Marcus Vega Doesn't Speak Spanish

by Pablo Cartaya

  “And my sister is in all of them,” Angela adds.

  “I’ll take one of you too,” Hilda says. “After a few more of me.”

  “I can take one of both of you,” I offer. Hilda takes her sister’s hand and poses before I even take my camera out. She makes funny faces while her sister tries to get into place. They’re so different, but they seem really close. Angela never seems too upset with her sister. Only mildly annoyed. I get like that with Charlie sometimes. But never for too long.

  My mom gets out to stretch her legs. Charlie refuses to. When he fell asleep, we were still in San Juan. Now we’re somewhere else.

  “You all right, man?” I ask him through the window. He ignores me. He’s not happy.

  “It’s really beautiful out here, huh, sweetie?” My mom puts her arm on my shoulder.

  I nod.

  We finish our pit stop and hop back in the car, making our way down to the farm. The tiny road makes us feel like we are the only people on the entire planet in this lime-green sardine can in the middle of a misty green forest.

  After a few minutes of driving, we come to a house with a main entrance and two smaller entrances on each side. It isn’t big compared to some houses in Springfield, but it’s certainly bigger than our little brown house back home.

  We get closer and it’s clear that one of the smaller entrances is actually a stable. An old guy leads a horse out of it.

  Sergio finds a parking spot close to the main house and we all tumble out. Everyone except Charlie. He still doesn’t want to get out of the car.

  “Come on, sweetie,” my mom urges.

  I tell him about the horse in the stable. That gets his attention.

  “Seriously, man,” I say. “It was over there. I can show you if you want.”

  He watches me carefully. “Where?” he says, getting out.

  “Over there,” I say. “Follow me.”

  “I wanna see too!” my mom says.

  As we get closer to the stable, the smell gets stronger.

  “What is that?” Charlie asks, holding his nose.

  “What do you think, man?”

  We get to the stables and peek inside. Hooves clopping and heavy huffing fills the room. The smell is a combination of hay and sweaty animal. I don’t care how beautiful you think horses are. They stink.

  Charlie holds his nose but walks deeper into the stable. A dark brown horse with a white spot on its muzzle trots to the edge of its gate and stops. It notices us. It moves its hooves slightly back and forth. It bows and huffs.

  “Careful, man,” I tell Charlie, who keeps getting closer and closer to the horse. “That beast looks like it doesn’t like that we’re in here.”

  Charlie keeps moving in and the horse edges closer to its gate. Charlie smiles and the horse exhales heavily. If that gate opens, the horse could bolt out and crush us. Charlie is right in the line of fire.

  “You’re too close, man. Back up.”

  Charlie extends his hand. The horse continues to shuffle back and forth, nodding.

  “I don’t think he likes all the attention, man. Don’t put your hand out.”

  “Honey,” my mom adds, “listen to your brother.”

  But he doesn’t. He keeps his hand out. I walk toward him because I don’t know what that horse is going to do. I get to him, but before I pull his arm away, the horse gently nudges my brother’s hand with the top of its muzzle. Charlie’s smile grows wider. He rubs the horse affectionately.

  “Magia no le gusta a nadie.”

  I turn around to find an old woman standing behind us. She’s wearing jeans, construction boots, a purple tank top, and a wide-brimmed hat. Her face is solemn as she walks toward my brother and the horse.

  “Hola, chico,” she says to Charlie. Her voice is deep and raspy, like she just woke up from a long nap. “You like the horse?” she asks.

  Charlie nods.

  “Her name is Magic,” the old lady says. “She doesn’t like many people. She only responds when someone is nítido.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask.

  “Someone who is sharp,” she says. “Someone she can see clearly. I am Darma. Welcome to Finca Vega.”

  She turns back to Magic, rubs her mane, and then puts her arm around Charlie.

  “Come with me,” she says. “Lunch is already prepared. I made fresh limonada and a delicious flan de coco for dessert.”

  My mom and I stare at each other as Charlie and Darma walk out of the stable and toward the farmhouse. Charlie walks with her like he’s known her all his life.

  FOURTEEN

  GETTING GOOD DARMA

  “I’m glad I picked up the phone when Sergio called,” Darma says, bringing us into the house, where the rest of our crew has already started eating sandwiches. “It’s so nice to see you and your boys, Melissa. But I don’t like that I’ve never met them in person until now.”

  Mom sags a little. “I know,” she says. “It’s hard to see time pass when you’re just trying to make each day happen.”

  Darma’s face is stern but not angry. “Weeds need to be uprooted if the seeds are to grow.”

  Darma is intimidating like Yoda is intimidating. She’s small and wrinkled but with a face that says, I’m packing a lightsaber in my construction boot.

  She pats my mom on the shoulder and sits down at the head of the table.

  There’s a pitcher of something that looks exactly like lemonade. Charlie grabs a sandwich and sits next to Darma. He immediately starts asking her questions. Darma seems to lean in a little to try to understand exactly what he says.

  I take a seat next to them and chime in. “He wants to know how many horses you have.”

  Like I said, people who just meet my brother don’t always understand him.

  “Yes, I know,” she responds. “I asked him if he’d ever ridden one.”

  Darma continues to talk to Charlie, and my mom and I turn to each other.

  “Well, he’s connected with Tía Darma pretty well,” Mom says.

  My brother pretty much ignores me throughout lunch. The more comfortable he gets with Darma, the more he talks to her. He even helps her clear the table when we finish lunch.

  My brother has a lot of abilities. Wanting to clean is not one of them. Whenever we have dinner together at home, Charlie always pretends he’s too tired to help clean. Sometimes he’ll put his head down on the table and pretend to be asleep until I’ve cleared our plates. What the heck has Tía Darma done to him?

  Just a few days ago, I thought my family consisted of Charlie and my mom. And my dad, I guess. Now we’ve got all these cousins and great-aunts and uncles all over Puerto Rico. It’s strange.

  “We haven’t all sat down for a meal like this in a while,” my mom says.

  I nod.

  “It’s not always going to be you and Charlie eating alone, sweetie. As soon as I can get that promotion . . .”

  “I know, Mom,” I tell her, because I don’t want her to beat herself up about it. “You know, Dad—”

  “What about him?” she says before I can finish my thought.

  “I just . . .” I start. “I just think it might be different now, you know? He might be really excited to see us. And we’ve got this whole family down here.”

  My mom’s silence makes me uncomfortable. She might not think my father has changed, but I do. The memories I have of him aren’t all bad. Yes, I remember the way my mom’s eyes were puffy for a long time after he left. But I also remember when my dad took me to the zoo. I think I was three and he had me on his shoulders. It was bright and hot so he gave me his baseball hat. The hat was way too big and it made me sweaty, but I didn’t take it off. My mom was there. She had a round belly. I don’t remember what he said to me, but I remember him holding my legs. I remember feeling safe.

  “Hon?�
� My mom snaps me out of this memory. “You okay?”

  I nod.

  “Come on. Let’s go help out in the kitchen.”

  Everyone is already there, helping to dry and put dishes away, wash pots and pans. There are a few people who aren’t part of our group, wearing aprons. Maybe they work here?

  A large guy walks in from the back door and into the kitchen. The smell of stable and hay follows him in. He takes off his hat and puts it to his chest. He speaks in mumbled Spanish and I can’t understand him at all, but his tone sounds worried. Darma nods and excuses herself from the kitchen.

  She starts out the door with the big guy, and Charlie follows.

  “We’ll talk more later, okay? Right now I have to tend to a sick cow,” she says, stroking Charlie’s hair.

  “Tía,” Sergio says before Darma gets outside. “La medicina. You can give her the medicine I got from the vet. He says it might help.”

  Tía Darma watches Sergio carefully. “Take the boys on a tour of the house,” she says, like she’s not interested in hearing Sergio’s suggestion.

  “I wanna go with you,” Charlie says. “I wanna see the sick cow.”

  Darma looks at my mom. “I have a better idea,” Tía Darma says. “Go explore the house and when I return, I’ll introduce you to Paco.”

  “Who’s that?” Charlie asks. You can tell that he has serious doubts that Paco is more interesting than a sick cow.

  “Paco is our prized toro. He’s the biggest bull in all of Orocovis.”

  “A bull?”

  “Yes,” she says, “a very big one. Only the bravest dare come close. And I know for a fact you are one of the bravest.”

  Charlie likes this. He puffs up his chest.

  Darma leaves with the big guy, and the rest of us finish cleaning the kitchen. Charlie is suddenly not interested in cleaning anymore.

  “What happened? Lost the will to clean?” I tell him, teasing him with a rag.

  “Meh,” he says, sitting on a barstool in the middle of the kitchen.

  “Cheer up, Charlie,” Sergio says. “Let me show you the courtyard garden.”

  We follow him out. Sergio walks with me and explains that Aunt Darma loves gardening.

  “She’s focusing more on teaching agriculture than raising livestock these days,” he says. “There are so many unique fruits and vegetables in Puerto Rico. See this here?” Sergio points to an orange-and-yellow flower with spikes. “This is called rambutan.” He holds it carefully. “It is a fruit similar in taste to lychee.”

  “An alien!” Charlie shouts.

  “It does look like an alien, Charlie,” Sergio says, laughing. “The name means ‘hairy fruit.’ But inside, it is delicious and very high in nutrients.”

  Sergio carefully pulls a rambutan off its stem and gently cuts into it with his pocketknife. He splits the hairy exterior and out pops a slimy white ball.

  “Here, take a bite. Just be careful with the seed in the middle.”

  Charlie and I both stare as Sergio offers it to us.

  “Oh, come on, guys!” My mom takes the fruit and expertly chews and spits out the seed. “It’s delicious.”

  Charlie looks at Mom as if he’s afraid she’s about to turn into an extraterrestrial. I’m probably making the same face.

  “It originally comes from Malaysia but grows very well in Puerto Rico. She likes our weather.” Sergio winks as he pulls off another rambutan. He offers it to me. I take it and feel its leathery spikes. Sergio holds out his pocketknife.

  “Maybe I’ll try it later,” I tell him, returning the fruit.

  “Hold on to it,” he says.

  I put the fruit in my cargo shorts. Charlie completely refuses to take one.

  “No way, man,” he says. “No way.”

  I look up from the middle of the courtyard. There isn’t a ceiling, just four columns surrounding the wooden square where several strange plants and vege-tables are growing. I recognize small tomatoes and a lot of green leaves everywhere.

  “Oh my goodness, is that spinach?” my mom asks, bending over to get a closer look.

  “When I was little, my parents used to leave me with Tía Darma for the summer,” Sergio says. “They traveled a lot. We made this garden when I turned nine. Instead of giving me a toy truck or clothes, Darma brought out some dirt and wood and said my birthday present was going to be a garden. I wasn’t happy about that.”

  “But look at it now!” my mom says, smelling more leaves. “She gave you a gift that can last forever if you care for it.”

  “That’s what she told me. I still wanted a monster truck, though.”

  My mom shakes her head.

  “What? I was nine! Who wants a garden when they’re nine?”

  “I would,” my mom says. “I always wanted a garden. I thought I was going to live in a place where I could garden year-round.” My mom’s expression goes from dreamy to droopy again.

  “Mom?” I ask.

  “Yeah, sweetie?”

  “Maybe Dad came back to Puerto Rico because he wanted to build a farm of his own? Didn’t Tío Ermenio say he loved coming to Orocovis?”

  “Farms aren’t built, Marcus,” my mom says, moving through the columns. “They grow after being cared for.”

  There’s a wooden sign staked in the corner. It looks like it’s written by someone just learning to spell.

  SERGIO’S GARTEN

  “She left it misspelled that way so I would never forget how to spell ‘garden’ again,” Sergio says. “Come, there are gardens all over the house.”

  We snake around corridor after corridor. Angela and Hilda stop at every little garden. There are beds of squash, root vegetables Sergio calls yucca, and a tree with big green fruit that looks like spiky footballs.

  “Those are called guanabana,” Sergio explains.

  There are bright red furry things called achiote. The theme is weird-looking fruit no one has ever heard of, I guess. Nobody in my school would go near these. Except maybe Danny. He probably would. That reminds me. I take out his camera. Snap. Snap. Snap. I don’t know if it’s possible for a camera to capture every color on these fruits. There are signs everywhere with squiggly names scrawled on them. They look like they were all written by young kids. Sergio says Darma never had children, but she had lots of nephews and nieces and students from her school. She made them all plant gardens.

  I look up at another ceiling-less roof. The sky has turned grayer than when we arrived. From above, Darma’s house must look like it has a hundred holes punched into it. We go through a set of doors and enter a living room.

  “This is the proper house,” María says, walking with Charlie. He has seemed to warm up to this new place. It’s like he knows it. Is this what my dad felt like when he was my age walking through this house?

  Inside Darma’s living room there are pictures hanging everywhere. Maybe thousands.

  “This is the family,” Sergio says.

  I scan around, but I don’t see my dad in any of the pictures.

  Sergio notices.

  “Your dad . . .” he starts. “When we were kids, we had this dream to buy a farm together. Finca Primo Vega. The Vega Cousins’ Farm. When we got older, the plan was to save enough money to buy the land and build the farm. Tía Darma said your father was too untethered and impatient. When he came back one day after years of being gone, she told him what she thought of his choices. Your dad got upset and left the farm life behind forever. I couldn’t convince him to make amends. He said he had other plans. Tía was right, I guess. Your father never settles.”

  I turn back to the photos. What’s wrong with not settling? Isn’t that what they teach people? To never settle.

  I step outside to get some fresh air and Mom follows me.

  The green mountains here feel like they’re breathing, like the mis
t all around us is the air they exhale to the clouds above. It feels like we’re at the highest point in the world. I aim the camera.

  Suddenly, a shot cracks the air and echoes across the mountains. The rest of the crew rushes outside to where Mom and I are standing.

  Was that a gun? Charlie runs to me and digs his head into my side. I put my arm around him. Along the side of the house, Darma walks slowly toward us. She hands a large pistol to the big guy from earlier and tells him something out of earshot. She reaches my mom and me first.

  “It’s going to rain,” she says matter-of-factly, like a gunshot didn’t just blast throughout the entire mountain range.

  Charlie, hearing Darma, lifts his head.

  “Darma!” he says excitedly. He starts detailing what happened as best he can.

  He points to the hills and tells Darma that a “big boom came from over there!”

  “Yes,” she says. “I said good-bye to a sick cow.”

  If that’s how she says good-bye, no wonder my dad wanted his own farm.

  Sergio shakes his head, and I hear him mutter something about the cow just needing medicine. Darma pats Charlie on the back. She looks at me, then at Sergio.

  “Sometimes the necessary thing isn’t always the easiest,” she says, heading inside. “The roads will be too dangerous for you,” she continues. “No driving back to Viejo San Juan tonight.”

  I look at my mom.

  “I’m not arguing with her,” she says.

  Darma stops at the door and waits for everyone to file inside. When I reach the door, she stops me. She’s way shorter than I am, but I suddenly feel very small next to this lady who just shot a cow and doesn’t seem affected by it.

  “I have seen your father,” she says, watching me carefully. “But tonight we will not discuss it. Understand?”

  I nod. What else am I going to do?

  Darma says Charlie and I will bunk with Sergio. My mom will have her own room. Angela, Hilda, and María will share a room. My mom asks Sergio about cell service.

  “Marcus, give me my phone, honey,” she says. “I want to call Tío Ermenio.”

  My mom follows Sergio outside with the phone. I go too. Out there, the evening air fills with strange sounds coming from the darkness.