Unbroken

by Anne Schraff

  David was slumped on the couch, his head down, as he spoke. “I was passin’ the Redbird Bar, and I heard a friendly voice yell my name. I turned to go, but he grabbed my arm and almost pulled me into the place. I was so desperate and depressed. I lost my head, and I went in there for five minutes to talk to Freddy and Augie. It was stupid. I know that. I don’t blame you for being mad.”

  As much as Paul had hurt him, he understood his kid brother’s rage and bewilderment. David knew he had to take whatever Paul dished out. He deserved it. Paul Morales had come to that prison regularly to visit him, to cheer him up, to give him hope when he had very little hope.

  When he first arrived at the prison, David had given up hope of ever having a decent life again. Paul’s visits were a lifeline. They were the only glimmer of light at the end of the darkest tunnel David had ever seen.

  Now, Paul and his friends had embraced him. They welcomed him back into their world as though he were worth saving. Paul was giving him a home and support. Paul introduced him to his friends, who were good, decent people.

  “I’m sorry, Paul. It won’t ever happen again,” David promised quietly. “If I see those guys on the street, I’ll act like I never seen them before. I swear to you on my life.”

  Paul sat down on the sofa next to his brother. He threw his arm around David’s shoulders. “Okay,” was all he said. That was the end of it.

  Paul glanced around the room, as if trying to think of something else to say. Finally, he spoke. “Any good movies on? Wanna watch one?”

  “Yeah,” David responded.

  Paul grabbed the remote control for the TV and started clicking toward the movie channel.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The next morning, after Paul Morales left for work, David walked up Washington Street. The street had a lot of fast-food places, thrift stores, ninety-nine-cent stores. A couple of them had “Help Wanted” signs in the window. David noticed such a sign at the yogurt shop, and he went in.

  David had showered, put on a good deodorant, shaved and dressed in a clean shirt and jeans. When he looked in the mirror before leaving the apartment, he saw a presentable-looking guy. But there was a haunted look in his eyes. Maybe, he thought, no one would notice.

  The past two years had taken their toll. A feeling nagged him. He felt unemployable except through the kindness of friends who would reluctantly let him work. He wanted so much to get that first job. He’d pick up garbage or clean the gutters if that was what it took. He just wanted a chance, and he was terrified that he wouldn’t get it.

  “Hi,” David said to a middle-aged Latina woman in the yogurt shop. “I saw your sign, and . . . uh . . . I’m looking for a job.”

  The woman looked David over. He thought her expression was not too inviting, but maybe his imagination was at work again. She dug into a drawer and brought out an application. “Here, take a seat in one of the booths and make this out. Give it to me when you’re done.”

  David took the application and sat down. He began filling out his name, address, phone number, and other information with a ballpoint pen. He said that he graduated from Canoga Park High School. He had about two years of junior college but no degree. He didn’t indicate where he got the college credits. Then David got to the question that sent chills up his spine.

  “Have you ever been arrested and convicted of a crime?” There were several lines to explain if the answer was yes.

  You weren’t supposed to lie on job applications. David’s parole officer told him to tell the truth. The man said to explain the circumstances as honestly as he could. But honesty didn’t make sense to David. If he admitted he was sent to prison for felony burglary, who’d want him? A lot of young guys with clean records were finding it hard to get jobs.

  David lied. He wrote no to the question. He hoped against hope they wouldn’t check. He figured he had no chance at all if he was honest. By lying, he had a slim chance if they didn’t do a check.

  David returned the completed application to the lady.

  “You put your cell phone number down too?” she asked in a disinterested voice.

  “Yes,” David replied. Paul had given him an inexpensive cell phone. His brother had seen to everything.

  The woman tucked the application into a space behind the counter and said nothing. “I’d really appreciate it if you’d consider me,” David added.

  “It’s not up to me,” the woman explained. She never made eye contact as she spoke. “The boss comes in later and looks the applications over. He’ll call you for a personal interview if he’s interested.”

  “How soon . . . usually does it take?” David asked. “You know . . . to find out if there’ll be an interview?”

  The woman shrugged.

  “Thanks,” David said, leaving the yogurt shop. He had little hope, very little hope. Maybe the lady had enough street smarts to recognize David’s prison pallor. Maybe she just didn’t like the looks of him. Maybe she even knew who he was.

  David didn’t put in any other applications. His spirits had sunk too low. He thought, “What if I never get a job? What if that Hortencia changes her mind about taking me on? I can’t sponge off my brother forever. I can’t eat the food he buys and use the utilities. I’ve caused him enough trouble.”

  David decided to take off if he didn’t find work. He’d just pack up his few belongings when Paul was gone to work and go away. He’d have to do it while Paul was away. Paul’d never let him go if he was there. David thought he soon wouldn’t have any self-respect left at all. He’d prefer living on the street with the other homeless down-and-outers than being a permanent burden on his kid brother.

  As David walked, his cell phone rang.

  “Yeah?” David said, a tiny ember of hope glowing in him. Maybe that meanlooking lady didn’t dislike him after all. Maybe she talked the boss at the yogurt shop into giving him an interview.

  But it was Carmen. “David, is it okay if I come over to your place this afternoon after school?” she asked.

  “Sure,” David responded. “Paul usually gets home a little after five.”

  “I want to talk to you, not Paul,” Carmen explained.

  “Oh,” David said. “Okay.” He returned the phone to his pocket. New fears arose in him, clawing at his insides.

  David could see how much Carmen Ibarra loved Paul. Maybe, David worried, she resented David being around. Maybe Carmen didn’t like Paul’s ex-convict brother living at the apartment and dragging Paul down. She acted as though she liked David at the dinner at the Sandovals, but maybe she was having second thoughts. David made up his mind. If Carmen expressed any misgivings about him living here, he’d take off right away. Paul and Carmen had a good thing going. David didn’t want to spoil things for Paul. He’d hurt the kid enough already.

  The school day at Cesar Chavez High was over at three-thirty. Carmen pulled her red convertible into the lot on Cardinal Street at four. Even before she rang the bell, David opened the door. He had prepared himself for something bad to happen. “Hi, Carmen,” David said. “Come on in.”

  “Thanks, David,” she said. She was wearing a hot pink sweater that emphasized her lovely figure. “How’re you doin’?”

  “Uh, okay,” David answered grimly. He wasn’t going to share his misery with her.

  “You find a job yet?” Carmen asked.

  “I . . . uh . . . put in some applications and stuff,” David responded. His suspicion grew that she was troubled by his being here. She was probably looking for a nice way to tell him it was time to move on.

  Carmen sat down on the living room sofa. She patted the cushion next to her as a sign that David should join her. When both were seated on the couch, Carmen said what she wanted to say.

  “David, you know that Paul and I are nuts about each other. I mean, Paul’s nuts anyway, but he loves me. That’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I mean, I look okay and all that, but I’m not dropdead gorgeous like some of the girls at Chavez. I mean, like you
take for example Naomi Martinez, Ernie’s girl. She is sooo pretty. But Paul thinks I’m hot, and I know he’s hot. I’m just so incredibly happy with him. But there’s this one problem.”

  “Here it comes,” David thought, steeling himself.

  “David, my father,” Carmen went on, “you know, the councilman, Emilio Zapata Ibarra. He’s the most wonderful dad a girl ever had. I love him so much. I love both my parents. But, well, he has misgivings about Paul. He never wanted me to date Paul in the first place. When he first met Paul and saw the rattlesnake tattoo on his hand, he like went ballistic. Well, my father’s sort of hot tempered anyway, and you and I both know that Paul can be explosive. Well . . . the thing is . . . Dad wanted me to date Ernesto Sandoval, but that didn’t work out. Ernie was madly in love with Naomi. No way was that gonna happen.”

  David’s brain began to malfunction. Paul had told him that nobody in the world could talk as much as Carmen. Now, after a few minutes of listening to her, David had no idea what she was trying to say. As she chattered on, David tried to smile and nod from time to time.

  “Well,” Carmen continued, “when I met Paul and we started going together, I never knew I could be so happy. He’s like my whole life. But I want Mama and Daddy to be happy too. Well, my father knows you just got out of prison. As you can imagine, he’s a little nervous. He didn’t say that, but I can tell. He said he wants to meet you as soon as possible.”

  “What?” David gasped.

  “Yes, tonight,” Carmen affirmed. “Papa wants you to come to our house for cake and coffee. Mama made a maple cake with cream cheese frosting, and it’s so good. Paul can come too. It’s very important, David. Papa isn’t crazy about Paul anyway. You’ve got to come and reassure my parents that you’re, you know, not like Paul. I have a lot of trouble calming my parents down, especially my father. He knows Paul hangs out with guys like Cruz and Beto, and they have this crazy van covered with wild pictures.

  “Well, David, I gotta go home,” Carmen declared, shifting forward on the sofa. “So the thing is, my father wants you there at seven tonight. You and Paul. We live on Nuthatch Lane. Paul knows our house, of course. He’s made some crude comments about where we live—you know, Nuthatch Lane—but, thankfully, not in front of my father. Remember, seven!”

  “Okay,” David agreed meekly.

  Carmen paused. She looked intently at David and then spoke. “You’re a lot different from Paul, David. I love Paul madly. But if he was just a teeny tiny bit more like you, it’d be going better with my parents.”

  “Well,” David muttered. He raised one hand in a what-can-I-say? gesture. It was all he could manage.

  “Thanks for listening to me, David,” Carmen went on. Before she got up from the sofa, she planted a kiss on David’s cheek. Then she jumped up and said, “Remember, seven sharp. Dad’s a bug on punctuality.”

  When Paul got home, David reported in a flat voice, “Carmen was here.” During the past hour, David had been going over and over in his mind how tonight would go. This Councilman Ibarra was the guy with the mustache that jumped when he was angry. Was he going to inspect David like meat? Was he going to judge whether David Morales was fit to be the brother of his daughter’s boyfriend?

  Paul hung up his jacket. “Oh yeah? What’d she want?”

  “We have to go to her house at seven tonight for maple cake and coffee,” David explained. “Her father wants to meet me. I guess he thinks I’m some kind of an ax murderer or something. I’m sick about it. I don’t want to ruin things for you, Paul.”

  Paul laughed. “Don’t sweat it, man. He couldn’t hate you more than he hates me. The guy’s tried everything under the sun to drive me away, but I’ll never go. He had this fantasy of Carmen falling for Ernie, the goody-two-shoes dude. The poor old guy almost split a gut when Carmen and I got together. When Carmen’s sister, Lourdes, first saw me, she almost called the cops. Don’t worry about it, man. We’ll go over there, eat some cake, drink some coffee, and cut out as fast as we can.”

  “I just don’t want to make it harder for you,” David said.

  “Hermano,” Paul told him, “you’re my blood. You go with the territory. You’re part of me, maybe the better part.”

  At six thirty, Paul and David climbed into the pickup and drove to Nuthatch Lane. “David,” Paul advised, “don’t expect this dude, Mr. Ibarra, to be like Luis Sandoval. He’s gonna be blunt. When we were at the Sandovals, nobody mentioned anythin’ about you being in the slammer. It won’t be like that with Mr. Ibarra. He’ll want to ask questions. Just be honest. I don’t have to tell you that, though. You got much better manners than I do.”

  The moment the boys were at the front door, Carmen opened it. She must have been watching from the window. “Hi, guys,” she greeted. Then she turned toward the interior of the house and yelled, “They’re here!”

  “Oh man!” David muttered under his breath.

  Paul reached over and punched his brother’s shoulder. “Don’t sweat it, dude. It’ll be fine,” he assured his brother.

  David spotted Emilio Zapata Ibarra the moment he entered the house. He was a tall, swarthy man with a huge, great drooping mustache. He looked like a giant walrus. Under the mustache were large white teeth. “Like a crocodile,” David thought. The man had flashing dark eyes. To David, his smile seemed more like an angry sneer.

  “Hello, Paul and David,” Mr. Ibarra boomed. “You must be David!” He charged forward. For just one terrible split second, David thought he would seize him and throw him out the front door. Instead, he grabbed David’s hand in a powerful grip that seemed capable of breaking all of David’s fingers but somehow didn’t.

  Mr. Ibarra’s wife, Conchita emerged from the kitchen door. She was a pretty, slightly plump woman in a flaming red dress. She wore bright red lipstick, and she looked like a showgirl. “I made a maple cake with cheesecake frosting,” she cried in a loud voice. “Come on into the parlor.”

  David finished the sentence in his mind: “. . . said the spider to the fly.”

  David glanced at Paul, who was grinning. He was used to all this. Sensing his nervousness, Carmen leaned over to David. She whispered, “Papa just wants to get to know you, David. Don’t be nervous.”

  They all sat down in velvety chairs in the living room, and Conchita went to get the cake and coffee. Mr. Ibarra’s gaze lasered in on David. In his booming voice, he asked, “So you just got out of prison, eh, David?”

  “Yes,” David gasped. He longed for the maple cake and the moment Mr. Ibarra would take a bite and be unable to speak.

  “You were a burglar, as I understand it,” Mr. Ibarra went on. He said it in the same tone of voice he might have used to say, “You were an electrician, eh?”

  Conchita entered the room with the maple cake, followed by Carmen with plates and cutlery. Conchita set the lovely cake on the table. Then she brought the coffee while Carmen followed her with cups, sugar, and cream. “Here we are!” Conchita Ibarra sang out gaily.

  Emilio Ibarra had been brutally blunt. As David took a cup of coffee—black—from Carmen, he finally stammered, “Yes, I was a burglar.” He took a quick swallow of coffee. Carmen deftly cut the cake and put a generous slice on each plate. David thought he might upchuck if he ate any cake, but he had no choice.

  “But now you’re out, and all that is behind you,” Mr. Ibarra continued, smiling with his big teeth. He dove into the maple cake with gusto, crying, “Ah, Conchita, magnificent as usual! The cheesecake frosting is marvelous!”

  When Mr. Ibarra had finished his first bite, he returned his attention to David. “Now you are on parole, is that right?” he asked. “That’s to be expected. It is very important to keep all your appointments with the parole officer. Those fellows can be your best friend while you are adjusting to life on the outside.”

  Paul rolled his eyes, and Carmen kicked him. But Mr. Ibarra didn’t notice them. He was too focused on David. David felt like a bug in a display case. Mr. Ibarra was the scientist h
olding him firmly with a giant pin.

  “Have some of the maple cake, David,” Conchita suggested. “You’re too thin.” Her urging sounded like an order. David took a small bite and it was delicious. But he was too intimidated to appreciate it.

  “As you surely know,” Mr. Ibarra stated, no longer smiling, “Paul and my daughter are very good friends.”

  “That’s putting it mildly,” Paul muttered under his breath. But Mr. Ibarra had excellent hearing. He looked at Paul with a baleful eye, then turned to David. “Your brother is a master of sarcasm.”

  David didn’t know what to say, so he quickly grabbed another bite of the maple cake. He was waiting for some hard verbal blow from the mustached man. He was waiting to hear some damning comment. In his mind, he could almost hear what the man would say.

  “David Morales, you are a foul criminal. You broke the laws of this great republic, in which I am honored to serve as a councilman. You sneaked into business establishments and stole what was not yours. You wanted only to enrich your miserable self. Yes, you are now out of prison. But the crimes you’ve committed have tarnished your soul for all time. You shall never be welcome in my home or in decent society.”

  Instead, Mr. Ibarra leaned forward and asked, “Tell me, David, what did you learn in prison?” He was closer to David now and even more frightening. The big mustache danced. “Carmen said you studied accounting and had other classes too. Tell me about that.”

  “Uh . . . public relations and stuff,” David gasped.

  “What did you get out of the experience of being in prison, David?” Mr. Ibarra continued. His big black eyes seemed to grow larger and more malevolent.

  David’s thoughts swirled like a tornado. He wished he were eloquent enough to say something profound. Within those dark, dank prison walls, had he grasped the meaning of life? Would he use some newfound, hard-won wisdom to become a great person and an asset to humanity?