by Paul Pen
The little girl got up and showed the basket of flowers to her mother. “They’re turning weird.”
“It’s the heat. Here.”
The two of them knelt in front of the refrigerator, making space for the basket. They moved vegetables, bottles of milk, and packages of meat. Rick saw them whisper in each other’s ears. The little girl tried to look at him, but her mother held her face to stop her.
“We’re going upstairs for a second,” Rose announced after putting away the basket. “We have to . . . I have to . . . I’m going to clean . . . Lily’s scratches.”
She pulled on the girl and they left the kitchen. Rick went to the sink and washed his hands with the sole intention of watching where they went. They had reached the bottom of the stairs.
“Mom, the onion’s burning!” Iris yelled. She got up to deal with it herself, but when she shook the frying pan some oil blazed. She screamed.
Rose stopped. She explained something to the little girl, speaking very close to her face. She also gave her something she took from a pocket in her apron. Looking out of the corner of his eye, Rick couldn’t be sure what he was seeing, but it appeared as if Rose was handing her daughter a block of butter and a slice of bread.
His breathing accelerated.
He looked away when Rose returned to the kitchen. While she dealt with the incident on the stove, Rick made himself relax by concentrating on how the foam dissolved under the water, between his fingers.
He thought of his mother.
He splashed soap in his eyes on purpose in case anyone asked him why they were watering.
Daisy climbed to the top of the stairs, dropping breadcrumbs as she went. She turned the key in the bedroom door, getting grease on it from the cheese she held in her hand. The movement stretched the skin on her scratched arm. She blew on the graze to ease the burning. Though the room was dark, she could make out her sister’s form on the bed.
“Are you still angry?” she asked.
“You’re mean.”
“I brought you something to eat.”
Dahlia sat up on the mattress and turned on the lamp on the bedside table they shared, between the two beds. Daisy gave her the cheese, the bread, and a napkin. She took it as if she’d gone days without eating.
“You never think about me.” She took a bite of cheese. “I was stuck in here all morning yesterday. And again today.”
“And you did this to me.” Daisy showed her forearm.
Dahlia didn’t look. “I didn’t mean to do that. I was just trying to pick the flower.” She chewed on a piece of bread, looking at the wall. As she always did when she was angry, she shied away from her sister’s eyes. “What happened with the necklaces?”
“Mommy’s put the flowers in the refrigerator so they stay fresh. We can’t make them today because the boy’s going to have dinner here.”
Dahlia crossed her arms.
“I miss everything. Yesterday it was the last day of class. Today a visitor.” She pouted with her bottom lip. “And it’s all your fault.”
Daisy was upset to see her so sad. “Do you forgive me?”
Dahlia didn’t answer. Daisy tried to position her face in front of her sister’s, but Dahlia avoided her by twisting her neck.
Daisy held her chin. “Do you want to go down now?”
Dahlia’s eyes instantly sought hers. On her fingers Daisy felt folds appearing on her sister’s cheek, forming a smile.
“Seriously?”
“I’ve already met him. And he’s not that interesting.”
Dahlia hugged her. “Thank you, thank you, thank you . . .”
“But the cheese is mine, then. Don’t eat any more. It’s going to be my dinner.”
Dahlia put it on the bedside table, on the napkin. The bread, too. She leapt to the floor and hugged Daisy again. To celebrate, she started off the mirror game, counting with her fingers.
Facing each other, they began the learned sequence of gestures. Raise eyebrows. Stick out tongue. Lower eyebrows. Lift left corner of mouth. Lift right corner of mouth. Left corner of mouth. Right corner of mouth. Open mouth. Close mouth. Look left. Look right. Raise eyebrows. Stick out tongue. Puff up cheeks. Flatten cheeks. Wrinkle nose. Stick out tongue. Wink left eye. Wink right eye. Clap hands twice.
They leapt when they completed the sequence without error.
“We’re a mirror! We’re the same!”
Daisy straightened her sister’s hair, which had become tangled from lying on the bed. She also positioned her bobby pins in a way more similar to her own.
“Let’s see if Mommy and Daddy notice,” she said. “I bet the guy doesn’t.”
“What’s his name?” Dahlia asked.
“His name’s Rick. And he talks a lot. He never stops. He’s been walking for a year.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. His shoes are all ruined. I think Iris likes him. She laughs like an idiot when he says something. Melissa’s happy, too. Maybe she likes talking to someone other than her cactuses. But Mom’s all worked up. She’s being weird. And I don’t think Dad likes him being here, but he’s acting like he does. He’s drinking beer with him, but I don’t think he’s his friend.”
“OK. I wonder what I’ll see. I was so bored up here. What’re you going to do?”
“Beads. You’re way ahead of me.”
Daisy went with her sister to the door. “Go on, we’ve been forever.”
Dahlia went to the top of the stairs. She turned her head and said bye to Daisy. As she went down, she heard the young man in the kitchen asking whether the sisters went to school. When she reached the first floor, she saw Mom there. She was cutting open a melon by the sink.
“Come on, dinner’s on the table,” she said. “What took you so long?”
When she saw her, she left the slices of fruit on the countertop and went to her, drying her hands on her apron.
“What’re you doing?” she knelt and spoke to her close to her ear. “Why did you switch?”
“You noticed?”
“Honey, please.”
“Daisy let me come down. Because yesterday it was me shut away and it’s unfair.”
“I know, but Daisy doesn’t decide. Go up and tell her to come down. Don’t be so silly, taking chances like this now.”
“Mommy, it’s OK, we’re the same.”
“Enough. Get up there right now.”
Behind Mom, Dahlia saw Rick approach the refrigerator. He saw them.
“Hey, Lily, you’re back?” he asked from there.
“I’m back,” Dahlia answered.
Mom let out a sigh. The boy opened the door, knelt, and took out two of the green bottles that Dad drank. The rest of them clinked together on the shelf.
“Your flowers are doing great in here.” Rick gestured at them with his chin. “It was a good idea to chill them. Want to come take a look?”
“See?” Dahlia whispered in her mother’s ear. “He hasn’t noticed.”
Dahlia ran to the refrigerator. She peered inside, leaning on Rick’s bent leg. He stroked the pile of flowers and remarked on how soft they still were. Together, they returned to the table. When Dahlia sat down, she noticed the quick exchange of looks between Dad, Melissa, and Iris. She winked at the three of them.
“I’m back.”
Before sitting down, Rick handed the beer he’d collected from the refrigerator to the father. He waited for Rose to join them in the kitchen and pulled out a chair, gripping its back, inviting her to sit down.
“Thank you.” She made a big show of lifting her apron, as if suddenly in attendance at a gala dinner. Then she winked at her husband and added, “I’m not used to such attentiveness.”
Rick took the slices of melon that Rose had left on the countertop and deposited them on a plate in the center of the tablecloth.
“You’ve got everything covered,” Iris said, the words coming out in a sigh.
“He’s real nice. He stroked my flowers.”
“Te
ll us about the big city,” Melissa said.
“All right, all right,” Dad interrupted. “Let the kid sit down and eat in peace.”
Rick used the chair his dirty T-shirt still hung from. He put his backpack between his legs for safekeeping. The parents were at each end of the table and Iris had changed seats, so he had her to one side now. Opposite him were the youngest and Melissa, who had a stone with eyes resting beside her plate.
“What’s that?” Rick gestured at the rock.
“It’s nothing.” Melissa looked down at her soup.
“Is it like your cactuses out there? Do you like bringing things to life?”
She didn’t reply.
“Does it have a name?”
A faint smile appeared on Melissa’s face. “Yes.”
“And what’s it called?”
“This is Natalie.”
“Hello, Natalie. What pretty eyes you have.” Rick paused as if listening to some response from the stone. “Oh, well, thank you. It’s nice to meet you.”
He winked at Melissa. She smiled.
“Do you like the sopa de tortilla?” Rose asked.
“I like everything.” Rick swallowed a spoonful to prove it. Though he would’ve liked a dish that wasn’t so hot, he held a thumb up to show his approval. He’d almost forgotten how hungry he was.
“You haven’t said what state you come from originally,” he said after swallowing. “From the accent I’d say the Midwest. But I might be wrong.”
Elmer busied his mouth with his bottle of beer. Rose corrected Iris’s posture. Rick was beginning to dislike the time they took to answer his questions.
“We’re from the United States!” yelled Lily.
“I know that. But I’m asking your mom and dad what—”
What he saw took away his ability to speak.
“. . . what . . .”
He tried to regain his composure, but his throat was so tight he could barely utter a word. He struggled to keep talking. To overcome the shock.
“. . . what state . . .”
He had to stop stammering.
“. . . what state they’re from specifically.”
He finished the sentence as if spitting it out.
“I don’t know, Mexico?” the little girl said.
The stupid answer set off a volley of laughter.
For the rest of the dinner, Rick tried to appear calm. He smiled when the conversation required it, and showed understanding when the subject demanded it. He nodded frequently, and didn’t comment on the fact that Iris’s chair was moving ever closer to his. Rick served himself food, chewed, and swallowed. He praised the main course, complimenting the cook for her obvious command of Mexican cuisine. He engaged in small talk about how hot it still was even at that time of night, how tall the cactuses could grow in Baja California, and which had been the biggest scorpion they’d found on the land. His voice didn’t fail him again, but while Rick laughed, passed dishes of shrimp tacos, or accepted a third beer, his eyes returned again and again to the forearm of the little girl in front of him. An unharmed forearm, with no trace of any grazes or scratches from the needles of a cactus. He had blown on the injury himself less than two hours ago. This Lily wasn’t the same Lily as before.
Elmer returned from the living room with the liquor in his hand, fingers inserted in two shot glasses. Dinner was over and gnawed slices of melon decorated each plate.
“Think you can handle one of these for dessert?” he asked Rick. “It’s too strong for my wife, so I never have anyone to share it with.”
He pinched Rose’s cheek so she wouldn’t hold the comment against him, even though he knew she wouldn’t.
“Hey. I’m talking to you.” He waved the bottle in front of the young man, who was engrossed in his own thoughts. Elmer had noticed him looking distracted several times during dinner. Rick came out of his absorption and took the liquor. First he read the label. Then he inspected the inside of the bottle. The liquid projected a golden reflection onto the tablecloth.
“Is that a worm?” he asked.
“You bet, kid. It’s mescal.”
With his mouth open, Rick turned the bottle around. He shook it. The worm bobbed in the liquid, then returned to the bottom.
“It’s a goddamn worm.”
Elmer threw the glasses onto the table, as if they were dice.
“You game?”
“Am I game?”
Rick opened the bottle. Elmer moved Melissa aside to sit opposite him.
“I want some!” yelled Dahlia.
“Do you really want to drink a liquid with a dead thing in it?”
“It has a dead thing in it?”
Elmer nodded.
“Yuck. I don’t want it, then.”
“Can I?” Iris asked. “I’m game.”
“How many glasses did I bring?” Elmer gestured at the pair on the table.
“I can drink from the same glass as him.”
Elmer looked at his daughter. Almost for the first time he noticed the deep channel between her breasts, the rosiness her cheeks always displayed, the golden hair that had appeared on her arms, her skin suddenly fertile land. He observed the pimples on her chin and forehead, so similar to the ones his wife had at that age. It shocked him to realize that his daughter was a year older than his wife had been when he met her. Because he remembered the insatiable desire of that young woman.
“Don’t even think about it.” With his arm, he swept the two glasses aside to separate them from Iris. Then he turned to Rick. “And you, don’t so much as look at her.”
“Don’t let him frighten you,” Rose said to the young man. “He’s harmless.”
Rick filled the two shot glasses to the top.
“Do you drink it in one go?”
“You can drink it however you want.”
“Does it taste like worm?”
“Try it and tell me.”
Rick held the liquor to his lips. He left it there a few seconds, weighing how to drink it. He ended up tipping the glass all the way and drinking the mescal in one gulp. First, he opened his eyes wide. Then his face wrinkled up so much that his features seemed to disappear among the folds of his skin. He started coughing. He beat his chest.
“So?” Elmer asked. “Does it taste like worm?”
Rose offered the young man a glass of water. He pushed it aside and slid his chair backward. He rested his elbows on his knees, coughing facedown. One of the coughs turned into a retch, but he didn’t vomit.
“Kid, you’ve just become a man.”
Iris and Melissa each reproached him for the comment with a click of the tongue.
“Oh, please. It was just a drop of mescal. I didn’t poison him.”
Rick straightened. He blinked in quick succession to shake off the tears that surrounded his eyes.
“I want to share your pain,” Iris said to him, “understand your suffering.”
The second glass disappeared from Elmer’s hands, and he watched Iris empty it into her mouth. As she swallowed, she covered her face with both hands. Her body shuddered, though her posture remained the same. When she uncovered her face again, it was red, her eyelashes moist.
“Now I understand what you’ve been through,” she told Rick. “I’ve felt the fire in my soul, too.”
Melissa rolled her eyes.
Elmer looked at his wife for some explanation of Iris’s behavior.
“Our daughters are growing up,” was her response.
Rick took the glass of water Rose had offered him. He gave a loud whoop. “Wow, that was strong.” The suffering had disappeared from his face, which displayed the stupid smile of someone who’d just overcome a challenge. “Is that meant to be drunk for pleasure?”
“It sure is, kid. It’s just the liquor from a cactus.”
“Agave isn’t a cactus,” Melissa corrected him.
“Whatever. They’re all plants with thorns.”
Elmer recovered the glass that Iris had snatched from
him. He filled it to the top, then drank it in one gulp.
“I could drink another one,” Iris said.
Rose let out a laugh. “Don’t push your luck. You’re lucky we have a guest. I’m not going to tell you what my father did to me the first time he caught me drinking.”
“Times change, Mom.”
“Sure, that’s what your teacher says.”
Elmer interrupted the conversation. “Nobody’s going to have another one.” He screwed the lid back on the bottle. “You because you’re sixteen, me because I have to work tomorrow, and you, kid, because I don’t want you to die of dehydration on your hike tomorrow.”
He gathered the glasses and put them in the sink. He left the bottle of mescal on the counter, next to the blender. Rick got up to help. He added the rest of the dirty dishes to the glasses, which he managed in just two trips. Without asking, he turned on the tap and started washing them. Elmer heard Iris let out a sigh, her chin resting on her interlocked hands. He also saw his wife’s surprised smile.
“You don’t have to do that,” he said to Rick. “There’re plenty of women in this house.”
“A mother and three daughters,” said Dahlia.
She winked in such a blatant way that Elmer was glad the young man had his back to the table.
“Are there no women in your house, or what?”
“Just my mother,” Rick replied, his hands covered in lather. “I grew up an only child but helped in the house from a very young age.”
Another sigh from Iris.
“So what’s it like growing up without brothers or sisters?” Melissa asked.
Rick took a few seconds to respond. “Well, I don’t know because I’ve never had any. But seeing families like yours, I think I’ve missed out on a lot.”
Dahlia clapped her hands. Iris, Melissa, and Rose looked at one another, touched. The young man dried his nose with his wrist, without letting go of the scrubber. Elmer gave him two slaps on the back.
“How about you stay and listen to some music with us before going to sleep?”
Rick nodded.
“Yippee!” shouted Dahlia.
Elmer went to the living room to get the record player ready. When he reached the window at the rear of the house, he heard his wife’s footsteps approach.