The blankets and shawls, combined with the extra corn, would help keep things going but there still wouldn’t be much money. Not enough. The twins needed new dresses. His little brothers Ernesto and Cesar spent most of their time barefoot, running around town in ragged clothes. The family rarely ate meat. Felix had a part-time job, a couple nights a week, at the bar, cleaning tables and mopping floors. But still, there never was enough. They were always behind, running as fast as they could, trying to catch up with the moving train of their lives but always just a step or two away from jumping on board for the ride.
Felix handed out the water. His mother smiled and thanked him. He knew that, like his sisters, she was once a great beauty but now her face was sunken and deeply lined. This harsh life had aged her well beyond her forty-five years.
Maria snatched her water out of his hand, spilling a little on her blouse, and drank the cup down in one long gulp. Magdalena took hers gently and thanked him.
What would happen to his sisters? There hadn’t really been any suitors. In fact, neither one of them had ever had a boyfriend but that was probably because both girls were very shy with strangers and they rarely left the house. They didn’t seem to mind; they had each other. Sometimes Felix worried about how isolated they were but usually he was thankful. Half the girls in the village were pregnant by the time they were fourteen, many of them abandoned by their secret lovers, left in shame to raise the child alone.
Ernesto, the youngest brother, was inside the single room house, singing a nonsense song and pretending to sweep the floor. He was only four years old, and not very efficient in his chores, but he tried to pitch in. In another year he could start school with his brother. But Cesar would be in the fifth grade. Where would the money come from for his expenses? They’d have to figure something out. The government paid for everything through the fourth grade and then the family was responsible for books and uniforms. That’s why most kids dropped out. Felix picked up his stepstool and was heading inside to help Ernesto when the shiny black truck pulled up in front.
Julio Duarte, cousin Julio, had been in town a week, driving around in that gigantic lifted truck, with the darkened windows and the fancy black rims, blasting the bass on his stereo so everyone could hear his thumping music. He was Felix’s cousin but they hadn’t seen each other in a few years.
Julio parked, opened the door, perched for a second on the running board, and jumped down. He too was a short man and Felix was looking forward to watching him scramble back up into that towering vehicle when the visit was over. Would he need to borrow the little stepstool? Or did he carry a rope ladder in that mammoth truck? Julio was three years older than Felix and had been a bully all his life.
“Mi primo!” Julio bellowed. He always spoke in a voice just this side of a shout, as if a thunderous verbalization would balance out his elfin stature. He wore black jeans, an embroidered black satin cowboy shirt, black snakeskin boots and a black belt with a silver buckle the size of a horseshoe. These were the clothes of a rich man and they rendered Julio almost unrecognizable.
“?Como estas?” Julio pulled Felix into a hug and slapped him on the back with all his strength. “You look good, my friend. Very good.”
Julio spotted Felix’s mother and sisters. He strutted over to the side of the house, shouting his hellos. The twins blushed and mother smiled as she reached up and patted his arm but none of them stopped their weaving and Felix could tell they were very uncomfortable to be talking to this now unrecognizable relative. Julio patted the girls on the head, saying something about breathtaking beauty, then took Felix by the arm and led him to the truck.
“Climb in. I have some very good news for you.”
Felix followed Julio. There was a new irrefutable sense of authority about him but also something dangerous. Felix didn’t want any trouble. With some difficulty, he hoisted himself up into the passenger seat and put on his seatbelt. The leather interior was beautiful. It smelled rich and clean. It was a foreign world inside that truck.
A few years earlier, Julio’s family had been one of the poorest in the village, barely making ends meet by working with the illegal loggers in the forest around Morelia. Logging had supported them for generations. But the butterfly activists from the north had swooped down and stopped the logging, declaring that butterflies need the pine and oyamel trees to survive. Scientists made speeches in the square and some American politicians came down to have their pictures taken. The trees must be protected at all costs because the butterflies must live. And so they stopped the logging and even jailed a few of the men because of butterflies. Suddenly Julio’s family was out of work and relying on handouts from equally poor neighbors. Things couldn’t have been more desperate. Then one day Julio took off. No one knew where he was for three years although there were rumors about the cartel. Now he was back.
Julio turned the key and the radio blasted to life. He turned it down, revved the engine, then pulled out onto the dirt road and proceeded to drive up and down the streets of the small town, windows rolled down so everyone could see who was inside, and laid out his proposal.
The cartels had been running Michoacan, and most of Mexico, for years. The drug business was violent and ugly. Bad news. Felix and his family had managed to stay off the radar because they’d been poor, useless, invisible, but everyone knew what they were capable of. Felix had been working that night at Sol y Sombra, bussing tables and mopping floors, when about twenty men came in, shot their guns off into the ceiling, and dumped the five bloody heads in the middle of the dance floor. Blood. That’s all Felix could think about as he stood there in the doorway to the kitchen. How was he going to clean up the blood? He was the janitor. The men were yelling something over the music but later he couldn’t remember what they’d said. They dumped the heads out of a black plastic trash bag and they thudded and skittered across the floor. There was a meaty smell. Felix thought he recognized one of the shouting men, had seen him driving around town, but he kept his eyes down and tried to be invisible. They’d yelled a warning, something about lessons learned and following the right course. Then they laughed and walked out of the bar, casually, with the indifference of jackals.
The heads didn’t look real but of course they were. All men. Felix saw that two of them had their eyes open and their tongues cut out, he didn’t look at the other three.
The police came, took away the heads, and then it was his job to mop up. How do you clean up blood? There was-n’t that much but it had seeped into the cement. He got all the rags from the kitchen and covered the floor, sopped up the wetness, and threw them in the trash can. Next he filled a bucket with water and bleach, 50/50. It stung his eyes and burned his throat but he had to get rid of that smell, make it all go away forever, and erase what had happened here. He mopped that floor three times, changing the bleach-water with each pass. By the end he was coughing and his eyes were streaming tears but the meaty-blood smell was gone.
Julio parked the truck by the church, turned off the engine, and started to talk. He presented the job as a wonderful opportunity, a favor he was offering his dear cousin, one that would render Felix forever indebted. Lucky, lucky Felix. The “organization” would bring him across the border safely and in exchange he would work for them, a few months in a garden, then he’d be free to either stay in the States or return home. What could be better? They promised to pay $10,000. Julio didn’t say exactly what Felix would be growing but he talked a lot about farming and made flattering remarks about his abilities. Felix knew. Growing marijuana up in the States cut down on transportation and smuggling fees. The borders were much tighter since 9/11. All the cartels were working in the north. And $10,000 would change Felix’s life; it would change the lives of his whole family. There was no real work in his village beyond what he was already doing, no way to get ahead in Michoacan. No matter how hard he tried, he’d be lucky to break even. All the young people were leaving for the States, half of them getting tossed back by the border patrol, som
e of them disappearing forever into the desert without a trace. Felix had thought about going himself but didn’t have money to pay a coyote and there was no way to earn it. His mother was getting old, father dead, sisters unmarried, Cesar and Ernesto were too young to earn. Julio really was doing the entire family a favor by offering the job. Of course Felix had to take it.
Julio told Felix to be ready. He could be leaving in two days or two weeks. Someone would come and let him know when the time was right. He dropped Felix in front of that one room house, beeped the horn, and drove away. His mother and sisters stared at him, obviously curious, but Felix ignored them. He walked inside and sat down on the cot. He’d never been outside of this town, never been anywhere. He had no idea what was coming. He just knew that nothing would ever be the same and he hoped that was a good thing.
Violeta exploded in rage when Felix told her he was leaving to go work up north. She stamped her foot and shook her head, bull-like and mean. She had a volcanic temper and there was always a danger that she might slug him if she got too wound up. Usually she went for his arm, hitting hard and leaving a bruise, but sometimes she’d get him in a headlock and pummel him so that his scalp was lumpy and sore for days. Once she hauled off and socked him in the nose. It didn’t break but he’d had a bad nosebleed and ruined one of his only good shirts. Violeta apologized that time, but that was the only time. She was never sorry about hurting him. And so now, while he explained to her his reasons for accepting this job, he was trying to keep as much distance between them as possible. He didn’t want to get hurt.
They were standing in the living room of her parents’ home. Violeta’s father was the groundskeeper for the church and graveyard and her mother did all the housekeeping for the priest. They were a relatively prosperous family. Felix thought that the father and mother didn’t really approve of his relationship with Violeta. He was a poor boy without many prospects. But Violeta was a handful. For one thing she was big, taller than most men, with meaty hands and feet. She weighed about two hundred pounds. Felix thought she was beautiful. He liked big women, the stronger the better. Most of the men he knew preferred little delicate things, like his sisters, but as far as he was concerned, Violeta was the most beautiful woman on earth. There hadn’t been a lot of suitors before he started courting her and Felix suspected that this was why the parents tolerated a peasant like himself.
“Are you crazy?” Violeta balled her hands into tight fists. Her face was feverishly red. “What about ME?”
There was a lavender couch and matching armchairs, in the middle of the room, arranged around a large TV that was tuned to one of the many telenovelas that Violeta liked to watch. The floor was a checkerboard of purple and green tiles and was always immaculately clean. There were paintings of the Lord Jesus on the walls and several religious icons on the coffee table. The couch and chairs were covered in thick clear plastic to protect the upholstery. Violeta and her mother took great pride in their home.
Felix stood behind the couch, ready to dart into the kitchen if need be, and Violeta was in front of the TV. If she wanted to hit him, she’d have to climb over the couch. Felix didn’t think she’d do that; no one in that house would dream of putting their feet on the furniture.
“Traitor.” Violeta was still talking in a harsh whisper because she didn’t want her mother to hear but Felix was pretty sure that screaming was just around the corner.
“Please, my love,” Felix said.
“You probably think I’m going to wait for you?” With both hands, she picked up a large ceramic statue of the Virgin of Guadalupe and pointed it at him like a battering ram.
“It’s only four or five months.” Felix was watching her closely. That particular virgin was heavy. If she threw it, and it hit his head, it could probably kill him. “You know I love you. I’ll bring you nice presents from Los Angeles or San Diego.”
Violeta started to raise the virgin over her head.
“Marry me.” Felix was just as shocked by these words as she. He’d had no idea that he was going to propose but once he’d said it, it seemed like a pretty good idea. Why not? He loved her. “I’ll have money when I come back. We can start a life.”
Violeta transformed in an instant, all the anger disappeared. She had the most heartbreakingly beautiful dimples when she smiled. Felix felt his body relax. She replaced the statue on the table, came around the couch, and wrapped Felix in her strong fleshy arms. He swooned as he sank into her body, warm and protected. He would miss her, miss his life here, but it was temporary and when he came back they could live their lives together, always together. He nuzzled her mammoth breasts, inhaling her molasses scent, and felt himself ignite with desire. This was the most exciting woman he had ever known and standing here, with the pulse beating through his body, he knew that he’d made the right decision.
BACK TO FRANK
FRANK LIKED TO WEAR HIS GREEN WELLINGTONS WHEN HE walked the vineyard. For some reason they made him think of Scotland, tradition, a man and his land. True, they got pretty steamy in hot weather but they looked authentic and those high rubber boots were the best protection he could think of against rattlesnake bites. Frank was terrified of snakes, all snakes, but he’d never admit that to a living soul. Instead he made the Wellingtons into a sort of uniform and he walked more confidently as a result. He pulled on the boots and checked his cell phone again. No messages. Ellis wasn’t going to call him back. He should just turn the damn thing off and forget it. Fuck her.
He walked out the kitchen door and down to the vines. He took a deep breath of the air he owned and tried to relish the open space and the smell of nature. All his life, Frank had felt claustrophobic living in the city. He was convinced that if he could just get to the right place, find the exact right location and lifestyle, all the anxiety and stress would melt away. He thought that moving to the country, producing his own wine, living off the land, would make him feel free and happy. And it had for a while. When they first got here Frank felt jubilant, like he was finally home. Fucking Ellis, evil fucking bitch.
It was foggy, wet and cold. This was supposed to be the sunny part of the year. It was the time when the grapes would take hold, their distinct flavors mature. As he walked the rows of his pinot grapes he worried. Fog was not part of the game plan. What would this do to the flavor? What about mold and mildew? Rot? Frank took a deep breath; he had to calm down. It’d only been a couple of days. Everything should be fine. He’d call his consultant Wallace Banks and have him come and take a look, just to make sure. $600 an hour but it was worth it. Frank was still new to the game and terrified of making a mistake. He would get the hang of this eventually.
He walked on and tried to lose himself in the neat geometry of the vines. The thing he needed was a dog, a real big dog, loyal and devoted, who could accompany him on his rounds. Janice and the kids had those fluffy white things but those weren’t dogs, they were coyote food. No, Frank needed some sort of Shepherd or Chocolate Lab or maybe something part wolf, one of those smart animals that would chew off its own leg to save his owner. His name would be Cisco or Buck. They could be constant companions. The dog would sit on the beach and watch Frank surf, ride shotgun in the car, sleep at the foot of the bed. Yeah, a dog would help.
Frank headed over to the eastern slope to check the chardonnay grapes and saw that the deer had broken through the electric fence again last night. God, he hated deer. Those days when he thought of them as beautiful animals, majestic and graceful, were long gone. They were pests, same as rats and ground squirrels. He heard that some of the other vineyard owners were shooting deer. It was risky in this area, where every damn thing was protected, and hunting carried a huge fine, but Frank was thinking it might be worth it. Would a couple of dead deer stop the influx? He took out his pad and made a note to have Juan repair the fence line and check the electrical charge.
Fucking Ellis. Couldn’t she just get out of his head for a single moment? Did she have to take up all the space? Frank turned
and looked back at his beautiful house, shrouded in fog, where his perfect wife and kids were having breakfast and asked himself: Was Ellis really worth it? There were a lot of things about her that were off. Really weird things that pointed to a dark place which he didn’t have the tools to understand. For instance: Ellis carried a picture of her father. She showed it to Frank that first time they had lunch. He was standing on a beach in his trunks, tanned and smiling, twenty, maybe twenty-five years old. He was a handsome man, no doubt about it, but why did Ellis have this picture? This was a man whom she’d never met. It would be another five years, at least, before Ellis came into the world. Ellis carried a picture of a stranger, a ghost of the person she once knew. (Her father was dead now, gone over fifteen years.) Why not carry a picture of the man who she could remember, the father with whom she’d shared her life?
She also carried a picture of herself taken when she was just a kid, probably seven or eight. She was a beautiful little girl but it wasn’t a particularly good photo, just one of those stupid yearbook-type headshots with her standing in front of a powder-blue backdrop. Why did she have that in her wallet—a picture of herself long gone? It was weird, didn’t make any sense.
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