A So-Called Vacation

by Genaro González

  “Aren’t your freckles still allergic to the sun?” she asked.

  On the way home the brothers slouched in the rear of the bus to appear inconspicuous, but several students turned and gave them knowing looks.

  “Great,” whispered Gus. “Now everyone knows. But it doesn’t matter. What they don’t know is that we have our own plans.”

  “We do?” When his older brother didn’t elaborate, Gabriel added, “I think Dad means it this time. He’s already told half the town.”

  “I don’t care if he tells the other half. We’ll just tell him we’ll die of shame if we have to do fieldwork.”

  “I don’t think shame works with Dad. If we say we’re ashamed to work in the fields, he’ll say it’s our soft, lazy butts we should be ashamed of.”

  Gus, though, felt the time had come to fight back, with the same ammunition their father used ridicule, rather than reason. “Then we turn right around and throw the shame back at him. We’ll ask him, and everyone else who might be listening, just one question. ‘In this day and age, what kind of father makes his kids work like peons?’”

  “Isn’t that going too far?”

  “No. Making your kids slave in the hot sun all summer, that’s going too far.”

  “But weren’t you thinking of being a lifeguard this summer?”

  “That’s different, Gabi! Being a lifeguard is cool. But a migrant …” The mere thought made his eyes harden. “No. I won’t let him humiliate us like that.”

  Gabriel had his doubts but still trusted his brother’s tactics. Gus was not that clever, but he was tenacious, especially when he felt that his insecurities about his family’s fortunes might melt his shell of athletic self-assurance.

  Gabriel, being two years younger, didn’t mind as much his image at school. What he did mind was spending the summer at stoop labor.

  As soon as their father got home from work they decided to keep his mind off the topic, on the assumption that ignoring it long enough would make it disappear. So at the dinner table Gabriel mentioned how his grades had turned out even better than last year’s. Gus, for his part, simply vowed to do better his senior year.

  “Take your studies seriously,” said their father. “It’s your best weapon in life.”

  Gabriel never quite knew how to take those homilies on education. After all, when the migrant at the auto parts store had mentioned pulling his kids out of school early, his own father not only said nothing, he seemed to envy the man’s initiative. Today, though, his father was all for education.

  “After all …” he inserted with a melodramatic pause. “One never knows what the future brings.”

  But in this case everyone at the table already knew what was coming: “My father left while I was still in grade school. He just leaned over and … whispered goodbye.”

  When they used to hear the tale as children he would lean over them himself, as if reliving the episode by placing them in his shoes. But nowadays Gus already towered over him, so he was forced to gaze up.

  “Those were his last words. Then he was gone.” He touched his chest ever so carefully, as though fearing he might suffer the same fate. “His heart, you know.”

  They knew. They all knew from one moment to the next his father had left him forever. They knew too how the heart attack that killed him was so massive that by the time he hit the bedroom floor he was probably dead. At least that’s what they knew from their father.

  What Gabriel had not known until last year—what his father did not know that he knew—was that between those two incidents, the whispered farewell and the fatal fall, almost a year had passed. Gabriel had been interviewing his grandmother Olga for a family oral history project when she mentioned how her husband had left her for a younger woman. “He kissed our children goodbye and was barely out the door when I warned him she’d run him into the ground. I just never imagined she’d kill him so quick.”

  “But Dad said his father collapsed on the bedroom floor after kissing his kids good-bye.”

  Abuelita Olga, buffeted by life too many times, had learned to mitigate its absurdity with a deadpan irony. “Oh, he did fall dead on the floor, but in another woman’s bedroom. Listen, with a heart attack like that, so sudden and so strong, he didn’t even have time to kiss his own butt good-bye.”

  For years Gabriel had vaguely sensed gaps and inconsistencies in his father’s official version of the family’s history, but had never given it much thought. “Does Dad know that’s how it happened?”

  She shrugged and put out a cigarette. Then she exhaled a cloud so dense that Gabriel marveled how anyone could hold in so much smoke. “I don’t know. He never asked me, and I saw no reason to ruin his fantasy. You’re the first to poke around with this homework assignment. Anyway, people believe what they want to believe.”

  “Do you suppose it was justice from God? His death, I mean?”

  By then she had lit a second cigarette and sighed out another billow. “Why would I want him dead? No, justice would have meant sending him back home to us, with a change of heart and a clean change of clothes.”

  3

  On his first day of summer vacation, Gabriel woke up and saw his brother at the bedroom door. Then he noticed the paper airplane Gus had lobbed at his head.

  “So you think it’s safe to go back in the water?” asked Gus.

  “You mean about Dad and his California con? I’d stay out of his way for a couple of days.”

  But that Saturday morning their father was so oddly silent at breakfast that Gus felt guilty coming again. “Look, Dad, I’ll really try to get better grades next fall.”

  Their father seemed unaffected. “Just remind them to write ‘Gustavo’ on the diploma.”

  “One step at a time, Dad. Let me get through the fall first.”

  They expected a variation of his one-never-knows speech, but he simply repeated his request about the name on the diploma.

  Gustavo had been named after their father’s father, and while not ashamed of it, he felt more comfortable with his school nickname. Whenever he had to answer to Gustavo, he seemed to stiffen slightly as though forced to slip into a tight, unfamiliar skin.

  Since their father always called him Gustavo, the rest of the family did too, at least at home. On the rare occasions when Gabriel let a “Gus” slip out, his father would level a special gaze and let it linger for an unnerving moment, as if his son had sworn. Then, in that disappointed way of his, he’d look away without a word.

  Their sister, though, could not care less about those sorts of social nuances. After all, Paula was Paula in either language. Yet that frank gaze and her indifferent attitude to subtleties could be misleading because she also had her father’s cunning and his cagey talent for slipping out of entanglements. Although she was still in middle school, her brothers knew better than to count on her allegiance or to discount her intelligence.

  That evening, as she clicked through the channels, she paused at the start of an old “Beverly Hillbillies” episode. “Look, that’s us, heading for California! And there’s Mom on a rocking chair.”

  Gabriel howled and hooted like a hillbilly through the theme song, but Gus couldn’t decide whether the comparison was hilarious or just pathetic. “That’s us, all right. Only instead of rags to riches we’d be going the opposite way.”

  Their father surveyed the living room. “This is no mansion, if that’s what you mean. Now, if we had a little extra income …”

  “Fine, Dad. Forget I said anything.”

  If he heard Gus’s reply he did not acknowledge it but merely added with an audible sigh, “Anyway, time’s running out.”

  “True, mi vida, but that’s life. Soon the kids will move away and we’ll wonder where the time went.”

  “I meant time’s running out for California.”

  Gabriel’s reply was as off-the-wall as his mother’s yet intentional. “Yep, time’s running out for California,” she said. “Only a matter of time before it falls off the
map.”

  “I meant we should have been on the road by now.”

  “Oh, that,” said their mother. “I suppose it is too late.”

  A moment later Dad added, loud enough for everyone to hear, “The boss wants to cut back on our hours for the summer. Most of our customers follow the crops out of state.”

  She made a stifled sound that was at once a sigh and a yawn. “It happens every summer.”

  “What?” he asked with a defensive air. “My saying we should follow them?”

  “No. Half the town leaving. But they return come fall, and we survive in the meantime.”

  “Why be satisfied with survival? Why, when some migrant family brings back more money in a season than I make in a year as a mechanic?”

  “That’s just it,” she said. “You’re no farmworker.”

  “I was once. There’s nothing to it.”

  “So was I, and it’s a life I’d rather not remember or wish on my children. Besides, our kids couldn’t tell a weed from a watermelon.”

  “They’ll learn, the same way we did.”

  The boys kept a careful ear on the conversation while Paula kept switching channels. “Hey!” she suddenly said. “Speaking of California! The Disneyland Castle! Is this a cosmic hint or what?”

  The instant Gus turned, she pointed at him. “Caught you looking! I swear, Mom, there’s a Mickey Mouse button that got stuck somewhere in his brain.”

  “He’s loved those characters since he was a baby. Even when his friends watched the crazier cartoons, he was more—what do you kids call it?—old school.”

  “Okay, Mom, we get the picture. And in case you haven’t heard, I’m not a baby anymore.”

  “You could have fooled me,” said Paula, “even though you’re as long in the tooth as Goofy.”

  “And as of yesterday I’m officially a senior. So show some respect.”

  “How can you respect a senior obsessed with Disneyland?”

  “My friend Hector goes every summer. He says there’s something for everyone.”

  “All of California’s cool,” added Gabriel. “The park is classic, while the rest of the state is cutting edge.”

  “Like California girls?” Paula’s hint of a smile seemed to ask, “And how would you know?”

  A moment later the castle, bathed in a backdrop of fireworks, appeared again, long enough for their father to add, “This is a coincidence! Just this week I got a call from my cousin Martha.”

  “The one in California, mi rey?”

  “Same one. She said if we ever head out that way we have to visit them.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” asked Gus.

  “Her husband works there.”

  “Where? In a migrant camp?”

  “No, in Disneyland.”

  Gus, while intrigued, did his best to dissimulate. “As what? Goofy?”

  “No, your father’s telling the truth. They live in … Ana … Ana …”

  Both brothers blinked and said simultaneously, “Anaheim! That’s where Disneyland is!”

  “That’s what I said.” Their father seemed peeved at having been doubted in the first place.

  Gus’s euphoria soon evaporated, though. “Anyway, Disneyland and a migrant camp are worlds apart.”

  “I’m just saying that if we do go to California, it’s nice to know we have family to visit.” Their father sounded almost indifferent, like a salesman with total confidence in his pitch and his product. “Next door to Disneyland, even. We could save a bundle on expenses, maybe even get free tickets.”

  Their mother nodded. “Theme parks are so expensive. People have lost all respect for money.”

  “That’s okay for kids,” said Paula, “but we’re too old. So is Disneyland for that matter.”

  “It’s not old,” said Gus, even as he tried hard to hide his excitement from his father. “It’s classic.”

  “I’d rather go to Disney World,” said Paula.

  “Then find us family in Florida,” said their father. “Besides, you’re never too old.” He glanced at his sons. “Gustavo’s wanted to go there since he was old enough to argue. And he gave someone else the same bug.”

  “You mean my brother Dopey? Dad, they just want to check out those West Coast babes.”

  He did not press the matter but instead stood and stretched. “Well, I’m off to Neverland.” Ignoring Paula altogether, he winked at the boys. “Just sleep on it. Pleasant dreams.”

  “Oh, they will,” said Paula, “about surfer chicks.” She studied them in silence, then shook her head with a smile. “The rodents took the bait.”

  That night neither brother slept, as they tossed and turned like asphyxiating mice.

  The following morning, despite their exhaustion and despite it barely being the start of summer vacation, they were up as early as their father, who sensed something but said nothing.

  Finally Gus asked point-blank, “So what part of our earnings could we keep?”

  Their father had seen it coming yet acted surprised for their sake. “You mean from fieldwork? Just enough to cover your school clothes and supplies. The rest is yours. You could get that car you’ve wanted.”

  Gus paced the living room to dissipate his nervousness. “Well, let’s do it then.”

  Their father continued his coy charade. “Are you sure?”

  “Why not? Everyone at school figures we’re going anyway. It’s just a matter of when.”

  Their father did not miss a beat. “How about in two or three days then?” When their mother wondered aloud whether that was enough time, he said, “There’s never enough time! Time is money. I already have the names and numbers of several growers. There’s some in Watsonville, others close to Fresno, a few more by Monterey.”

  “But who else is going, mi rey?”

  “Who isn’t?”

  “I mean, name one family. Someone we’ll know up there.”

  “I could name half the town.”

  “Which half is that?” asked Paula. “The one on the wrong side of the tracks?”

  He sidestepped the issue by pointing out their neighborhood was already straddling the town’s dividing line, and it was slowly drifting downward. Finally he admitted, “Okay, nobody you know, just people I’ve met at work. And even those families already left us at the starting gate. But I can bring the van up to speed and shut the utilities off in no time.”

  “What about your boss?”

  “What about him? Believe me, Mr. Woods will thank us. I’m one less mechanic he has to pay this summer to sit around scratching his behind.”

  “Speaking of pay,” Paula asked, “how much?”

  “It depends.”

  “What kind of answer is that?”

  “You can work piece rate. The faster you pick, the more you make.”

  “Dad, you mentioned Monterey,” said Gabriel. “Didn’t they have some awesome rock concert there when you were a kid?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I was too busy picking crops down here.”

  “Mi amor, you were too busy picketing? If the growers find out you were helping farmworkers unionize—”

  “I said picking.” He swept his gaze to get everyone’s attention. “Just don’t crack any jokes like that when we’re up there.”

  Gus wondered aloud, “So how far are these camps from Anaheim?”

  “Now everyone wants details!”

  “Take it easy, Dad. I just wanted to know which town would be closest.”

  “Then look them up on a map. Anyway, nothing’s that far in California, what with all those freeways. And speaking of freeways, the sooner we’re on one, the better.”

  Gabriel, still in disbelief, nudged his brother. “At least we’ll fill up on fast food from here to California.”

  4

  By the end of their first day on the road, Gabriel was about to eat his words, since his father’s idea of eating on the run was literal.

  “Dad, how about pulling over for a sandwich or
something?”

  For a moment his father said nothing, until Gabriel assumed the matter had been forgotten. Suddenly his father indicated a distant supermarket. “There!”

  “They have sandwiches there?” Gabriel asked.

  “Better than that,” said his father, as he eased toward the exit lane. “They have stuff to make sandwiches.”

  “Here? In the van?”

  “Of course. This way we know some gross teenager didn’t put something in them.”

  Paula smiled. “Then make sure Gus and Gabriel don’t prepare ours.”

  “Fine. You can help your brothers. They’ll buy the stuff.” He pulled into the parking lot, gave Gus some bills, then invited the girls to get out and stretch their legs. “Remember,” he told his sons, “time is money. Just grab a loaf of bread, bologna, and cheese. No junk food or snacks.”

  “Bologna’s not exactly health food,” said Gus. “That’s why they call it bologna.”

  By then their father was too busy to answer, pacing the parking lot with exaggerated strides and twisting his spine so forcefully that an elderly Anglo couple in a nearby car stared at him and mumbled to each other.

  Before the rest of the family had begun fixing sandwiches, their father was already on the road.

  “Damn!” said Gus. “We forgot to get mayonnaise.”

  “Too late to turn back, son. But it’s better this way. We won’t get food poisoning from spoiled mayonnaise.”

  “No, we’ll just die from choking on all this dry food. Besides, you said not to get snacks so I didn’t bring soft drinks.”

  “Soft drinks just add to the pit stops. But if you’re thirsty, there’s a thermos of tap water in the back.”

  Gus turned to his brother and asked in a low voice, “Is it true what he said? About the mayonnaise?” Before Gabriel could answer Gus shook his head. “I think he’s just being cheap.”

  Despite their best efforts, they had left the house with only a few hours of daylight, because at the last minute their father decided to hitch a small covered trailer he borrowed from a relative. Not only did the addition make the van’s already squirrelly steering worse, but their father had to lower his speed to avoid straining the engine.