A So-Called Vacation

by Genaro González

  “Not no, but heck no!” Victor stared at Strawberry Boy. “Who wanted to go in the first place? Me, right?” Then he turned to Gus, “Now, do you think I’d go there if I was afraid of them?”

  Strawberry Boy grinned again. “Maybe you took me along so I could hold your hand.”

  “Besides, it wasn’t even a real clinic, just a Winnebago with stuff.”

  “But that’s not what got you ticked off.”

  Before Strawberry Boy could add anything, Victor admitted. “I wanted to get my two front teeth fixed.”

  He didn’t have to show the brothers what he meant. Gabriel had noticed the overlapping incisors the moment he had met him. Now that he knew about Victor’s vain streak, he could see how something like that would bother him.

  “So that’s why I went to that stupid place. There was already a waiting line, like they were giving away free cheese or something. When I finally got in, I took one of the dentists aside and quietly explained what I wanted. But he told me they couldn’t do that sort of work there, only stuff like cavities and cleaning. I’d already waited so long I figured I’d get my teeth cleaned.”

  Strawberry Boy, whose grin had been widening all along, suddenly began laughing uncontrollably. He tried to interrupt and add to the story, but he was too busy bent over and clutching his sides.

  “So,” Victor continued, somewhat annoyed, “I sit on a chair and this … assistant … says real loud, for all the world to hear, ‘You know, you really should get those crossed teeth fixed. They look awful.’”

  Strawberry Boy paused the hysterical laughter long enough to add, “You should have heard the other guys! ‘Come here, buey, I’ll fix them for you.’”

  Victor was still furious at the memory.

  “I mean, I almost jumped out of the chair and knocked her teeth out.”

  “A girl?” Gus asked. “You wanted to punch out a girl?”

  “She was older,” Victor insisted, “and very large.” The remark quieted the criticism long enough for him to come up with his own distraction. “Speaking of girls,” he said, and turned to Gus. “Are you with me or not?”

  “You mean the college girls?”

  “I saw them on the way over. We can still catch them if we hurry.”

  “Ah, they’re probably just do-gooders, like those Anglo girls from the church.”

  “They’re do-gooders, but they’re also do-badders. We’re not talking angels in the choir here.”

  “So what are they doing here?”

  “They’re interviewing. So here’s the plan. We go over there, and you give them a little bull. You act like you want to be interviewed. Just enough to get our foot in the door.”

  “I still don’t get it,” said Gus. “What’s the interview about?”

  “They’re interviewing migrants, of course. We get a few every summer. Why else would they be here?”

  Suddenly the cold truth splashed over him and sobered him up. Gus had insulated himself in the fiction that he was an outsider. He had fancied himself a tourist slumming through a strange land. But this time, try as he might, he could not see the idealized fantasy that his father had seen earlier. No Promised Land lay before him. There was only the sad squalor of the camp and a primitive road that took them to the fields and returned them to their shacks each day.

  At that moment he saw their small group as little more than an assignment for college students. He wanted to distance himself from the teens, to pretend they were subjects in a photograph he was trying to take. But he found himself on the same side of the viewfinder as they. He was no longer a tourist, as he had pretended all along. He was just one of the toured.

  He turned suddenly on his heels and headed for the screen door. “I’m going inside,” he said abruptly, without explanation, and went into the shack.

  15

  A couple of unusual sights awaited Gabriel when he woke the next morning. First, Gus’s cot was empty. By now his having to nudge his older brother had acquired the predictability of a ritual, and for a moment he wondered whether Gus had finally made good on his threat to leave. He decided that was not the case because there had been no outburst the night before. Moreover, the rest of the family seemed unconcerned about Gus’s absence, which meant that he must be up and about.

  The second surprise came when Gus finally returned. He was already sweating. Beads of moisture freckled his brow, while the rest of his face shone with perspiration.

  “Let’s go, Gabi! We need to warm up for the main event.”

  “You’re more than warmed up. You’re already melting.”

  “You’re nuts, Gustavo. Save all that sweat for the field,” their father said.

  Gus turned around so swiftly that he flicked a few drops on the floor. “Don’t worry, Dad, there’s lots more where this came from.” Then he came up close to Gabriel’s face and added in a low voice, “On second thought, you need to stay fresh as a daisy. Just follow the Borrados and snap at their heels. Leave the rest to me.”

  They showed up at the field before the Borrados, who arrived as eager as ever. Gus strode up to them with his most intimidating pose, and at that moment they seemed no different than anyone else. By contrast he radiated a self-confidence so focused that he appeared menacing. “Did I mention our father’s taking my brother and me to Disneyland?”

  “What about your sister?” asked the oldest.

  Gus came closer. “What about her?”

  His smile seemed more nervous than usual. “Isn’t he taking her, too?”

  Before Gus could answer, another Borrado added, “Our father is building us a huge house, like that castle in Disneyland.”

  “With air-conditioning!” said the third one. “But we’ll only use it in the summertime.”

  Gus regarded them with withering disbelief, as if they were too stupid to see the obvious. “What good will that do? You suckers spend your summers in labor camps.”

  Saying no more, he faced the morning sun that still hugged the horizon, as though it could bathe him with its blessing, then started his first row with an invincible expression. He barely paused to tell his brother, “Imagine, migrants in a mansion! Jesus, you just can’t beat these guys! They never stop.”

  By the time the sun had cleared the horizon, the last two sentences began to prove prophetic in a way he never intended. At first both brothers followed closely behind, trying to frame their opponents’ moves into a predictable pattern. Yet the Borrados lacked even the automatic, effortless flow of veteran pickers. Instead they fed off a nervous energy, like hummingbirds flitting from flower to flower. Just watching them made Gabriel feel disoriented until their movements, rather than motivate, merely wearied him, until his fascination melted into fatigue.

  “Let them pull out ahead,” said Gus. “We’ll stay right behind, pushing until they tire out. Just like that fable, where the coyote chases the roadrunner.”

  “That’s a cartoon, Gus, not a fable. And the coyote never catches up.”

  “So what’s the one I’m thinking about?”

  “The tortoise and the hare?”

  “Yeah, I knew it had to do with animals. Anyway, we’re staying right on their tails.”

  But in no time they lagged so far behind that they couldn’t even see the Borrados’s tails, much less staying with them. When Gus stopped to peel away the drenched shirt plastered to his back, Gabriel stood too. “Maybe you prayed a little too hard to the sun god.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Gus, putting a pebble in his mouth and handing him another. “This’ll cut down our thirst. Victor said our Aztec ancestors did this.”

  Gabriel almost added that the Aztecs had also been annihilated by whites. But he didn’t have to go that far, after Gus conceded with his next breath, “Today let’s just get in shape. Think of it as training for tomorrow’s showdown.”

  But by noon even tomorrow seemed light years away. By then everyone had left the field for lunch except for the Borrados and—like their distant shadows—Gab
riel and Gus. Finally, Gus stood ramrod straight and stared ahead, as though Disneyland were only a shimmering mirage. “We’ll never make it,” he sighed.

  Gabriel gazed at the same distant spot where heat waves warped the horizon and where his own evaporating vision was more immediate and down to earth. “So long swimming pool.”

  “Hold on!” whispered Gus. “They stopped! I think they’re starting to crack.”

  “You’re the one starting to crack. Why are you whispering? They’re over a hundred feet away.”

  “I think they’re about to take a lunch break.”

  They were, but to Gabriel’s dismay, they decided to take it on the spot, standing mid field. One of them took advantage of the break and removed his shirt. Then, hoisting it like a sail, he began turning in place to catch the weak breeze.

  Gabriel shook his head at the sight of the pale, puny torso in the distance. “He’d better watch it. A sudden breeze can blow that carcass away.”

  They lagged so far behind that the thought of closing the gap during the Borrados’s lunch break was not even a mirage. Instead they retreated to the tree line for lunch and collapsed under an enormous, inviting shade tree where Don Pilo, their own father, and several other workers were already giving their food time to settle before heading back out. Gus barely managed a nibble or two before dozing off, but even after Gabriel half-covered his eyes, the intrigue of eavesdropping on his father kept him awake. He watched him watching Don Pilo, who in turn contemplated a worker who had settled for a snack and was now trudging back to the field. Don Pilo looked at the man with awe and admiration but made no effort to do likewise.

  “Working hard?” Gabriel’s father asked. “Or hardly working?”

  Don Pilo sighed as if the mere sight tired him. “Just enjoying the view.”

  “You mean watching others work? That’s my favorite pastime, too.”

  “No, I mean all this. This is paradise.”

  His father, seeing only other workers as dog-tired as he, tried to wipe the grime and sweat from his face. “I’m a little rusty on my Bible studies, Don Pilo but if I remember right, paradise means you don’t work.”

  “But an honest day’s work is paradise.”

  His father seemed perplexed at first, then laughed abruptly, as if suddenly getting the insight. “Oh, you mean a workers’ paradise!” He shifted his line of sight to make better eye contact, then held his gaze. “Well, sir, if there’s one thing I know, it’s work. I’m not just a farmworker. I’m a mechanic—”

  “Yes, you told us. It’s a good-paying profession.”

  “And an honest one, too. But sometimes it pays better than other times. Anyway, my trained ear told me your car’s running sluggish. Not that it’s any of my business, but I can’t help what I hear.”

  Don Pilo, not quite convinced, squinted. “Sluggish?”

  “It’s not up to speed. Right now it may not sound like much, but sooner or later these things take their toll on an engine.”

  “Impossible. I have the oil and filter changed every four months—”

  “But look at all the driving you do.”

  “You didn’t let me finish. It’s every three months when we’re on the road.”

  “All I’m saying—”

  “And all I’m saying is that you must have heard wrong. Why, right before we came up, I had our car checked at the Motor Medic. You’re from back home, you know the place.”

  “Yes, of course. Eddy’s place.”

  “Exactly. And Eddy himself told me, ‘Don Pilo, you pamper this car like it was one of your boys.’ And I answered, ‘Just following your advice to keep up the maintenance so the engine will outlive me.’”

  “And that’s excellent advice,” said Gabriel’s father, already beginning to backpedal. “You’ve got to keep that engine in top shape.”

  “It’s like breathing fresh air! Like vitamins and exercise! Oh, sure, I could find my boys summer jobs in some supermarket. But what’s so natural about that?”

  “The only natural thing is the produce we pick.”

  “Exactly. That’s nature for you. That’s why I take my boys to the pool every weekend. One, they can wash away that pesticide, and two, they can mix with a healthier class of people.”

  “I agree. Just look at what happened over in the bachelors’ barracks. A pigsty. That’s why everyone here admires you, Don Pilo. You do what’s right.”

  “Well, I try.”

  “You do more than that. You set the standard. Why, just the other day my wife and I were saying … Never mind, you must be tired of people praising you for how well you’ve taught those boys the value of hard work. Believe me, it’s no easy task with mine. Yours either, I’ll bet. It’s obvious they’re a handful.” He lowered his gaze, both to gather his courage and to strike the proper pose of submission. “Anyway, Don Pilo, since you have the last word here when it comes to work, maybe you could put in a good word for my line of work. You know, in case anyone needs a mechanic.”

  Don Pilo’s eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment Gabriel thought the man was about to express his indignation. His father must have thought so, too, because he immediately added, “Of course, I’d insist you let me check out your car’s engine first. That way you can vouch for my work firsthand.”

  Don Pilo answered with a coy, reluctant silence, then finally said, “I’ve been sending almost our entire earnings back to my brother. He’s supervising a new home we’re building. I wouldn’t be able to pay you much.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of asking for money!”

  “Now that you mention it, my brakes have been squealing lately. I’m sure you’ve noticed, what with your trained ear and with us being neighbors.”

  “I’ll look at them first chance I get,” he said with a nervous grin.

  “I’d appreciate it. After all, that’s what neighbors are for, right?”

  “We’re not just neighbors here, but back home too. Well, practically.”

  “Yes, practically.” Don Pilo surveyed the field and forced himself to his feet. “I’d better gather my flock for a while. Otherwise they’ll stay out there all day.”

  “I don’t have to worry about gathering mine. Look, the oldest one’s counting his own sheep.”

  “A while back your boys were out there too. For a time ours were the only ones in the field.”

  “Mine? Really?” He sounded genuinely impressed. “Must be the example your boys set. Maybe there’s hope for mine yet.”

  A few minutes later, and with considerable difficulty, Gabriel roused Gus from a profound slumber.

  “What time is it?” Gus asked him with a parched voice.

  Their father answered, “It’s time to get your butts back to work.”

  But despite an impressive fanfare to get up, he could only lay there like a floored boxer whose body no longer obeyed his brain. “Screw it,” he finally said, then closed his eyes and immediately sank back into sleep.

  Gabriel, wrapped in heat and sweat and the memory of their defeat, thought only of one thing: Goodbye swimming pool and hello irrigation ditch, again.

  He plopped another pebble in his mouth before he returned to the field, but then suddenly spit it out as though it had turned sour. He repeated his brother’s observation. “What’s the use? They would have kicked us out of that pool again.”

  16

  Less than an hour after returning to the field, Gabriel ran back to the tree and roused his brother from a profound sleep. “Let’s get out of here, Gus. Look. There’s a storm headed our way.”

  Gus made a lethargic attempt to wipe the drool from his chin, but his mouth was already bone dry. “Let’s stay under here instead so we don’t get wet.”

  “Look at those huge clouds! This tree is the last place we want to be.”

  He was still pointing to the deep, dark mass when a flash as brilliant as an arc light scissored through the horizon. The contrast of the overcast sky seemed to intensify the violent energy, as Gus jum
ped to his feet.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here!”

  They were running to the van when Don Pilo crossed their path going in the opposite direction. When he yelled something, Gabriel looked back then nudged Gus to do likewise.

  “They’re still out there?” Gus asked in disbelief. “What’s with those guys anyway? I hope they end up electrocuted.”

  Gabriel watched them as they continued to work, oblivious to the elements. “They’re like insane drones,” he said, as much in disbelief as in admiration.

  More lightning began moving in from the west. Now the crew leader was ordering every worker to leave the field and seek shelter. True to form, the Borrados had to be told twice. By the time everyone reached camp, the storm quickly started veering north, but the crew boss called it a day. By then Gus had recovered enough and both brothers snuck off to the canal.

  Chori and two teenagers from the camp were already on the opposite bank, enjoying the overcast sky. Knowing that Gabriel would not cross, he swam over while continuing his conversation with the teens. Finally he turned to Gus and said, “I saw you under that tree during lunch. I thought we’d end up burying you there.”

  “Because of the lightning?”

  “No, because you looked dead tired. How did you make it all the way here?”

  “Guess I got my energy back.”

  Gabriel felt like commenting how the first bolt had given Gus an adrenaline charge that brought him to his feet. Instead he said, “They say lightning in the air revives you.”

  “Unless it kills you,” said Chori. “But you don’t really realize it when you’re in town. Here in the country, though, you might be the only thing standing. You can be out on a clear day, and suddenly, out of nowhere, it strikes.”

  One of the boys said, “That’s why they have that phrase, ‘Like a lightning bolt out of the sky.’”

  The other one added, “Say, Chori, your father said you guys saw something like that up in Utah.”

  “I thought it was Idaho, but maybe he’s right. Yeah, we were out in a field, running from some rain clouds, when out of the blue a woman just ahead of us gets zapped. One second she’s sprinting and laughing, and then just as quickly she’s crumpled on the ground. I jumped straight up, I was that scared. My old man and I were the closest, so we ran over to her.” He paused, somewhat confused or reluctant to continue.