Authors: Antonio Ruiz-Camacho
“That’s a possibility, but anyway. What else did she say?
Supposedly
.”
“She said, ‘One day, you’ll come to the kitchen and find out the little guy’s body is gone. Perhaps you’ll find the meat fork tossed aside, or you won’t. But it’ll have disappeared. Don’t ask me to explain how it happens, my dear, because I can’t. I can only tell you
it works
. After that you won’t hear more noises for a couple months.”
“That wasn’t an old lady. That was a
fucking ninja
.”
“Swear to God I’m not making it up, Homero. After that she jotted down the brand of traps on a scrap of paper and handed it to me. Here. Look.”
“That’s awesome. Anyway, I’m not setting up any fucking
Tomcat snap trap
or stabbing anything any time soon.”
“That’s what I told her.”
“And what did she say?”
“She whispered, as if we were part of some plot, ‘I know that the idea of harming those little guys sounds revolting, my dear. It was hard for me to bring myself to do it the first time. I mean,
me
killing a poor creature! I donate to PETA! I’m against animal testing! Dogfighting! Bullfighting! Starbucks! Republicans! But I had no choice. It was either me or them. If one of those fellas gets its way with you, you’ll be in trouble. They are rabid and heartless, to say the least. Take my advice,
my dear. You don’t want to end up in some lousy ER in Lower Manhattan just because you took mercy on one of those nasty creatures, especially
in
your situation
, do you?’ ”
“What did she mean by that?”
“Who the hell knows!”
“Didn’t you ask?”
“How could I? I was speechless, Homero! I was just trying to grasp the whole fucking thing!”
• • •
“How did you like the tacos?”
“They were disgusting. But I guess I’d better get used to them.”
“I know. Food sucks.
Here
, of all places.”
“Mom called while you were out, by the way.”
“Really?”
“No, not really. I just made it up for fucking shit’s sake. Look at the phone.”
“What did she say?”
“That she’s been checking out the credit card, and that you’ve got to stop.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Not kidding you, dude. She said we need to start being cautious with money ’cause she didn’t know how much longer we’d need to stay here. That’s the word she used.
Cautious
.”
“That’s nonsense. Why would she say that?”
“’Cause the shit hit the fan big-time? I told you, chimp. She said she and Dad are coming over, probably as soon as next week. I asked if we were all going home right after, and she said no. She said that they were looking for a place for the four of us to stay, that they were checking out houses online in Connecticut, ’cause it’s cheaper than the city.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.”
“Am I fucking laughing?”
• • •
“What about Grandpa? Did she say anything about him?”
“No.”
“Did you ask her?”
“What do you think?”
“So?”
“She changed the subject. She wanted to know how we were liking the apartment. She said Philippe had told them we’d love its
shabby-chic-ness
. Go fucking figure.”
“Did you tell her it’s a fucking
shabby-chic
mess
?”
“Seriously, dude, no more pills for you. That shit’s dumbing you down. Grandpa’s probably dead already. God only knows what’s going on at home. Do you really think Mom and Dad could give a fuck about this filthy joint right now? We’re not going back, Ximena! We’re staying here
for good
! Do you fucking get it? Do you?”
“Don’t yell at me.”
“Then stop talking like someone squeezed your stupid brain up your fucking fat ass, moron!”
• • •
“You’re not the only one freaking out, okay?”
“But I seem to be the only one still trying to think straight.”
“Your problem is that you’re so scared you’re probably peeing in your pants right now, but you’ll never admit it.”
“And what’s your problem with that?”
“That I’m here too. And you’re making me feel lonely as shit.”
• • •
“Are you sure we’ll be fine? That last headache was a bitch, man.”
“Yeah, I’ve tried these before. We’ll be good.”
“I don’t know why I still trust you.”
• • •
“You there, chimp?”
“Here. What.”
“One day, we’ll go back to the past, you know?”
“How’s that?”
“Everything will be like it used to be. Not like, a month ago, but
way
back. Back to how it should have been in the first place. Ancient and natural and . . .
correct
.”
“We’ll be so doomed by then. We’ll be history, dude. We’ll be done already.”
“Nah, we’ll still be around. It’ll happen sooner than you think. Everybody will be like, ‘
What the fuck?
’ and no one will be able to make sense of any of it.
No one
will be able to explain how it happened, and everybody will be so fucking scared they will all want to shit in their pants. But they won’t.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause we’ll be there to say, ‘
Chill
. It’s okay to be afraid. We’ll be fine.’ ”
• • •
“Ximena?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What is it about guys that freaks you out?”
“Like you really want to know.”
“Fine. But then don’t come to me complaining that I don’t listen to your shit.”
• • •
“Dicks. Just their dicks, okay?”
“What about them?”
“Carla and Michelle and everybody else are now totally into them, as though they were
collecting
them. I didn’t want to feel left out.”
“Got it. So you went and had some. And . . .”
“It was gross.”
“What about boobs?”
“I’m not a lesbian, asshole, if that’s what you’re trying to say.”
“Wouldn’t be the end of the world. What’s the problem with liking boobs?”
“That I really wanted to like guys.”
• • •
“Does Grandpa really ask you about girls all the time?”
“He’s
relentless
.”
“That’s gross.”
“Remember the time he made a business trip to São Paulo over spring break and I went with him?”
“Uh-huh.”
“One night, after dinner, his colleagues went to a nightclub. Grandpa said he was tired, but that I should go. I said okay, thinking that we’d just have caipirinhas, dance samba with beautiful garotas, you know? We got to the club, and a woman at the entrance asked if I was going to get
full service
. Before I could answer, one of his colleagues said that I was, and paid for me. I looked at him, all confused. He just patted me on the back and said, ‘Don’t worry, son. Your old man asked me to take care of you.’ ”
“Oh. My. God.”
“A girl picked me up at the table and took me to a private room. I kind of wanted to like it, you know? But when she got naked and started to do her thing, I felt so uncomfortable and
disgusted,
I thought I was going to barf. I told her that I wasn’t really in the mood, and asked if she didn’t mind that we stayed there for a while so everybody would think we had a good time.”
• • •
“Homero?”
“Yes, chimp.”
“Do you know how much I admire you?”
“You’re high, dude. Try to get some sleep.”
• • •
“Homero?”
“Uh-oh. She’s still alive. Those damn pills didn’t work after all.”
“What part of your body do you like the most?”
“Whoa. She’s alive
and
asking brilliant questions. My fists, I guess.”
“Really? Why?”
“I don’t know. I clench my hands into fists and they look like someone else’s. You?”
“They’re there. The rats. Do you hear them?”
“Yeah, I do. Answer me.”
“Let me think of a
feminine
version of your fists.
My earlobes
?”
“Does it hurt, to pierce your ears?”
“Only if you think about it.”
• • •
“Those fucking rats are there again, Homero. What are we gonna do about them?”
“There’s nothing we can do about them, chimp.”
“Shouldn’t we try
something
?”
“We should get wings. We should get a couple tattoos at one of those parlors on St. Mark’s. Something
sick
. Mom and Dad will freak out. They’ll think we’ve become fucking Maras when they see us.”
“It’s not funny, Homero. What if the neighbor was right? What if those fucking rats find their way through, and get to us? Are we just gonna sit here and do
nothing
? I’m serious, man.”
“I am too. We’re taking over Manhattan, chimp, like the
fucking
Muppets. Those pussy rats are getting owned. We’re getting tattoos. Tomorrow, first thing in the morning. Big ones. Across our backs. A fucking thousand badass wings sticking out of our spines, reaching for the goddamn sky.”
DEERS
When I got to work that morning there were a bunch of police cars and fire trucks and vans from TV outside the McDonald’s, and my shift mates were there too, behind a yellow tape that read AUSTIN POLICE DEPARTMENT DO NOT TRESPASS, trying to get a peek of what was going on inside, including Conchita; she was on her toes because she was short like me, and when I tapped on her shoulder she turned and shrieked, “Susy girl!” and we hugged real tight, and she said, “Susy girl, you’re not gonna believe what’s happening inside,” and I said, “Conchita, what’s going on?” really worried because, you know, when I saw those police cars, those cops around, I thought, This can’t be good, this is trouble, I started thinking, I probably should go home and start looking for another job, but Conchita already knew how to read me; she already knew about my fears so she looked into my eyes, grabbed my arm, and whispered, “Relax, Susy girl, it’s not what you’re thinking,” and I just smiled, still nervous, though, because I get nervous every time cops are around, but also relieved because I trusted Conchita and I knew that if she said, “Relax,” I could, things would be okay; she’d earned my trust a
few months before, the day there was a raid at my apartment complex and Conchita heard about it on the radio on her way to work, and when she saw me walk into the restaurant the next day she ran to me and hugged me tight and stroked my hair like she was my mother or something, and whispered in my ear, “I was so worried for you, Susy girl,” and she looked so relieved that it got me thinking, One of these days I’ll run out of luck and perhaps Conchita won’t see me come to work the next day, and then I thought of my little ones, my Pedro and my Santiago and my Adrián, I wondered who’d call them back in Cuévano to let them know their mother had been arrested, perhaps Conchita would but I didn’t know how she could because she wouldn’t know what number to call, and the next time I saw Conchita I gave her the number of my mother’s house, but she said, “Don’t be silly, Susy girl, you’ve got more lives than a cat!” and hugged me tight, and it felt good, not only that we hugged but that I had someone to trust; so this time around I whispered in her ear, “If it’s nothing bad, then what’s with all these cops and all these fire trucks and the whole thing?” and Conchita giggled hard, she got this funny face, I didn’t know if she was going to cry or laugh or what; you know that face; imagine if the Virgin Mary showed up like, Bam! out of the blue in front of you, and you were like, Whoa! but also like, Wow! and, Yikes!, all at the same time; that was the face Conchita got, and then she said, “They say there’s a bear inside the place, Susy girl!” and she got real funny now, she stopped talking but her eyes kept shining and this reminded me of my Pedro and my Santiago and my Adrián; I remembered their faces when they were younger, before I had to leave Mexico City with Doña Laura and her family, when I’d visit them on my weekends off with cotton candy and chocolate bars that I’d buy at the bus terminal in Mexico City, they’d
be waiting for me by the road because they missed me, I hope, but also because they knew I always had something sweet for them, and so I’d step off the bus with three cotton candies like a bouquet of hydrangeas in my hand, and there they’d be, all groomed by my mother, smelling fresh and clean like they were babies again, shining from head to toe, beaming like waterfalls, ready to kiss me and get their mouths sticky and full of sugar, but anyway; Conchita stood there, looking deep into my eyes with this funny and serious and silly and shiny face, explaining that a bear had taken over the McDonald’s where we worked; she said it like it was for real but I couldn’t help feeling she was kidding me, so I waited a couple seconds for her to say something else but she didn’t; meanwhile the noises grew louder and louder around us, sirens of fire trucks and patrol cars howling and police talking on walkie-talkies and mobs of onlookers gossiping about this bear everybody insisted was inside; they were trying to guess where he’d come from, and one of them said he heard a circus was in town; “What if he’s a runaway circus slave who has decided to stop putting on the same show every night?” he said; somebody else said the bear could have come from one of the big houses nearby; “Yeah, one of those huge mansions up in the hills, rich people are just getting richer,” somebody else said, “and you know what happens when people lose track of how much they have, they start doing crazy things like keeping bears as pets,” he said, which made me imagine the bear caged inside a big house, like the one where I lived with Doña Laura and her family for a few months until one day, out of the blue, she got mad and kicked me out; I imagined the bear alone, forced to live in a strange place surrounded only by humans; I wondered if this was a young or an old bear, if he missed the company of other bears or if bears didn’t have those feelings, if they
were lucky in that way; “What if he’s not a bear but a coyote or a mountain lion?” somebody else said, “people are so ignorant about animals these days, especially if they went to public schools,” he said; “Hey, what’s wrong with public education?” someone else replied, “If you think like that then you’re part of the problem!” she said; the onlookers were saying all these things I didn’t understand, they remained outside the restaurant and wouldn’t leave, like the rest of us, but unlike them, we did have a reason to be there because we worked there; they just wanted to spot the bear like it was Brad Pitt or Enrique Iglesias so they could go crazy all over him, ask for an autograph, take a picture with him, and Conchita didn’t speak for so long I started to feel something was off with her, because when everything around us was loud and unbearable, silence would bring us peace; that we knew from experience, because a few months back, weeks after that raid at my complex, Conchita didn’t come to work for a few days and when she finally showed up she looked like a tractor had run her over, and when she arrived we only had time to hug but not to talk, so I looked for her at lunch break and asked her, “Conchita, what happened? Are you all right?” and she stayed there, leaning against the storage door like her mind was somewhere else, her silence longer than Lent, and I thought she didn’t want to talk so I turned to leave but then she mumbled, “Don’t go, Susy girl, please,” and when I turned back she told me what had happened to Jonathan, her youngest, the one she called Jon; how she and her family had gone out for a picnic by the Colorado River on Saturday and she’d told the kids, “Don’t go in the river because the water is traicionera!” but they wouldn’t listen, “They never listen to me,” Conchita said, and the family was alone when Jon went under and they didn’t want to call 911 even though they could, because that was always a prob
lem, “Police see you moreno and dressed like my kids do, and they only think ganga, they only think mojados, they start asking silly questions instead of moving their asses to help you out,” Conchita said, and when they finally called 911 the police couldn’t find him, they looked for Jon through the night, they kept looking for him the next day, Sunday, and on Monday and Tuesday too; and Conchita’s last words to him were, “Don’t go in the water! Jon! Jon! Are you sordo o qué? Güerco malcriado, come back here!” but she didn’t have a chance to say goodbye, she didn’t give him a hug or bury him because Jon’s body was never found, and she told me all this really fast, like she had to tell it ra-ta-ta-ta-ta or else she couldn’t, and after she said all that she stayed there, quietly by the storage door, and I did too, our mouths shut; then I opened my arms and she let herself go like Jesus falling off the cross; I wrapped her in the tightest hug, her body heavy in my arms, and we remained like that for a while until lunch break was over and the manager came by and nagged us to go back to work; so this time around I thought something similar was going on with Conchita and that was why she wasn’t talking, but curiosity was killing me already; I wanted to know more about this bear, so I said, “What do you mean there’s a bear inside the place, Conchita?” and she replied, “I swear to God they say it’s a bear, Susy girl! A real bear, like Yogi Bear, you know?” and I said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Conchita,” and she said, “You must’ve seen that show, Susy girl! Yogi Bear, remember? A bear that lives in a national park in California and he’s a
real
bear, and he’s real nice and goofy, and he wears a hat and a tie, and he goes nuts craving picnic meals all the time? Don’t tell me you didn’t see that show, Susy girl!” and I got dizzy because I had no idea what she was talking about and I didn’t know what craving meant exactly
either; I’d just came from Mexico with Doña Laura and her family the year before and English was a nightmare to learn; every time people would say something I didn’t get, I’d feel embarrassed to admit I had no clue, I felt like my head was gonna explode, but Conchita had helped me a lot already, she’d been real sweet to me, so I let go; “Sorry, Conchita, but it’s the first time in my life I’ve heard about that bear,” I said, and she looked at me like I was kidding her; “C’mon, Susy girl, everybody,
everybody
, knows Yogi!” and I said, “Well, I guess that’s here, but back in Cuévano we didn’t have that show, you know, our TV at home had only one channel and we just watched soap operas and
La Carabina de Ambrosio
and
Chabelo
and
Siempre en Domingo
but no shows with bears; ask me anything about actresses and singers, Gina Montes, Verónica Castro, Victoria Ruffo, or Carmen Montejo if you like, but don’t ask me about goofy bears that wear hats,” I said, and Conchita cracked up like what I’d just said was a good joke; I felt that every time I said something dumb I made her laugh; I felt that that was the reason she liked to call me Susy girl; like she knew I found shelter in the tone of her voice, especially if she had to explain something the manager had said in a meeting, because the manager, oh God; he’d speak so fast, he’d barely open his mouth and I wouldn’t get what he said most of the time; Conchita would only need to look at my face, she’d crack up and whisper in my ear, “Don’t worry, Susy girl, I’ll explain it to you later,” and so Conchita did it again this time; “Okay, let’s start from scratch, Susy girl, forget what I said about Yogi, okay? They say there’s a real bear inside the place, a real grizzly bear! Apparently he’s big and hungry as hell, because I heard that when the cops got here they spotted him in the back, by the storage, you know, eating all the English muffins we left on the trays ready for the morning rush? Appar
ently this big fella was eating them all with the wrappers and everything! They said that he also tried to break into the freezer and tried to drink from the soda fountain machines! I mean, the guy’s a
real
bear and is all over our place! Isn’t that like, a miracle?” and she started laughing like she was losing it, making no sense at all, and I didn’t know what to make of what she’d just said; meanwhile the number of people around us was growing, everybody kept on pushing and pushing against the metal barrier installed by the police to keep us at bay, trying to get a better view of the restaurant, but the lights inside were out and the cops and firemen weren’t doing anything; they stayed still, talking on their walkie-talkies without making a move, which made me think that maybe all of it was bullshit, or that they didn’t know how to deal with him, that maybe they were waiting for him to finish off the food and leave on his own will, or maybe they were afraid of him, or maybe there was no bear at all, maybe it was just a rumor somebody had made up and everybody wanted it to be real; I didn’t know, but I’d never seen so many cops in my life and I was starting to feel scared, the whole thing was loud and messy like a Holy Week procession that was getting bigger and bigger and bigger; then a group of young people with signs that read DON’T SHOOT THE BEAR, GIVE BEARS A CHANCE, DO I LOOK ILLEGAL?, SAY YES TO LIFE NO TO JUNK FOOD, PUT YOUR PAWS UP, showed up and started chanting slogans and then there we were, Conchita and the rest of my shift mates and me; we should have already been working inside, serving breakfast, handing bags of muffins with omelette and sausage or whatever people would order through the drive-through, and I should’ve already cleaned up the bathrooms because the first thing I had to do every morning was make sure they were all beaming, as the manager would always find
time to go in there and check if I’d cleaned them up, and every morning Conchita would also find the time to stop by and say hello and give me a hug; “Ay, Susy girl!” she’d say and explain that it was one of the downsides of working at McDonald’s on the west side of town, because on the east side, she’d say, “Those joints by Riverside or way south down Airport Boulevard, managers there don’t give a damn if bathrooms are filthy as a cockroach butt,” she’d say, “but here customers make a fuss if they spot a dust bunny by the sink, they make a fuss out of everything, like this is freaking Whole Foods,” she’d say, and I thought about all that while looking at her outside the restaurant; I remembered how funny and strong and confident Conchita was before, how much she’d changed since Jon died; now she was just staring at me like she didn’t have anything else to say; “Conchita, you’re kidding me, there are no bears in Austin, I’ve seen vultures and deers but no bears,” I said but she cut me off, “Deer,” she said, “What?” I said, “Deer, Susy girl, you don’t say deers, you say deer,” and I said, “No, Conchita, deers,
many
, there are lots of them around here, especially in the evening; haven’t you seen them at the end of the day, while we’re waiting for the bus? They come by the avenue in packs, like little families; deers of all sizes; some are really big and kind of intimidating, with antlers and everything, but some are small; they look tender and vulnerable like newborns, covered with white spots, like freckles,” I said but Conchita insisted, “I know, Susy girl, there are lots of them around here but you always call them deer, whether it’s one or a bunch,” and I said, “Why?” “What do I know, Susy girl? I didn’t invent the language, I’m not freaking Shakespeare, you know?” Conchita said, and I just couldn’t get my head around it; “You’re making me dizzy, Conchita, if I tell you I saw deer on my way here, how do you know if I saw one or four?” I