Efren Divided

by Ernesto Cisneros

  Efrén watched Max and Mía laughing, jealous of how clueless they were to what had happened. Part of him—a larger part than he’d like to admit—even wished he could be picked up and kept in the dark too.

  Unfortunately, the only superhero he wanted to hear from was his own Soperwoman. And he wasn’t sure how her ability to flip steaming tortillas with her bare hands was going to help get her home.

  Efrén had hoped that Apá and he could talk once the little ones had settled into bed. To help speed up the process, he helped them with their prayers and then read from their favorite Dr. Seuss book The Sneetches and Other Stories.

  Max and Mía rubbed their round bellies and chanted along with every single word. Two-and-a-half readings later, they were asleep.

  On normal nights, Apá would come home, kiss the entire family, and head straight into the shower. But tonight, Apá took a seat at the table still wearing his muddy boots and jeans, silently staring at the phone while picking at the dead skin hanging off his weathered fingertips. Efrén took a seat beside him, unsure of what to say.

  The thick silence broke as the house phone finally rang and Apá sprang off his chair.

  Efrén stood and leaned in close to him, holding his breath in the hopes of hearing Amá’s voice again.

  It was Amá! Her words were muffled, but full of emotion. Efrén wanted to call out to her, but he didn’t want to wake the twins. Instead, he forced himself back onto his chair and observed as Apá jotted down notes onto the back of a napkin.

  “Sí. Sí entiendo.” Even though his eyes told a different story, Apá’s voice sounded strong and reassuring.

  Finally, he turned back to Efrén, a rare smile appearing. “Sí, aquí está, escuchando.” Apá held the phone out.

  As much as he wanted to sound as confident as Apá, there was no overcoming the clump of emotion pinned to the back of his throat. “Amá . . .”—tears poured down his face—“where are you?”

  She sniffled. “I’m fine, mijo.”

  Efrén wished he could believe her.

  “Really, I’m fine,” she insisted. “I’m getting released back into Mexico tomorrow. Don’t worry about me. I’m thinking about going down to Ensenada, spending some time at the beach.”

  In spite of himself, Efrén laughed. He knew she hated the ocean. The smell of dead fish and the squawking of sea gulls. “But when will you be back?”

  Amá took a moment to answer. “Soon. Very soon. But in the meantime, I need you to promise me one thing.”

  Efrén shut his eyes and nodded. “Sí, claro.”

  “I’m going to need you to look after your brother and sister, especially Max. You know the kind of trouble that boy gets into.”

  “No te preocupes de nada. I want you to enjoy your time off. Work on your tan a bit.”

  Her voice now quivered as she laughed. “Efrén . . . te amo. Muchísimo.”

  “I know. I love you too.”

  He passed the phone back to his father, who continued writing down notes and making phone calls late into the night.

  Efrén lay in bed awake, swatting away the occasional arm from his face. If only he could go to sleep and wake up to find that the entire day had been a bad dream. Then he could sit beside Amá at the breakfast table and tell her about David’s decision to run for president, about all the crazy campaign promises and posters. Amá would laugh and shake her head, like she always did whenever she heard any of the crazy travesuras el Periquito Blanco dreamed up.

  But there would be no laughter anytime soon. Not until his mother returned.

  In the past, whenever Efrén found himself struggling to sleep, he’d simply roll off his mattress and climb up beside her. Somehow, no matter the time, she’d always sense his presence and wrap her arms around him. And then on cue, she’d say a short prayer before running her fingers along his hair, piojito style. She called it that because it mimicked the technique she’d used to delouse the twins after their first month of kindergarten.

  Her fingers were magical—good for much more than flipping tortillas. They were warm and soothing, to the point that anyone under their care would slip into a restful sleep in minutes. Even Apá was not immune to their power.

  But there would be no piojitos tonight.

  That night, Efrén lay in bed watching Apá toss and turn. Like their light cajeta-brown hair and crooked smiles, they now had this in common too.

  Efrén tried distracting his mind with positive thoughts, but all the positivity he could muster was the fact that he positively missed his mother.

  Four

  Efrén awoke to a gentle tug on his shoulder. He didn’t know when he’d eventually fallen asleep, but by the way that his eyelids weighed heavily, he knew it hadn’t been that long. “Maxie,” he said, “you can go to the bathroom on your own. I need to sleep.”

  “Mijo, despierta,” Apá whispered. “Wake up.”

  Efrén forced his eyes open and sat up. His father was dressed, ready for work in a clean version of what he’d worn the night before.

  “I’m leaving for work early. I asked Doña Chana if she might take you and your hermanitos to school today, maybe keep an eye on you afterward. Only she can’t. Has a Tupperware shipment to pick up in LA.”

  “It’s okay, Apá,” Efrén said, rubbing away at the sleep in his eyes. “I can get them dressed, and fed, and take them to school myself.”

  “Are you sure, mijo? What about Max—you know how difficult Max can be.”

  “He’s fine. I can always bribe him with food. “Really, it’s no problem.”

  Apá chuckled. “All right. Here.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “I’m going to need you to go to the troquita and pick up some food for dinner. Just don’t bribe him with soda or he’ll never go to sleep.”

  Efrén took the money and slipped it into his underwear waistband. “Don’t worry about us.” He turned to check that the little ones were still asleep. “Just get Amá back.”

  Apá nodded. “A friend at work knows a guy who works as a coyote. He might be able to get her across really soon . . . if I can wire the money in time.”

  “Do we have enough money?”

  “Almost. But my same friend is lending me the rest of the money we need.” Again, Apá smiled with his mouth closed tightly. Efrén could see the worry on his face. “Now, mijo, get some more sleep. I left the alarm set for you.”

  “It’s okay. I don’t think I’ll need it.” He was too nervous to sleep.

  By the time the alarm finally did go off, Efrén was already in the kitchen trying to figure out what to feed Max and Mía. Amá had this thing about not having her kids eating the school breakfasts. “Too much sugar and preservatives,” she’d say.

  Efrén stared into the refrigerator. What could he possibly do with one egg, a strip of ham, pickles (which only Apá liked), a packet of biscuits, and the three or four swigs of milk left?

  If Amá were here, she’d roll up her sleeves and wave her wooden spoon and make a milagro happen.

  The pressure was on. He opened the top cabinet and found a container of cinnamon and sugar. He turned to the bottle of oil and smiled.

  A bit later, Efrén and Max and Mía stood along the kitchen table, forming the premade biscuit dough into misshapen animal figures.

  “Okay. Now stand back, you two. The oil is very, very hot. Last thing I want is Amá coming home to a pair of charred twins.”

  Max and Mía got the hint and decided to wait behind the balcony curtains.

  “On three. One. Two. Three.” Efrén plopped the first animal biscuit into the oil, causing a splash that crossed over half the stovetop.

  “Is it working? Are we really having donut critters?” asked Max, his eyes barely visible behind the curtain.

  Efrén leaned in and watched the dough sizzle. “I’m not sure it’s supposed to cook this fast.” He reached in with the spoon and tried flipping it over, but the doughy critter flopped right off the pan and onto the kitchen
floor.

  Max and Mía both shrieked.

  Like a good big brother, Efrén rushed in and scooped up the tiny beast. “Don’t worry! I’ll just rinse it.” Again, both hermanitos stood back and watched.

  “See?” Efrén said, holding the soggy half-cooked donut thingy. He returned to the stovetop and flung the critter back into the oil. The pan erupted. Oil jumped everywhere, even onto the back of his hand. Efrén yelped and ran his hand under cold water. Max and Mía shrieked again, only much, much louder.

  A half hour later, Efrén found himself at the elementary school lunch tables, eating generic Cheerios with his brother and sister.

  “Hey, guys,” Efrén said, soaking his burn inside a milk carton, “how about we not mention any of this to Apá, yeah?”

  Five

  With the little ones now under Ms. Solomon’s care, Efrén suddenly remembered his homework—which he’d completely forgotten about until that very minute.

  Huffing and puffing, he finally reached the middle school. He needed to get to the library and do his homework if he hoped to keep his perfect year-and-a-half streak of not missing a single assignment. But as he pulled out his class agenda, he discovered three different tasks waiting for him. He scanned the math worksheet. It was simple enough; he could finish it during the warm-up activity at the start of class. Same with the Venn diagram on amphibians for science. But how could he annotate an entire three-page article for Mr. Garrett with only fifteen minutes until the first bell?

  Efrén’s mouth went sour and his stomach tightened. It wasn’t as if Mr. Garrett would understand. No way. Not him. Not unless . . .

  Mr. Garrett had a simple policy. NO HOMEWORK EXTENSIONS! At least not without a parent’s note.

  But the only way to come up with one would be to . . .

  Efrén shook his head as if trying to throw the idea away, but it held strong.

  He gathered his belongings and headed to the cafeteria. David liked cutting it close, so chances were he might not be there. Still, Efrén thought, it was worth checking. If he were on time for a change, he’d no doubt be at the lunch area, munching on anything cheese flavored.

  Efrén hurried down the stairway. Finding his best friend turned out to be pretty simple. All he had to do was look right ahead at the brightly dressed kid standing on top of a lunch bench, hollering something about doing away with all homework if he were elected president.

  David leaped right off the table the second he caught sight of Efrén. “Yo, F-mon! It’s working. Everyone I talk to is promising to vote for me. I’m telling you, it’s in the bag.”

  Efrén leaned in close to examine David’s lilac shirt and squinted, pretending to be blinded by its brightness. “What’s up with the shirt?”

  “It’s the perfect blend of blue and pink.”

  “And?”

  David rolled his eyes. “Simple. I want to appeal to all my voters. Blue for boys? Pink for girls?”

  Efrén shrugged. “At least you’ll be safe crossing the street.”

  “You want to help me pass out some flyers?”

  Efrén caught himself pressing his lips together like Apá often did and felt the pressure building inside. “Actually”—he couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth—“I need a favor.”

  “Anything, bro. Just name it.”

  The classroom door was ajar, yet every student in Mr. Garrett’s first period class preferred to wait outside in the cold morning air.

  Efrén poked his head inside. “Mr. Garrett?” asked Efrén. “May I please speak with you?”

  Mr. Garrett lowered his magazine. “Mr. Nava, you do realize the bell has not yet rung?”

  As Efrén took a deep breath, his eyes glanced over to Mr. Garrett’s left hand. To his bare ring finger. There was no wedding ring. Just a white tan line in its place. According to the chisme at school, Mr. Garrett went through a tough divorce—even lost custody of his son and daughter. Probably the reason he was so cranky.

  “I know, sir,” Efrén said. “It’s about my homework. I didn’t get a chance to complete it.”

  Mr. Garrett’s right eyebrow bent kind of funny. “You? Really? Guess that just leaves Jennifer Huerta for the perfect homework award at the end of the year. Unless, of course, you have a note.”

  Efrén dug his hand into his pocket and pinched at the corner of his phony note. He thought back to the Awards Night last school year, remembering how loudly both Amá and Apá had cheered when the principal called his name. Then, he imagined the look of disappointment on their faces if they ever found out what he’d done. He took his hand out of his pocket and clenched it closed. “No, sir. I don’t have a note.”

  “In that case, go ahead and fill out a parent-notification slip and sign the missed homework log.”

  Efrén turned away, head down.

  “Oh, and make sure you return the slip, or it’s an automatic referral to the office.”

  Office? The word alone made him uneasy.

  For the rest of class, Efrén did his best to stay focused as Mr. Garrett droned on about the lack of proper citations in today’s media—well, as best as he could, with David slipping him little notes with campaign slogan ideas.

  He watched the clock’s minute hand inch its way through a complete loop.

  Efrén thought about Apá’s promise. Amá would be returning today. That was all that mattered. No more struggling to untangle Mía’s long, wavy hair and figuring out how to braid it perfectly centered down her back. It also meant not having to chase a naked Max around the apartment, trying to put a fresh pair of undies on him.

  Instead, it meant Efrén could go back to hiding out in the bathtub, finishing what could possibly become his favorite book—the whole time knowing that a delicious breakfast awaited him when he stepped out.

  He took a deep breath—imagining the scent of cinnamon escaping a fresh pot of arroz con leche. The thought made his stomach growl.

  Efrén sprinted home right after school, stopping only when he reached the bottom steps to his apartment. Gasping for breath, he eyed the closed blinds to his living room window. His initial thought was that Amá was not home, but he wasn’t ready to accept defeat—not just yet. After all, it was completely possible that she was just tired from the difficult trip and decided to take a nap.

  Efrén climbed the stairs, removed the key safety pinned onto the inside of his shirt collar. He unlocked both the metal screen and front door. Once inside, he searched each section of the room. The sheets over the mattresses lay unfolded, just as he’d left them this morning.

  The only other place left to check was the bathroom, which he immediately headed to. He knocked and pushed the door open. Nothing.

  He rushed into the kitchen area and searched the countertop for signs of his mother’s cooking, perhaps the scent of salsa roasting on her comal griddle. But all he smelled was the stale scent of dread now filling the room.

  Efrén rushed outside, where Doña Chana immediately waved him over.

  “Oh, hi. I thought you were in LA.”

  “I was, but gracias a Dios . . . I came back early.”

  Gracias a Dios? Something was definitely wrong.

  Efrén’s stomach knotted up as he entered Doña Chana’s apartment. The twins sat on the couch watching a cartoon on her cell phone.

  This time, only Mía ran up to meet him. He boosted her up and gave her a long, sturdy hug. Though Mía couldn’t understand the real reason behind it, she didn’t mind at all. Mía planted her chin over his shoulder—a perfect fit. “When is Amá coming back?” she asked.

  Efrén gazed up at Doña Chana, who looked on the verge of tears. She would stay that way the rest of the evening—barely speaking a word.

  He pulled Mía back and smiled as big as he could. “Soon, Mía. Very soon.”

  That night, after about an hour of reading together, Efrén, Mía, and Max finally fell asleep. But soon, the sound of work boots entering the room woke up Efrén. He kept himself perfectly still, bu
t his eyes followed as Apá made a beeline for the kitchen phone.

  “No. No sé. ¿Qué puedo hacer?” Apá whispered to some mystery person at the other end.

  Efrén couldn’t believe his ears. Hearing Apá admit that he didn’t know what to do next terrified him. There were so many things that could have gone wrong. According to laundromat gossip he’d heard bits of, crossing over was very dangerous. The smugglers, or coyotes, were not good people. They were criminals who took advantage of desperate families—sometimes just dumping them in the desert.

  Apá sniffled and pounded the table hard. “No, le robaron su bolsa con todo su dinero. ¡TODO! Incluso el dinero que pedí prestado.”

  Wanting to catch every word his father said, Efrén stayed perfectly still and even held his breath. But hearing that Amá’s purse had been stolen along with the money Apá had borrowed made Efrén’s entire body shake.

  “Ahora, ¿cómo consigo más dinero para cruzarla?” Where would he find the money to get her home? The question ripped a hole in Efrén’s heart, even as more questions filled his mind.

  Where could Amá be?

  Was she hurt?

  Was she scared?

  Would she ever be coming back?

  It was all too much for Efrén. He opened his eyes and pushed himself up. “Is Amá all right?”

  “Sí. Sí. Hablaremos más tarde.” Apá put down the phone and thumbed the corners of his eyes. “YES, mijo. She is fine.”

  “But she isn’t coming home, is she?”

  Apá rushed to Efrén’s side and knelt by the mattress. “Son . . . look at me. It is just a delay. Nothing more. I swear.”

  Efrén squeezed his eyes shut, but no matter how much he tried to stop them, tears managed to seep down his face.

  “It’s okay to cry. I miss her too.”

  That was all the permission Efrén needed. He leapt into his father’s arms, tucking his face into his chest.

  Apá’s own sobbing caused his body to bob up and down as if he were hiccuping. Efrén couldn’t remember ever seeing his father cry like this. Not because Apá was too macho for something like that. Not Apá. If anything, he simply didn’t want to add to the family’s problems—like when he got sick last month and Amá had to force him to stay home from work.