crap, look at the size of him,” Jude said, standing up and turning in a circle to follow the magnificent predator. “He’s huge.”
“She,” Alex said absently, a hand shielding his eyes. “The females are bigger.”
“Story of your life.”
Alex slid his arm around Jude and ruffled his hair. “Te quiero, cosito.”
Jude leaned into his side and let the Condor pass.
The clouds moved and the sun shone through, lighting up the afternoon like an Andean goddess’s pregnant belly.
Jude the Revealed.
The sun on his face, the world under his skin and a hand on his brother’s back.
His fingers ashy with bones that only told the truth.
His heart full of sad songs made better.
Lashings of love and gratitude to…
Susan Katz, who was this book’s doula through a long and arduous labor. I couldn’t have done it without you. No shit.
Greg Williams, who put his house in Alki Beach on the market, posted it on Facebook, and gave me a home for Cleon and Penny.
Peter David, who has an equal sign tattooed on his thumb. He shook my hand and Bert Gesundheit was born.
Hewan Tomlinson, who probably doesn’t remember me, but I always remembered her name and I’ve been wanting to use it in a book for years.
JP, my fixed star in the sky.
Julie, who played a lot of Beatles this past year and gave me a good idea.
AJ, my cosito gordo.
My parents, because I don’t want to be anyone’s daughter but theirs.
Steve, who is my brother and always will be.
My grandmother, Lena Danese Schelper, who upon her diagnosis with pancreatic cancer, said, “Well, this is a revolting development.”
Dr. Carol-Ann Galban, who told me, “You’re only as happy as your least happy child.”
John Joseph, who told my mother, “You don’t have to do this day anymore.”
Elizabeth Gilbert, who asked me, “And who are you going to be now?”
Aunt Evelyn, who gave me Cucina Ebraica for a birthday present.
Dr. Joseph Schippa, PhD, who advised me through the hypnosis sessions.
My towers: Tracy my cover designer and Colleen my formatter.
Daniella Chacón Araujo, for making the Spanish sit up straight and behave.
The Read & Nap Lounge, plus the beta readers and bloggers and reviewers who help get my stories into the world.
And to Alice Archer, who might be reading this and thinking, “Good girl.”
All my books have a label of some kind: the first, the hardest, the best, the most important. This book felt the least like me. The adage goes that “every novel is a memoir, every memoir is a novel.” But little of me is in Condors. It seemed I wasn’t so much writing a book as answering a mandate. I wasn’t the creator. I was the pipeline.
I believe ideas pick us to be made manifest. I believe characters are the spirit-energy of people’s stories, looking around for a storyteller. And I truly believe something, someone, or possibly many someones, picked me to write Condors and asked my ego and bias and personal experiences to step aside.
Whoever they were, I thank them. It was a privilege. As with Finches, I knew there was a lot more I could get wrong than right. It’s my sincere hope I got it right.
“I am too happy to write. I have to eat and drink with you, dear friends.”
—Pablo Neruda
Sopa di Pesce Spina all’Ebraica (Venetian Fish Soup)
2 celery stalks, chopped
2 carrots, peeled and chopped
1 large onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, left whole, plus 1 tablespoon finely minced garlic
2 teaspoons salt
About 8 cups water
2 ½ to 3 pounds assorted firm whole white fish, cleaned and heads removed and reserved.
3 tablespoons olive oil
3 tablespoons finely minced garlic
1 teaspoon red hot pepper flakes (optional)
2 teaspoons peeled and grated fresh ginger (optional)
1 to 2 cups dry white wine
Pinch of saffron threads (optional)
3 tablespoons tomato paste or 2 cups diced seeded peeled tomatoes (optional)
4 tablespoons minced flat-leaf parsley
4 tablespoons minced fresh basil
Small, coarse country bread slices fried in oil for serving
In a large stockpot, combine the celery, carrots, onion, whole garlic cloves, salt and water. Bring to a boil and cook for 10 minutes. Add the fish, reduce the heat to medium-low, and simmer for about 12 minutes. With a slotted spatula, gently remove the fish from the liquid. Remove the skin and bones from the fish and set the fillets aside. Return the skin and bones to the pot along with the reserved heads. Simmer about 30 minutes. Strain the liquid through a colander lined with wet cheesecloth and set aside.
Warm the olive oil in a deep sauté pan over medium heat. Add half the parsley and the minced garlic and sauté until the garlic is pale gold, about 5 minutes. Add the white wine. If using red pepper flakes, ginger, saffron and/or tomato, add them now. Warm the fish until heated through. Adjust seasonings to taste. Stir in the remaining parsley and the basil. Serve topped with fried bread.
Pickled Grapes
1 pound red grapes, preferably seedless
1 cup white wine vinegar
1 cup granulated sugar
1 1/2 teaspoon brown mustard seeds
1 teaspoon whole black peppercorns
1 (2 1/2-inch) cinnamon stick
1/4 teaspoon salt
Rinse and dry the grapes, and pull them carefully from their stems. Using a small, sharp knife, trim away the “belly button” at the stem end of the grape, exposing a bit of the flesh inside. Put the grapes into a medium bowl, and set aside.
In a medium saucepan, combine the remaining ingredients. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat; then pour the mixture immediately over the grapes. Stir to combine. Set aside to cool at room temperature.
Pour the grapes and brine into jars with tight-fitting lids (or cover the bowl with plastic wrap), and chill at least 8 hours or overnight. Serve cold.
Terremoto
Pipeño wine (type of sweet fermented white wine)
Pisco or Fernet Branca
Pineapple ice cream
Designated driver
Fill up a liter glass with Pipeño wine almost to the top.
Add a small shot of pisco or Fernet Branca
Top it off with a big scoop of pineapple ice cream.
Call a cab.
Poor Man’s Reuben
2 slices bread
3-4 slices ham
2-3 slices cheddar cheese
Generous helping of bread-and-butter pickles, patted dry on paper towels
Mustard and mayonnaise
Olive Oil
Lover (optional)
On a small plate, layer ham and cheese, folding to fit the shape of your bread. Microwave 40-60 seconds, until cheese is melted.
Heat olive oil in a skillet, lay bread slices side by side. Spread with mayonnaise and mustard. Layer pickles on one piece of bread.
With a spatula, scoop melted ham and cheese off p
late and on top of the pickles. Close up the sandwich and press it down hard with a lid. Cook 1-2 minutes then flip, pressing down again. Slice on the diagonal and serve to your lover with cold beer and potato chips.
Or eat it yourself.
Cinnamon-Orange Stewed Prunes
1/2 navel orange or 1 tangerine
1/2 lemon (optional)
1/2 pound pitted prunes
1 cinnamon stick
Cut the citrus fruit in half vertically, and then slice it thinly, peel and all. Place the slices in a medium saucepan with the prunes and the cinnamon stick, and add water to cover. Bring the mixture to a gentle simmer, and cook over medium-low heat for about 30-45 minutes.
Remove the cinnamon stick and serve over vanilla ice cream.
Then apologize.
Tej’s Tangerine Cake
For the Cake
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter
3 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon fine salt
2 cups granulated sugar
6 large eggs
2 tablespoons finely grated tangerine zest, plus 1/2 cup tangerine juice (from 6 tangerines)
2 tablespoons orange-flavored liqueur, such as Grand Marnier
3/4 cup low-fat plain yogurt
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
For the Glaze
1 1/2 cups confectioners’ sugar
3 tablespoons tangerine juice (from 2 tangerines)
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
Spray a 12-cup Bundt cake pan with Pam.
In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, baking soda, and salt.
Beat butter and granulated sugar on medium-high until light and fluffy. Add eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Beat in tangerine zest and juice and liqueur.
With mixer on low, add flour mixture in three additions, alternating with two additions yogurt, and beat to combine; beat in vanilla.
Transfer batter to pan, smooth top and firmly tap pan on a flat surface to remove air bubbles. Bake until a toothpick inserted in center of cake comes out clean, 55 to 60 minutes. Let cool in pan on a wire rack, 30 minutes. Invert cake onto rack set in a rimmed baking sheet and let cool completely.
Whisk together confectioners’ sugar and tangerine juice until smooth. Spoon glaze evenly over cake and let set 1 hour.
A Scarcity of Condors Page 40