The Painted Boy

by Charles de Lint

  “We can check it out tomorrow,” she said. “I don’t care how safe the barrios are these days. It’s still not a place I want to go in the middle of the night.”

  Jay couldn’t remember who had warned him about the drug cartels, but El Tigre’s bosses were quick in mounting an offensive. The same night that Rosalie and Anna went to call on Lupita, six black SUVs came up from Mexico, filled with gunmen. Jay had no idea how they got across the border with all those weapons. Money talked, he supposed.

  He waited to confront them until they had left the freeway and were on a two-lane blacktop just south of the city. While they were still in the middle of the desert, he stepped out of el entre and waited. The first vehicle caught him with its headlights and slowed to a stop, the others following suit.

  Before the gunmen could disembark from the SUVs, Jay called on the winds to help him again, and the vehicles fell to pieces, just as the gangbangers’ had done in front of El Conquistador. He did the same with their weapons. Then he used his dragonfire to burn away their clothes, leaving the men themselves untouched. By now, he was so adept at this little trick that they didn’t even feel the heat on their skin.

  Naked, with a hundred small bruises and cuts, the men emerged from the wreck of their vehicles, hands cupping their genitalia. They might have been the cartel’s elite, they might have only been gangbangers hired for the job—Jay didn’t know or care. But whoever they were, they were cowed and helpless now.

  “” Jay told them.

  The men obeyed, moving gingerly onto the rocks and dirt at the side of the road.

  “ Jay asked.

  The foremost man shook his head.

  “” Jay told them. “”

  He threw a fireball at the wrecked cars and they were engulfed. Moments later, only ash remained on the blacktop. Hardened criminals though the men were, many made the sign of the cross.

  “” Jay told them. “”

  The foremost man hesitated, then said, “”

  “” Jay said. “”

  The men beat a hasty retreat, heading south along the blacktop. Jay wondered how far they’d get before someone would report a band of naked illegals to the authorities.

  A lifetime ago, he would have thought that what he’d just done was the coolest thing ever. Now it was just another part of his job.

  He stood there on the road, following them on the medicine wheel in his mind until he was satisfied that they were doing as they’d been told.

  JAY

  Back before the world changed, Rosalie took me to this abandoned shopping mall on the far east side of the city. I’d never seen anything like it. There was nothing there—at least not for anybody normal. It was all boarded up and covered with gang signs and graffiti. The parking lot was a dumping ground for junked cars and trucks, old fridges and stoves, and every kind of trash, all of it vying with the weeds, cacti, and scrub that had grown up through the pavement.

  The bandas had shut the place down, she’d explained. There’d been so much vandalism and violence both inside the mall and out in the parking lot that the owners finally closed up and moved farther north. A chain-link fence had been erected, but that hadn’t stopped people from getting in. Close to where we stood you could see holes cut in the fence. Farther on, where one of the access roads had originally led into the lot, somebody had obviously driven a vehicle right through.

  “They call this the Ghost Mall,” she said.

  “What happened at the new place they built?” I asked.

  “It’s still there. It’s out near those new subdivisions north of here.”

  “So why don’t the bandas do the same thing there?”

  “The people out there have the money to pay for their own policía.”

  “But—”

  “This is the barrio,” she said. “Nobody cares what happens here.”

  Rosalie told me that the gangs still partied and squatted in the mall itself—mostly the Southside Posse, but also the Kings and some of Los Primas Locos from the west side. It was also a place where they’d go to settle their differences, gladiator-style.

  From where we stood outside the fence with her dogs, we could see a half-dozen motorcycles, a couple of low riders, and one pickup, jacked up on monster wheels. We didn’t see any of the bandas themselves, but the vehicles told us they were there, probably inside the mall.

  We didn’t go in.

  Rosalie never actually came out and said why she had brought me to see this place, but it wasn’t hard to figure out. She wanted me to see the influence of the bandas at its worst. She wasn’t on me as much as Tío about how the barrios needed to be cleaned up, but it seemed every day I’d be made aware in one subtle way or another. I’d felt guilty at the time that I couldn’t help, but that was the old me, back before I figured out how to do the job I’d been sent to do. Before I assumed my place as a member of the Yellow Dragon Clan and accepted my responsibilities here.

  I stand now in the same place that Rosalie and I did all those weeks ago. The mall looks as hopeless as it did then, but there are no more gangbangers. There are no more of them anywhere in the barrios I’ve taken under my protection. Its air of desolation suits my mood. It’s not el entre, which reminds me of how I miss Lupita, and it’s not the Barrio Histórico, where Anna and Rosalie live. I won’t accidentally run into anybody I might know. I don’t want to see any of them. No, that’s not true. I just know it’s safer if I stay away.

  I don’t see that I can afford having anybody I actually care about in my life. Not anymore. Not after what happened to Margarita and Maria. I also don’t want to treat anybody the way Paupau treated me. I don’t want to use people. And I don’t want to have to worry about them getting hurt just by being around me. I’m just going to concentrate on my job. I made the choice, so I’m going to man up and stick to it without any outside distractions.

  I understand now why Señora Elena just sits there in her living room. It’s easier when you don’t have to pretend to be human. I don’t even want to take in my own version of Maria to look after me. With the way everything I touch turns to crap, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out how that would end up.

  I need to be like Batman or Zorro—just show up when there’s a problem and fix it. You don’t see them hanging around with anybody when they’re not on the job. I don’t know how Paupau does it.

  The cousins probably know where I am, but they know enough to not come calling. I thought maybe Lupita would. I ran into her during that first week when I was still banging bandas’ heads together, wandering around el entre in my spare time.

  She wasn’t like she used to be. There was a wall between us now. Something in her eyes that I couldn’t quite name. I’d almost say it was guilt, but what has she got to feel guilty about? It’s more likely she’s just scared of what I’ve become.

  I haven’t seen her since.

  It’s better this way.

  I’ve seen Rita, too. It was the night I stopped a half-dozen bikers wearing 66 colors from coming into the Barrio Histórico. I guess they’d come to check out things for themselves, maybe claim the old Presidio Kings’ territory for themselves. I was in a bad mood—I’d been thinking about Anna all day—so I was probably rougher on them than I needed to be. I broke a few arms, gave one guy a concussion, trashed all their bikes.

  I stood there watching them flee, stumbling in the dirt of the dry riverbed, when I became aware of Rita stan
ding nearby. On some level, I’d known she was there all along, but I’d been working on keeping a bit of a filter over things. I want to be a flesh-and-blood alarm system, just letting bandas business alert me. I don’t need to know what Anna’s doing, or where she’s going. I don’t need to know how busy it is at La Maravilla or that Tío’s still keeping a room for me in his house. Lupita might be crying in her bedroom, but that isn’t any of my business. None of it is.

  Just the ’bangers. Just keeping everybody safe.

  “Well, look at you,” Rita said. “Once you commit, you go all the way.”

  My gaze stayed on the bandas, climbing up the crumbling side of the bank on the other side of the dry riverbed.

  “I’m thinking I should deal with the problems north of the river,” I said.

  “That’s Jesus Abarca’s territory,” Rita said.

  I turned to look at her. “And he’s, what? Their version of Señora Elena?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, he’s not doing such a good job, is he?”

  Rita hesitated for a moment, then she asked, “Didn’t your grandmother teach you that you can’t fix everything?”

  “She didn’t teach me anything that had any kind of clarity.”

  “Well, you don’t move into somebody else’s territory unless they ask you for help. Abarca is from an old desert fox clan, and sure you could take him, but you’re going to tick off a lot of people if you do. All you’ll really accomplish is to piss away the support you’ve built up among the cousins.”

  I turn my attention back to where the bandas disappeared. I can’t see them on the other side of the river the way I can here. It’s only when they come sneaking back into the south barrios.

  “I look across this river,” I say, “which I still think is a stupid thing to call it, since most of the time it isn’t even a river, and all I see is a place where the bandas can hide out in between sneaking down here and causing trouble.”

  “And I’ll tell you one last time, you can’t fix everything. That’s not the way it works. Maybe you dragons can hold a big territory, but you need to be a part of it, too. The thinner you spread yourself, the less good you’ll do.”

  “I don’t know. . . .”

  “Most people would appreciate the peace instead of constantly looking for more trouble.”

  “It’s not that.”

  I don’t quite know how to explain. The bandas are a problem I can understand. I know how to deal with them. But there are lots of other little things going on and I don’t know if I’m supposed to handle them, too, or what. A guy arguing with his girlfriend. That could escalate, but do I step in right away, or do I wait till something actually happens, if it even does? Or what about kids fighting in a school yard? Or the guy that loses his job and comes home to his family all liquored up?

  Where do I draw the line? I know where Paupau did. She only dealt with the problems that were brought to her. Except that seems so reactive. Why not deal with problems before somebody actually gets hurt?

  Only that doesn’t seem right, either. So a guy goes out and gets drunk. That doesn’t mean he’s going to beat on his family when he gets home. So a couple are fighting. That doesn’t mean it’s going to escalate beyond angry words.

  It seems so much easier to just go across the river and take on a new bunch of gangbangers.

  “You have to be part of the community,” Rita said. “Do you think Señora Elena just sat around in her house all day?”

  That brought me back.

  “Actually, I do,” I said. “I know she’s doing it right now.”

  “That’s only because she’s still learning to deal with being cut off from her connection to everything. Before that she was always out and around.”

  “She was just sitting in her living room when you took me by the other morning.”

  “That’s because she was expecting you.” I could hear the exasperation in her voice, see it in her face. “Otherwise she’d probably have been at the taquería with her cronies, having some tea.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not her.”

  She shook her head. “Jay, you’re hopeless. What happened to the kid I first met—you know, the one with all the personality?”

  I shrugged. “I can’t turn back the clock. This is what I am now.”

  “Now I understand why Lupita is so depressed.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Look at you,” she said. “I wanted to get rid of El Tigre and the bandas and I knew you could do it. But I didn’t think it would turn you into a humorless robot.”

  “You said something about Lupita.”

  “That’s right. I convinced her to help me get you moving against El Tigre. I told her how it would be better for you and the barrio if you could connect with your dragon blood. That’s why she helped. So think how she feels about how this all turned out.”

  “You wanted a yellow dragon. Don’t complain now because you don’t like what I am.”

  She gave me a weary shake of the head.

  “Let me leave you with this,” she said. “If you don’t actually experience the world, if you can’t appreciate it for its beauty and the joy that can come from your part in it, you’re going to turn into something just as bad as El Tigre.”

  And then she stepped away into el entre.

  I looked across the river and wondered about Jesus Abarca. Maybe I should give him a warning that if he didn’t clean up his act, I’d have to do it for him.

  Instead I did what I guess dragons do: found myself a lair in this old abandoned shopping mall. Except I don’t have any treasure to guard. The only gold I have is part of the image of the dragon on my back.

  I didn’t realize what a good brooder I was until I started living in the Ghost Mall. My life’s pretty much this simple routine: I eat at taquerías on the north side where I won’t be recognized, paying for my meals with leftover money that I took from the bandas. Late at night, I’ll often walk through the barrios, from East Pueblo through Barrio Histórica, from Solona down into South Presidio.

  Sometimes I stop outside Tío’s house. The dogs will come up the fence to look at me, but I don’t talk to them, and I don’t go in.

  Other times I’ll find myself outside of Anna’s parents’ house. If Anna’s practicing, her music makes me ache. But the dragon doesn’t care. The dragon doesn’t care about anything except our responsibility to keep the barrios safe.

  Mostly I just sit in the central court of the Ghost Mall. That leaves me plenty of time to feel sorry for myself.

  One day, close to two weeks after that morning at El Conquistador, I sense the arrival of someone familiar. I’m aware of her as soon as she gets off the plane, and I track her as she makes her way through the city from the airport, across the dry San Pedro River, through the Barrio Histórico, through East Pueblo, all the way to the fence surrounding the Ghost Mall. She stands there for a long time, before she ducks through one of the holes in the chain link and picks her way around the junked cars and trash to the mall. Soon I can hear the sound of her shoes in the marble hallway, as well as being able to track her passage on the medicine wheel I’ve got in my head.

  She finds me in the central court, sitting cross-legged on the rim of what was once a fountain. I don’t say anything.

  “” she finally asks me.

  “What does it look like?” I say, refusing to speak Mandarin. “I’m being a dragon.”

  “A dragon doesn’t hide in a place of squalor such as this.”

  “Yeah, well, things are different now from what it was like in the old country. It’s time you got used to it.”

  “Shame on you. Such disrespect.”

  “Maybe I’d feel differently if you hadn’t turned me into this thing I am now.”

  “The blood of the Yellow Dragon Clan is a gift. Can you not see all the good you have already done in this place?”

  I shake my head. “Sure. It’s good for the barrios,
but what about me? I don’t want to sound selfish, but when do I ever get a piece of my life to live for myself?”

  “You have a duty to—”

  I cut her off. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard all that a million times. But I’ve gotten rid of the problems here, so what am I supposed to do now? You ask why I live in this place, well, where the hell else would I live?”

  “In the community, so that its residents can easily come to you with their problems.”

  It’s funny. One of her looks used to have me shaking in my sneakers. Now I don’t care.

  “So now I’m supposed to interact with other people?” I say. “You spend the last six years making sure I don’t have a friend, that I don’t live any kind of a normal life, and now you say I’m supposed to be a part of the community? Just how does that work?”

  “You seemed to be doing well enough before your confrontation with that drug lord and his gangsters.”

  “We’ve got gangs in Chicago,” I say. “We’ve got gangsters and all kinds of crap. How come you don’t deal with them the way I did here?”

  “The place we protect is not in service to us,” she says. “We are in service to it. When we are needed, we will know. Or someone will come forward and request our aid. It is not up to us to judge right or wrong, only to keep the peace.”

  “But—”

  “Yes, there is evil in Chicago. There is evil everywhere. But so long as the peace is kept, people need to be allowed to make their own choices. We serve the emperor.”

  “There are no more emperors.”

  She nods. “In that you are mistaken. Now our emperors are the spirits of the places we have chosen to protect.”

  “Yeah, that sounds great, except I’m the spirit of this place now. So I guess my job is to protect myself.”

  She sighs. “You have done very well for yourself here, grandson. You took up the challenge you were given and you came forth wearing the mantle of one of the Yellow Dragon Clan. I am very proud of you. But you are not the emperor. Yellow dragons are never emperors. We serve; we do not rule.”