• • •
“Homero?”
“Yes, chimp.”
“Do you know how much I admire you?”
“You’re high, dude. Try to get some sleep.”
• • •
“Homero?”
“Uh-oh. She’s still alive. Those damn pills didn’t work after all.”
“What part of your body do you like the most?”
“Whoa. She’s alive and asking brilliant questions. My fists, I guess.”
“Really? Why?”
“I don’t know. I clench my hands into fists and they look like someone else’s. You?”
“They’re there. The rats. Do you hear them?”
“Yeah, I do. Answer me.”
“Let me think of a feminine version of your fists. My earlobes?”
“Does it hurt, to pierce your ears?”
“Only if you think about it.”
• • •
“Those fucking rats are there again, Homero. What are we gonna do about them?”
“There’s nothing we can do about them, chimp.”
“Shouldn’t we try something?”
“We should get wings. We should get a couple tattoos at one of those parlors on St. Mark’s. Something sick. Mom and Dad will freak out. They’ll think we’ve become fucking Maras when they see us.”
“It’s not funny, Homero. What if the neighbor was right? What if those fucking rats find their way through, and get to us? Are we just gonna sit here and do nothing? I’m serious, man.”
“I am too. We’re taking over Manhattan, chimp, like the fucking Muppets. Those pussy rats are getting owned. We’re getting tattoos. Tomorrow, first thing in the morning. Big ones. Across our backs. A fucking thousand badass wings sticking out of our spines, reaching for the goddamn sky.”
DEERS
When I got to work that morning there were a bunch of police cars and fire trucks and vans from TV outside the McDonald’s, and my shift mates were there too, behind a yellow tape that read AUSTIN POLICE DEPARTMENT DO NOT TRESPASS, trying to get a peek of what was going on inside, including Conchita; she was on her toes because she was short like me, and when I tapped on her shoulder she turned and shrieked, “Susy girl!” and we hugged real tight, and she said, “Susy girl, you’re not gonna believe what’s happening inside,” and I said, “Conchita, what’s going on?” really worried because, you know, when I saw those police cars, those cops around, I thought, This can’t be good, this is trouble, I started thinking, I probably should go home and start looking for another job, but Conchita already knew how to read me; she already knew about my fears so she looked into my eyes, grabbed my arm, and whispered, “Relax, Susy girl, it’s not what you’re thinking,” and I just smiled, still nervous, though, because I get nervous every time cops are around, but also relieved because I trusted Conchita and I knew that if she said, “Relax,” I could, things would be okay; she’d earned my trust a few months before, the day there was a raid at my apartment complex and Conchita heard about it on the radio on her way to work, and when she saw me walk into the restaurant the next day she ran to me and hugged me tight and stroked my hair like she was my mother or something, and whispered in my ear, “I was so worried for you, Susy girl,” and she looked so relieved that it got me thinking, One of these days I’ll run out of luck and perhaps Conchita won’t see me come to work the next day, and then I thought of my little ones, my Pedro and my Santiago and my Adrián, I wondered who’d call them back in Cuévano to let them know their mother had been arrested, perhaps Conchita would but I didn’t know how she could because she wouldn’t know what number to call, and the next time I saw Conchita I gave her the number of my mother’s house, but she said, “Don’t be silly, Susy girl, you’ve got more lives than a cat!” and hugged me tight, and it felt good, not only that we hugged but that I had someone to trust; so this time around I whispered in her ear, “If it’s nothing bad, then what’s with all these cops and all these fire trucks and the whole thing?” and Conchita giggled hard, she got this funny face, I didn’t know if she was going to cry or laugh or what; you know that face; imagine if the Virgin Mary showed up like, Bam! out of the blue in front of you, and you were like, Whoa! but also like, Wow! and, Yikes!, all at the same time; that was the face Conchita got, and then she said, “They say there’s a bear inside the place, Susy girl!” and she got real funny now, she stopped talking but her eyes kept shining and this reminded me of my Pedro and my Santiago and my Adrián; I remembered their faces when they were younger, before I had to leave Mexico City with Doña Laura and her family, when I’d visit them on my weekends off with cotton candy and chocolate bars that I’d buy at the bus terminal in Mexico City, they’d be waiting for me by the road because they missed me, I hope, but also because they knew I always had something sweet for them, and so I’d step off the bus with three cotton candies like a bouquet of hydrangeas in my hand, and there they’d be, all groomed by my mother, smelling fresh and clean like they were babies again, shining from head to toe, beaming like waterfalls, ready to kiss me and get their mouths sticky and full of sugar, but anyway; Conchita stood there, looking deep into my eyes with this funny and serious and silly and shiny face, explaining that a bear had taken over the McDonald’s where we worked; she said it like it was for real but I couldn’t help feeling she was kidding me, so I waited a couple seconds for her to say something else but she didn’t; meanwhile the noises grew louder and louder around us, sirens of fire trucks and patrol cars howling and police talking on walkie-talkies and mobs of onlookers gossiping about this bear everybody insisted was inside; they were trying to guess where he’d come from, and one of them said he heard a circus was in town; “What if he’s a runaway circus slave who has decided to stop putting on the same show every night?” he said; somebody else said the bear could have come from one of the big houses nearby; “Yeah, one of those huge mansions up in the hills, rich people are just getting richer,” somebody else said, “and you know what happens when people lose track of how much they have, they start doing crazy things like keeping bears as pets,” he said, which made me imagine the bear caged inside a big house, like the one where I lived with Doña Laura and her family for a few months until one day, out of the blue, she got mad and kicked me out; I imagined the bear alone, forced to live in a strange place surrounded only by humans; I wondered if this was a young or an old bear, if he missed the company of other bears or if bears didn’t have those feelings, if they were lucky in that way; “What if he’s not a bear but a coyote or a mountain lion?” somebody else said, “people are so ignorant about animals these days, especially if they went to public schools,” he said; “Hey, what’s wrong with public education?” someone else replied, “If you think like that then you’re part of the problem!” she said; the onlookers were saying all these things I didn’t understand, they remained outside the restaurant and wouldn’t leave, like the rest of us, but unlike them, we did have a reason to be there because we worked there; they just wanted to spot the bear like it was Brad Pitt or Enrique Iglesias so they could go crazy all over him, ask for an autograph, take a picture with him, and Conchita didn’t speak for so long I started to feel something was off with her, because when everything around us was loud and unbearable, silence would bring us peace; that we knew from experience, because a few months back, weeks after that raid at my complex, Conchita didn’t come to work for a few days and when she finally showed up she looked like a tractor had run her over, and when she arrived we only had time to hug but not to talk, so I looked for her at lunch break and asked her, “Conchita, what happened? Are you all right?” and she stayed there, leaning against the storage door like her mind was somewhere else, her silence longer than Lent, and I thought she didn’t want to talk so I turned to leave but then she mumbled, “Don’t go, Susy girl, please,” and when I turned back she told me what had happened to Jonathan, her youngest, the one she called Jon; how
she and her family had gone out for a picnic by the Colorado River on Saturday and she’d told the kids, “Don’t go in the river because the water is traicionera!” but they wouldn’t listen, “They never listen to me,” Conchita said, and the family was alone when Jon went under and they didn’t want to call 911 even though they could, because that was always a problem, “Police see you moreno and dressed like my kids do, and they only think ganga, they only think mojados, they start asking silly questions instead of moving their asses to help you out,” Conchita said, and when they finally called 911 the police couldn’t find him, they looked for Jon through the night, they kept looking for him the next day, Sunday, and on Monday and Tuesday too; and Conchita’s last words to him were, “Don’t go in the water! Jon! Jon! Are you sordo o qué? Güerco malcriado, come back here!” but she didn’t have a chance to say goodbye, she didn’t give him a hug or bury him because Jon’s body was never found, and she told me all this really fast, like she had to tell it ra-ta-ta-ta-ta or else she couldn’t, and after she said all that she stayed there, quietly by the storage door, and I did too, our mouths shut; then I opened my arms and she let herself go like Jesus falling off the cross; I wrapped her in the tightest hug, her body heavy in my arms, and we remained like that for a while until lunch break was over and the manager came by and nagged us to go back to work; so this time around I thought something similar was going on with Conchita and that was why she wasn’t talking, but curiosity was killing me already; I wanted to know more about this bear, so I said, “What do you mean there’s a bear inside the place, Conchita?” and she replied, “I swear to God they say it’s a bear, Susy girl! A real bear, like Yogi Bear, you know?” and I said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Conchita,” and she said, “You must’ve seen that show, Susy girl! Yogi Bear, remember? A bear that lives in a national park in California and he’s a real bear, and he’s real nice and goofy, and he wears a hat and a tie, and he goes nuts craving picnic meals all the time? Don’t tell me you didn’t see that show, Susy girl!” and I got dizzy because I had no idea what she was talking about and I didn’t know what craving meant exactly either; I’d just came from Mexico with Doña Laura and her family the year before and English was a nightmare to learn; every time people would say something I didn’t get, I’d feel embarrassed to admit I had no clue, I felt like my head was gonna explode, but Conchita had helped me a lot already, she’d been real sweet to me, so I let go; “Sorry, Conchita, but it’s the first time in my life I’ve heard about that bear,” I said, and she looked at me like I was kidding her; “C’mon, Susy girl, everybody, everybody, knows Yogi!” and I said, “Well, I guess that’s here, but back in Cuévano we didn’t have that show, you know, our TV at home had only one channel and we just watched soap operas and La Carabina de Ambrosio and Chabelo and Siempre en Domingo but no shows with bears; ask me anything about actresses and singers, Gina Montes, Verónica Castro, Victoria Ruffo, or Carmen Montejo if you like, but don’t ask me about goofy bears that wear hats,” I said, and Conchita cracked up like what I’d just said was a good joke; I felt that every time I said something dumb I made her laugh; I felt that that was the reason she liked to call me Susy girl; like she knew I found shelter in the tone of her voice, especially if she had to explain something the manager had said in a meeting, because the manager, oh God; he’d speak so fast, he’d barely open his mouth and I wouldn’t get what he said most of the time; Conchita would only need to look at my face, she’d crack up and whisper in my ear, “Don’t worry, Susy girl, I’ll explain it to you later,” and so Conchita did it again this time; “Okay, let’s start from scratch, Susy girl, forget what I said about Yogi, okay? They say there’s a real bear inside the place, a real grizzly bear! Apparently he’s big and hungry as hell, because I heard that when the cops got here they spotted him in the back, by the storage, you know, eating all the English muffins we left on the trays ready for the morning rush? Apparently this big fella was eating them all with the wrappers and everything! They said that he also tried to break into the freezer and tried to drink from the soda fountain machines! I mean, the guy’s a real bear and is all over our place! Isn’t that like, a miracle?” and she started laughing like she was losing it, making no sense at all, and I didn’t know what to make of what she’d just said; meanwhile the number of people around us was growing, everybody kept on pushing and pushing against the metal barrier installed by the police to keep us at bay, trying to get a better view of the restaurant, but the lights inside were out and the cops and firemen weren’t doing anything; they stayed still, talking on their walkie-talkies without making a move, which made me think that maybe all of it was bullshit, or that they didn’t know how to deal with him, that maybe they were waiting for him to finish off the food and leave on his own will, or maybe they were afraid of him, or maybe there was no bear at all, maybe it was just a rumor somebody had made up and everybody wanted it to be real; I didn’t know, but I’d never seen so many cops in my life and I was starting to feel scared, the whole thing was loud and messy like a Holy Week procession that was getting bigger and bigger and bigger; then a group of young people with signs that read DON’T SHOOT THE BEAR, GIVE BEARS A CHANCE, DO I LOOK ILLEGAL?, SAY YES TO LIFE NO TO JUNK FOOD, PUT YOUR PAWS UP, showed up and started chanting slogans and then there we were, Conchita and the rest of my shift mates and me; we should have already been working inside, serving breakfast, handing bags of muffins with omelette and sausage or whatever people would order through the drive-through, and I should’ve already cleaned up the bathrooms because the first thing I had to do every morning was make sure they were all beaming, as the manager would always find time to go in there and check if I’d cleaned them up, and every morning Conchita would also find the time to stop by and say hello and give me a hug; “Ay, Susy girl!” she’d say and explain that it was one of the downsides of working at McDonald’s on the west side of town, because on the east side, she’d say, “Those joints by Riverside or way south down Airport Boulevard, managers there don’t give a damn if bathrooms are filthy as a cockroach butt,” she’d say, “but here customers make a fuss if they spot a dust bunny by the sink, they make a fuss out of everything, like this is freaking Whole Foods,” she’d say, and I thought about all that while looking at her outside the restaurant; I remembered how funny and strong and confident Conchita was before, how much she’d changed since Jon died; now she was just staring at me like she didn’t have anything else to say; “Conchita, you’re kidding me, there are no bears in Austin, I’ve seen vultures and deers but no bears,” I said but she cut me off, “Deer,” she said, “What?” I said, “Deer, Susy girl, you don’t say deers, you say deer,” and I said, “No, Conchita, deers, many, there are lots of them around here, especially in the evening; haven’t you seen them at the end of the day, while we’re waiting for the bus? They come by the avenue in packs, like little families; deers of all sizes; some are really big and kind of intimidating, with antlers and everything, but some are small; they look tender and vulnerable like newborns, covered with white spots, like freckles,” I said but Conchita insisted, “I know, Susy girl, there are lots of them around here but you always call them deer, whether it’s one or a bunch,” and I said, “Why?” “What do I know, Susy girl? I didn’t invent the language, I’m not freaking Shakespeare, you know?” Conchita said, and I just couldn’t get my head around it; “You’re making me dizzy, Conchita, if I tell you I saw deer on my way here, how do you know if I saw one or four?” I asked, and Conchita looked at me like I was in first grade; “I don’t know, Susy girl, that’s a good question,” she said and looked down with a frown, like she’d never thought about it before; “That’s the kind of questions Jon asked all the time, you know, he’d just come up with these questions that were hard,” she said; “Anyway, Conchita,” I said because I didn’t want her to get depressed again, especially not after some stupid question that I’d asked; “There are no bears around here, so how come there’s a bear inside the restaurant eati
ng our muffins? That’s just off,” I said; “Exactly, Susy girl! That’s my point! Doesn’t it sound like something out of a blessing? Of all the McDonald’s in the world, why would he choose ours? There has to be a reason for that, Susy girl, and a higher one at that!” she said cheerfully again, like she’d already forgotten what we were talking about a minute ago and I felt relieved, so I said, “Is it like a miracle then?” pretending to follow her; “Right! It’s like an apparition!” she cheered; “Why not?” I went on, and we giggled together; “We need to find a way to see him! We can’t miss this chance, Susy girl!” Conchita said, and so we were talking about miracles and apparitions and stuff like that when the manager showed up and called out to us; he told us to walk behind the restaurant because he needed to talk with us, and the police let us slip under the yellow tape, and when one of them pulled it up so I could pass, I felt a shiver; a cold sweat running down my spine and from the tip of my nose to my pinkies and my fingernails, but nothing happened; the cop ignored me; he didn’t notice anything different on my face or my smell or anything; the back parking lot had been cordoned too, it was empty and less noisy than the front and it even felt calm; there were no police cars, no fire trucks, no TV cameras, no onlookers, no protesters, only the fifteen of us, who gathered around the manager like when we’d meet at the beginning of a shift by the frying machines; he didn’t say hello or good morning or, “Boy, what a crazy day,” nothing, curt and distant as always; he reminded me of Doña Laura the last days I lived in her house, she’d wake up in a bad mood every morning; “So, a goddamn bear that came out of nowhere invaded our workplace under circumstances that remain unclear at this point,” he spat, like he hadn’t seen the bear himself but he already hated him bad, like he could already picture himself being transferred to another branch on East Austin for having let this happen; “Police are still trying to find those who might be responsible for this, but that’s not the point; the point is, they don’t know what the hell to do with it yet, because simply shooting the damn thing, as much as I’d like that, is not an option for various reasons,” he said, tapping the asphalt with his left foot; he was a short, stocky, gray-haired man who would always wear these supershiny ugly brown moccasins; he’d wear the same pair to work every day, and I imagined him waking up early every morning to polish those hideous shoes like nothing else mattered; “So, since I don’t have a time line for this goddamn mess to be solved,” he was saying when Conchita cut him off, “I have a question; are they gonna let us see him?” she said, and the manager glared at her and barked, “What did you say?” and I thought, Oh boy, not again; I felt the guy was finally gonna snap because in the weeks after Jon died he and Conchita would fight every day; Conchita would ask him questions that put him on edge during the morning meetings, or she’d yell back at him if he gave her an order she didn’t like or pointed out that she was performing her duties “in a careless manner,” and other employees began to whisper that Conchita’s days were numbered and that the only reason she hadn’t gotten the boot yet was because the manager didn’t have the balls to fire a middle-aged woman who’d recently lost a child, which made me feel anxious and frail; I imagined myself alone at the meetings without Conchita, struggling to understand a thing; “The bear!” she yelled at him, “What’s with it?” he cried back, “Are they gonna let us see the bear?” Conchita said; her voice broke in the middle of the sentence and I realized she was crying; my guts turned into a knot because I wanted to help her, but I couldn’t; I wished that she’d stop because I didn’t want the manager to fire her right there, but Conchita wouldn’t back down; “You have to do something about it! You’re the boss here; don’t you see this is a chance we’ll never get again? Ask them to let us see him!”; she yelled like it was an order; the tension felt like a piece of meat, heavy in the air, and I was sure everybody was thinking, This is it, Conchita will never french-fry another potato here again, and I closed my eyes wanting for the whole ordeal to stop; the noises from the front of the restaurant reached my ears again, growing louder inside my head, and I heard the walkie-talkies and the sirens and the live reports and the chants, GIVE BEARS A CHANCE! GIVE BEARS A CHANCE! again and again, but I also heard Conchita’s lungs, her hard breathing and her sobbing, very loud and close to me like my ears were pressed against her chest; “So?” she howled, “Are you gonna do something about it?” I opened my eyes and looked at the manager, but he wouldn’t say anything; I looked at his ugly moccasins first and then at his khaki pants and then at his white crisp shirt and then at his red face; his mouth was now shut and his eyes were watery, like it had just hit him, like he’d just realized why Conchita had gone bananas, but she wouldn’t shut up; “Can you please ask them to let us see him at least once?” she implored, and everybody’s eyes were on him, and he seemed small and flimsy; it was the first and only time I felt sorry for him, and when I did I surprised myself because I never imagined myself feeling sorry for someone I was so afraid of, I never felt for Doña Laura what I was feeling for this man right there, not even when I knew what had happened to her father; I imagined the manager alone at home, polishing his ugly shoes by the bed, wondering why no one loved him yet; “I’m sorry, Concepción, I don’t think that would be possible at all,” he replied in a sorrowful voice that revealed he was human after all, a horrible one, but human nonetheless; “Okay,” was all Conchita said and covered her face with her small hands, with her chubby fingers full of silver rings, her sobbing sounded muffled and unstoppable; “Anyway,” the manager said after clearing his throat, “Corporate called to say it’s better for everybody to stay out of the picture, so you have to go, you’re all off the hook; it will count as a comp day,” he said and rolled his eyes, like he was the same old asshole again; “Just one more thing before you all leave,” he said menacingly, “talking to the media is strictly prohibited, or else you’ll be let go;” the rest of my shift mates made off toward the front parking lot but the manager called out again; “What part of you have to go didn’t you understand? You’re not allowed to stay and watch! This is not a goddamn show! Is that clear?” he yelled, but I stayed at the back by Conchita’s side; I looked in my purse and handed her a Kleenex, and as she blew her nose, I stroked her hair; “So, what do we do now?” I asked her to see if that cheered her up, “What are we supposed to do now, Conchita? I didn’t get what he said,” I lied; “You know what?” she said after she stopped sobbing and cleaned up the washed-out mascara around her eyes, “Let’s have some fun today, Susy girl, the day is ours! When was the last time you or me had the entire day only for us? Let’s go to the mall or the movies or whatever! How about that?” she said, making an effort to smile, and I thought that it would do us both good because she was right, but I also thought I’d never gone to the movies in Austin and I didn’t know how much it cost; I worried it would be expensive and I was in no position to spend money on silly things; I needed to send all I could back home, and that’s when I thought of my Pedro and my Santiago and my Adrián again; I tried to remember the last time we watched a movie together, and I couldn’t; I tried to imagine how much they’d have changed since I left them behind in Cuévano with my mother, and I couldn’t; “I’d love to, Conchita, but I’m not sure, you know my budget’s tight and I probably should—” I was saying when Conchita cut me off, “Shhh! Do you hear that?” she said, “What?” I said, “That noise,” she said, “Don’t you hear it?” We stayed in silence and then I did, the noise seemed to come from inside the restaurant, slipping through the bottom of the back door, just a few yards away from where we were; it was a soft thrashing sound, like the sound you’d make tearing apart a plastic bag; “I do!” I whispered excitedly; “It’s him!” Conchita cheered quietly, her eyes filled with life again, like she was announcing that Jesus had arrived; “You think so?” I whispered; “C’mon, Susy girl, we can’t miss this chance!” Conchita said, and she pulled me in the direction of the restaurant, but I refused at first because I was afraid; what if the bear came out and attacke
d us, what if the cops found us peeking through the back door, but Conchita whispered, “Please, please!” imploringly, with her hands tied together like she was praying; I just hoped for the best and let myself be dragged along, and when we reached the door we put our backs against it and lowered ourselves slowly until our bottoms reached the ground; we waited there without making a sound until we heard it again, the noise grew real and clear, and when we heard it Conchita and I started giggling like little girls, giggling so hard we had to cover our mouths; the desire to kick the ground in excitement was so powerful I felt like I was gonna pee in my pants; “What do we do, what do we do?” I mouthed to Conchita, and she just made the sign of “Shhh!” with a finger on her lips, and then we heard the sound of claws thrashing through plastic, searching for food; I imagined the bear sitting on the floor, mountains of paper and plastic trash and a mess of metallic trays all around him; his furry brown chest sprinkled with bread crumbs and threads of transparent plastic dangling from his snout; “He smells funny,” Conchita whispered after a while; “I know,” I whispered back because he did; a spicy smell similar to wet lamb’s fur reached my nose; from time to time the thrashing sound would stop and we’d hear brief grunts or movement around the door, and that was when I felt his heavy and lonely presence close to us; I felt him grand and alive and lost; “Your kids won’t believe their ears when you tell them this, Susy girl,” Conchita whispered in my ear; I looked at her, and she looked back; I wanted to tell her something, but I didn’t; I just reached out for her hands and grabbed them; I closed my eyes and saw myself back in Cuévano, stepping down from the bus with my hands full of gifts for my little ones; I saw them waiting for me by the road again, my Pedro and my Santiago and my Adrián taller than the last time I saw them, much taller now but happy to see me come home at last; Conchita and I stayed like that until the thrashing sound resumed; “He’s got to stop eating those muffins,” she whispered in my ear, and I had to nod; “I just hope he knows where the bathrooms are already,” I said and we couldn’t contain a laugh; and then we felt it, his big nose sniffing at our butts under the door, the charged, wild stuffy air that came out of his nostrils warming the ground and tickling us through the polyester of our pants; then he leaned against the door and we felt a quick and strong push, and I froze; I felt goose bumps all over my arms; the laugh was gone; I eyed Conchita to check if she was scared, and she had this big, peaceful beam on her face; I made a sign to her that meant we needed to leave and she made a sign back that meant, “Not yet, let’s stay a little longer, please!” but then we felt it, another push on the door, stronger and violent this time around; I shrieked, and Conchita shrieked too, nothing else needed to be said after that; we just jumped out of the ground and started running; we crossed the empty parking lot in seconds, I hadn’t run so fast since I was a kid back in Cuévano, and as we ran we laughed; we laughed and laughed until we reached the bus stop, completely out of breath.
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