The guys were sitting on the stone bench when I finally got there, except Mondo, who had his hands shoved in his pockets and was leaning against the wind. Even though it was cold, he had his shirttail out, but over it he wore a dark-blue industrial jacket, unzipped. He watched a woman scramble to her car, her knees bent low and arms crossed to pin down her skirt, and cackled so loud the woman turned and scowled at him.
There was this black guy selling newspapers in front of the store. He had on a gray knit cap curled around his ears and a letterman jacket with the collar turned up. He never said anything when customers snatched a paper and rudely dished a coin at him. Then he caught Eddie eyeing him and moved over by the department store further down the mall.
Gody, wearing only a sweatshirt, kept rubbing his hands and burring his lips. His voice came with a clatter of teeth. “Maybe we shhould snatch some old lady’s purse,” he said, hunching over. “We’rre bound to make twenty, maaaybe thirty dollars.”
Mondo smoothed back his wind-mussed hair and thought about Gody’s plan. “It’s true,” he said. “Old white ladies sure have a chorro of money. Besides, their arms are so weak they almost break off when you grab their purse.” He imitated an old lady trying to get her joints moving, and we laughed. Finally, he said, “Naah, ladies with money don’t shop around here. They hang more around the white side of town.”
“What about the newspaper guy?” Eddie suggested. “I can catch ’em.”
“Naah,” Mondo stressed again, this time a little less nasty. He didn’t want to spoil anybody’s ideas.
By then the wind was like icy fish nibbling around our pant legs. Frankie and Gody sparked a match feud, but they got more interested in watching the match suddenly puff out and flit sideways. Frankie suggested we sneak in to see the new horror movie at the Azteca Theater. Mondo squelched that with another prolonged Naaah. I didn’t suggest anything.
The parking lot was almost empty. People weren’t staying long to shop, but rushed around anxious to get back home. Eddie suggested again that we nab the newspaper guy before he got too far. Last time we looked, he had distanced himself from us a good half block. “Come on, you cowards,” Eddie coaxed.
“Where is he then?” Mondo asked, pretending interest. We all turned around, but the guy was gone. “Well,” he said, looking around, “I’m going home. Besides, there’s not enough people in the store for us to steal anything without getting noticed.”
As he was shaking the cold out of his legs, a huge gust of wind came splashing against the tree above us, heaving over a branch and knocking it against one of the electric wires. “That’s not good,” Mondo said, nodding ominously at the tree. Then, without saying good-bye, he stretched his arms, made a military salute and walked across the parking lot.
Frankie, Gody and I offered to tag along with him, but he waved us off, saying he and Patty planned to watch television, alone.
As Mondo walked across the parking lot, some old geezer came out of the store fiddling with his car keys. When he reached for the door Mondo came up behind him and twirled a fist over his bald head. Eddie moved forward, but Mondo walked quickly away, massaging and winding his arm as if he was only kidding.
“Gee, I thought he wanted to jump that guy,” Eddie said glumly, walking back to us. He looked over at Mondo, edging into the wind before disappearing behind a corner building. “I guess he’s too chicken, like some people I know.” He upped his chin toward us.
“Yeah, but he’s got a girl,” Gody said, clacking his teeth.
“I got a girl, too,” Eddie said, but before he could say anything more, another huge wind set off what sounded like a catapult in the tree above us. We all jerked up thinking we’d be crushed by a collapsing branch, or struck dead by a sparking power line. Instead, the whole tree jolted, as if pulled suddenly from above by the fist of a cloud. The tree snapped back cracking and groaning against the power lines.
“Heeyyy, we better get outta here,” Frankie said. “Sometimes these frickin’ trees kill people!”
That’s when Eddie, his hand like a shovel, stopped me and said that I should stay with him.
“What’re you going to do?” Frankie asked.
“Go down the mall.”
“Go down the mall where?”
“Hey, who the hell do you think you are asking me questions, the FBI?” Eddie flipped the book of matches he had in his hand at Frankie’s shoes.
“No,” Frankie said, looking at the matches.
“Well, it’s none of your damn business, okay. Me and Manny are just going to check out the rucas.”
“There ain’t no rucas,” Frankie said. “We’ve just been talking for an hour about what we’re gonna do, and now you want to go down the mall?”
“Well, so what?”
“Hey, look,” Frankie said, opening his palm in appeal. “I jus’ don’t want you guys to try anything, that’s all. We got to be together, you know, and plan it out.”
“Gaaah,” Eddie said, exaggerating Frankie’s accusation. “Who the hell do you think we are? Are we gonna steal something? Do you think we’re thieves or what?”
“Whatta you talking about?” Frankie asked, confused. He knew Eddie was a thief.
“I’m talking about you, pendejo! You stand there accusing us of stealing and then say what am I talking about.”
“Well, I’m not accusing you of anything.”
“Yeah you are. And if you don’t watch it, you’re going to find some teeth in your hand.”
Frankie scraped his lower lip with his upper teeth, thinking. “You want to go with him?” he asked, shifting his eyes to me.
“Yeah, I’ll go with him. What’s the big deal?”
“Really?”
“Yeah, what’s the big deal?” Eddie piped in.
You could tell by Frankie’s face it was obviously a big deal. Frankie said Eddie liked to walk down the street and just for the kick of it punch some white guy in the mouth. He said Eddie liked to hit white guys square on the jaw, because their faces reddened with surprise. He hated white guys, especially those dressed in button sweaters, cotton pants and loafers, which was curious, since Eddie was a white guy himself. In fact, Mondo and Eddie weren’t full brothers. Mondo’s dad was named Montez, and he was in prison for assaulting a police officer, and Eddie’s dad was named Owens, and he died a long time ago, knifed by a man who said he cheated at cards. But even without the splitting of names, anybody could tell they weren’t all of the same blood. Mondo had curly black hair, thick enough to bend combs, and sprinkles of pimples on his cheeks and forehead. Eddie was so white, when he got agitated, little rosebuds bloomed on his face, then closed again like tiny fists.
I wished I had remembered all this when I agreed to go with Eddie, but I followed him anyway, snatching glances at Frankie and hoping maybe he’d wave me back. Instead, Frankie walked across the parking lot as if to go home, shading his eyes from blusters of dusty wind.
“What are you looking at?” Eddie asked.
“Frankie.”
“Screw him! He don’t make the rules.” Eddie was walking fast, still angry. An empty soda can came hammering down the mall, and Eddie, with a sneer kicked it back into the shifting wind.
The day sure was wild and blustery. Trees were creaking and whining like rusty wheels, a few shreds of sunlight twisted in the branches. Shadows grew and slipped around under the trees like dolphins frolicking about, and more than once when I glanced to the side I had the feeling that a tree was walking alongside me.
Eddie didn’t seem to feel the trees at all. He walked with a heavy purpose to his heels, swiveling his head, his eyes making popping noises when he blinked. Not much other than the weather was happening in the mall. A knot of cars tried to untangle at an intersection. A flying pigeon was swept crazily away by a sudden burst of wind.
Then I heard a little buffeting sound on the trees like a whole audience of people were tapping their fingers lightly on paper. I checked with my open palm and a cold nee
dle of rain pricked my skin. I was about to tell Eddie that maybe we ought to head for home when I saw the soft blue cords in his throat tighten. He began to move faster.
Across the street, a lady with a black dress and clear plastic raincoat came rushing out of the Guarantee Savings Bank. She had a flat black purse covering her head and was hunched against the wind. Eddie paused at the curb, eyeing the woman. He glanced both ways down the street, which I thought strange, since he usually walked across streets, practically daring cars to run over him.
The lady stopped by her car and began to root for something inside her purse. The rain was beginning to tap harder on everything. While she leaned against the door, the wind flailed her plastic raincoat, and she beat it down with her hand. Finally, she plucked out some keys and opened the door.
By then the rain was splatting hard on the asphalt and glazing the windshield, and Eddie had crossed the street, moving fast, blotches of red flaming in his cheeks and his mouth set in a mean clench. Suddenly, with his legs hinging like a jackknife, he lunged and blasted his foot against the car door. The door didn’t close, but instead sprung back, stopped by the lady’s hand.
She was stunned. She skitted her heel on the sleek asphalt and plopped down on her butt with a splashy thud. As she did, her purse dropped, and Eddie knelt down quickly to grab it, pushing her leg away. The lady sat there, surprised, her left ankle crooked and the white slip of her dress showing through, wet and ruffled. She didn’t look so pretty as when she had first walked out of the bank, and I was surprised to feel a small trickle of excitement seep down my throat.
The lady’s hand must have awoken to the pain, because she looked at it like it’d been struck by lightning. The corners of her mouth twitched, and her eyes opened, amazed. Then she burst into a sudden blubbering, but stopped right away, staring numb at Eddie as he shoveled back what spilled out of her purse. For a moment I thought she wanted to touch him. Not to grab back her purse, but to touch him to see if he was really there.
Eddie was there, all right. He rose, and seeing her outstretched hand, slapped it down like a naughty child’s. Then he ran back across the street, not even bothering to scan for cars.
He rushed past me, not saying anything. His lungs were pumping for air. I called for him to wait, but he didn’t even turn around. I ran after him down the mall, the wind pressing my back and legs pounding hard on the sidewalk. I was afraid I’d bust a knee joint, I was running so hard. I was too hurt and bruised from the beating the day before to catch him, though. Already, he was shrinking in the distance.
Before rounding the corner of Long’s Drugstore, Eddie finally turned, and that’s when I recognized him as Magda’s boyfriend. The distance was the same as when I first saw him near the maple trees. That’s how I knew it was him. Magda wasn’t seeing him anymore, because she said she never really liked him, but only wanted somebody to be with her. I tried calling again, louder, but all that came out of my throat was a tremble of vocal cords.
In that instant of trying to call out to Eddie, everything changed. It was like I’d finally seen my own face and recognized myself; recognized who I really should be. Then I didn’t feel like catching up to Eddie anymore. Instead, I wanted to grab him, and scold him about how to treat people, how to be somebody who knows how to treat people: like my sister; like that lady. But I didn’t really feel like running anymore. Forget Eddie, I thought. Even if I caught him, he wouldn’t understand anything I’d say. I slowed down to a walk just as the wind and rain were dying.
I stopped at the parking lot and halfheartedly searched around. It was empty of cars. Puddles of rain mirrored a hundred cloudy skies. Eddie was nowhere to be seen. The newspaper guy had migrated back to his spot in front of the drugstore, although he was packing his things. Some newspapers, soggy in his hand, were bleeding ink between his knuckles. He tossed them into a trash can, wrung the ink from his fingers and gazed at me with pitying eyes.
A thought rushed through my mind that maybe he had seen what had happened, but I figured it happened too far away.
“Where did he go?” I asked.
The guy shifted his eyes across the street, the same corner where Mondo, Frankie and Gody had gone. He flicked more ink off his fingers and hunched over his bag as if crouching over a fire. I shrugged and rubbed my forehead with the back of my hand.
Suddenly, the guy’s head lifted and eyes focused over my shoulder. Down the mall, over by the department store, a black-and-white cop car came cruising in and out of the line of trees. Two cops were inside, and the passenger one pointed his finger at me and shouted to the driver. The driver pressed down the pedal and the car jerked forward, wobbling as it climbed over a curb.
I was about to bolt down the street, but the newspaper guy stopped me, saying, “Hey man. Just cool it.”
The cops were on us instantly, swerving to a stop. My neck was hot as radiation and my brain racing for excuses. A sponge was in my throat and I was afraid that if I tried to talk, instead of words, a sob would squeeze out. What surprised me, though, was that the cops were not getting out of the car. I thought for sure they’d wrestle the handcuffs on me in a second.
The passenger cop, a blueberry-faced guy with a swollen, boozer’s nose, and a glassy look on his face, started banging on the side door with his palm. “Hey you! Kid! Were you the one chasing that guy who stole the lady’s purse?”
Before I could answer, the black guy shouted across my ear. “Yeah officer, he’s the one. He came chasing that guy through the mall.”
“Which way did he go?”
“He don’t know, officer. He come over here to ask me, and I says I just seen him run around that corner over there not two minutes ago.” He raised a finger in the direction Eddie had gone, and the car, as if pushed by the magic of his pointed finger, lurched backward, cranked into gear and gunned across the parking lot, spraying through the puddles.
As the cop car swung and squealed around the corner, the guy with the newspapers hurried to finish packing. In the trees, a silky rain was again falling with long, gathering sighs.
After packing his stuff, the guy turned to me and this time without a smile, said, “I know. I know you was with him. But they don’t have to know everything. Let them deal with their own kind as they see fit.” He left among coughs so ratchety you’d think he was dying of double pneumonia.
I began to walk home. The rain had died, but trash started crawling across the sidewalk again. As I neared our projects, I watched the branches of the elm trees creaking sluggishly back and forth. I stopped once to listen to some leaves falling. They’d tap tap tap on the branches before hitting the sidewalk, then a toss of wind would fling them in the air.
When I neared the Garcias’ house, I saw them on their front porch, bundled up in coats, eating apples. I was surprised that a prickle of fear didn’t rise behind my neck. Instead I felt numb, except that it was a glowing sort of numbness pushing out from me in slow, easy pulses.
Stinky, a saltshaker pinched under his forearm, was trying to pry open a green apple with his thumbs. When he couldn’t, he licked it, sprinkled some salt on the moisture and crunched a bite, squeezing his face away from the tartness. Noticing me, he stared at me a while, as if he’d noticed something he’d never, in all the years he’d known me, seen. Then he winked and gestured to me if I wanted some of his apple. I waved my hand no, and he began unclogging the holes of the saltshaker.
When I opened the door to our house, the sun, out again, came rushing into the living room. Shadows lifted from the floor like a flock of birds rising into the horizon, and light guttered through the room, slapping away the dark for good. A huge splash of light even bounced off the glass-top coffee table and raked my eyes; a snake of it slithered on the painting of the Last Supper. So much brightness made me realize how tired my eyes were, and I wobbled into the room on soft legs.
Magda and Pedi were lying asleep, on opposite sides of the couch, each crunching their end of the blanket against their chest. Mag
da’s hair was fanned out on a pillow, unteased. I watched her as she lay there, her mouth half open, a thin line of black mascara leaking from the corner of one eye. I went over and wiped it, and she snuffled and turned her face away.
Then I sat down on Dad’s cushioned chair and watched them. I won’t say why, because there’s no way of explaining why, even if I could or wanted to, but I knew, as my eyes got drowsy and the bright walls of the room glowed around me, that I’d never again see anything so wondrous as my two sisters lying on the couch. And it wasn’t just them, but the whole room: the squiggly TV, the lumpy cherub angels on the frame of the painting, the glass-top coffee table, my mother’s animals, gleaming in the sunlight. This room was what my mother spent so much energy cleaning and keeping together, and what my father spent so much energy tearing apart. And it was wondrous, like a place I was meant to be. A place, I felt, that I had come back to after a long journey of being away. My home. The light in the room was closing in around me, I was so sleepy. It was dissolving and sifting in through my eyelashes in thin, filtered streams, and then there was only the dull blood under my eyelids, then dark, then sleep.
PARROT IN THE OVEN: MI VIDA
by VICTOR MARTINEZ
READER’S GUIDE
Questions for Discussion
1. When things go wrong in the Hernandez house, everyone wants to escape. Mr. Hernandez heads for Rico’s Pool Hall, Manny’s sister Magda loses herself in her music. What does Mrs. Hernandez do to escape? Bernardo? Manny? Why do you think the family members react this way?
2. Manny’s grandfather Ignacio had “useful blood,” and “worked like a man trying to fill all his tomorrows with one solid day’s work”. What is Manny’s attitude toward work? His sister Magda’s? What about his brother Bernardo, who insists he is not lazy? Do you think Nardo is lazy? Why or why not?
Parrot in the Oven Page 13