A So-Called Vacation (17 page)

“That's a cartoon, Gus, not a fable. And the coyote never catches up.”

“So what's the one I'm thinking about?”

“The tortoise and the hare?”

“Yeah, I knew it had to do with animals. Anyway, we're staying right on their tails.”

But in no time they lagged so far behind that they couldn't even see the Borrados's tails, much less staying with them. When Gus stopped to peel away the drenched shirt plastered to his back, Gabriel stood too. “Maybe you prayed a little too hard to the sun god.”

“Don't worry,” said Gus, putting a pebble in his mouth and handing him another. “This'll cut down our thirst. Victor said our Aztec ancestors did this.”

Gabriel almost added that the Aztecs had also been annihilated by whites. But he didn't have to go that far, after Gus conceded with his next breath, “Today let's just get in shape. Think of it as training for tomorrow's showdown.”

But by noon even tomorrow seemed light years away. By then everyone had left the field for lunch except for the Borrados and—like their distant shadows—Gabriel and Gus. Finally, Gus stood ramrod straight and stared ahead, as though Disneyland were only a shimmering mirage. “We'll never make it,” he sighed.

Gabriel gazed at the same distant spot where heat waves warped the horizon and where his own evaporating vision was more immediate and down to earth. “So long swimming pool.”

“Hold on!” whispered Gus. “They stopped! I think they're starting to crack.”

“You're the one starting to crack. Why are you whispering? They're over a hundred feet away.”

“I think they're about to take a lunch break.”

They were, but to Gabriel's dismay, they decided to take it on the spot, standing mid field. One of them took advantage of the break and removed his shirt. Then, hoisting it like a sail, he began turning in place to catch the weak breeze.

Gabriel shook his head at the sight of the pale, puny torso in the distance. “He'd better watch it. A sudden breeze can blow that carcass away.”

They lagged so far behind that the thought of closing the gap during the Borrados's lunch break was not even a mirage. Instead they retreated to the tree line for lunch and collapsed under an enormous, inviting shade tree where Don Pilo, their own father, and several other workers were already giving their food time to settle before heading back out. Gus barely managed a nibble or two before dozing off, but even after Gabriel half-covered his eyes, the intrigue of eavesdropping on his father kept him awake. He watched him watching Don Pilo, who in turn contemplated a worker who had settled for a snack and was now trudging back to the field. Don Pilo looked at the man with awe and admiration but made no effort to do likewise.

“Working hard?” Gabriel's father asked. “Or hardly working?”

Don Pilo sighed as if the mere sight tired him. “Just enjoying the view.”

“You mean watching others work? That's my favorite pastime, too.”

“No, I mean all this. This is paradise.”

His father, seeing only other workers as dog-tired as he, tried to wipe the grime and sweat from his face. “I'm a little rusty on my Bible studies, Don Pilo but if I remember right, paradise means you don't work.”

“But an honest day's work
is
paradise.”

His father seemed perplexed at first, then laughed abruptly, as if suddenly getting the insight. “Oh, you mean a
workers'
paradise!” He shifted his line of sight to make better eye contact, then held his gaze. “Well, sir, if there's one thing I know, it's work. I'm not just a farmworker. I'm a mechanic—”

“Yes, you told us. It's a good-paying profession.”

“And an honest one, too. But sometimes it pays better than other times. Anyway, my trained ear told me your car's running sluggish. Not that it's any of my business, but I can't help what I hear.”

Don Pilo, not quite convinced, squinted. “Sluggish?”

“It's not up to speed. Right now it may not sound like much, but sooner or later these things take their toll on an engine.”

“Impossible. I have the oil and filter changed every four months—”

“But look at all the driving you do.”

“You didn't let me finish. It's every three months when we're on the road.”

“All I'm saying—”

“And all I'm saying is that you must have heard wrong. Why, right before we came up, I had our car checked at the Motor Medic. You're from back home, you know the place.”

“Yes, of course. Eddy's place.”

“Exactly. And Eddy himself told me, ‘Don Pilo, you pamper this car like it was one of your boys.' And I answered, ‘Just following your advice to keep up the maintenance so the engine will outlive me.'”

“And that's excellent advice,” said Gabriel's father, already beginning to backpedal. “You've got to keep that engine in top shape.”

“It's like breathing fresh air! Like vitamins and exercise! Oh, sure, I could find my boys summer jobs in some supermarket. But what's so natural about that?”

“The only natural thing is the produce we pick.”

“Exactly. That's nature for you. That's why I take my boys to the pool every weekend. One, they can wash away that pesticide, and two, they can mix with a healthier class of people.”

“I agree. Just look at what happened over in the bachelors' barracks. A pigsty. That's why everyone here admires you, Don Pilo. You do what's right.”

“Well, I try.”

“You do more than that. You set the standard. Why, just the other day my wife and I were saying … Never mind, you must be tired of people praising you for how well you've taught those boys the value of hard work. Believe me, it's no easy task with mine. Yours either, I'll bet. It's obvious they're a handful.” He lowered his gaze, both to gather his courage and to strike the proper pose of submission. “Anyway, Don Pilo, since you have the last word here when it comes to work, maybe you could put in a good word for my line of work. You know, in case anyone needs a mechanic.”

Don Pilo's eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment Gabriel thought the man was about to express his indignation. His father must have thought so, too, because he immediately added, “Of course, I'd insist you let me check out your car's engine first. That way you can vouch for my work firsthand.”

Don Pilo answered with a coy, reluctant silence, then finally said, “I've been sending almost our entire earnings back to my brother. He's supervising a new home we're building. I wouldn't be able to pay you much.”

“I wouldn't dream of asking for money!”

“Now that you mention it, my brakes have been squealing lately. I'm sure you've noticed, what with your trained ear and with us being neighbors.”

“I'll look at them first chance I get,” he said with a nervous grin.

“I'd appreciate it. After all, that's what neighbors are for, right?”

“We're not just neighbors here, but back home too. Well, practically.”

“Yes, practically.” Don Pilo surveyed the field and forced himself to his feet. “I'd better gather my flock for a while. Otherwise they'll stay out there all day.”

“I don't have to worry about gathering mine. Look, the oldest one's counting his own sheep.”

“A while back your boys were out there too. For a time ours were the only ones in the field.”

“Mine? Really?” He sounded genuinely impressed. “Must be the example your boys set. Maybe there's hope for mine yet.”

A few minutes later, and with considerable difficulty, Gabriel roused Gus from a profound slumber.

“What time is it?” Gus asked him with a parched voice.

Their father answered, “It's time to get your butts back to work.”

But despite an impressive fanfare to get up, he could only lay there like a floored boxer whose body no longer obeyed his brain. “Screw it,” he finally said, then closed his eyes and immediately sank back into sleep.

Gabriel, wrapped in heat and sweat and the memory of their defeat, thought only of one thing: Goodbye swimming pool and hello irrigation ditch, again.

He plopped another pebble in his mouth before he returned to the field, but then suddenly spit it out as though it had turned sour. He repeated his brother's observation. “What's the use? They would have kicked us out of that pool again.”

L
ess than an hour after returning to the field, Gabriel ran back to the tree and roused his brother from a profound sleep. “Let's get out of here, Gus. Look. There's a storm headed our way.”

Gus made a lethargic attempt to wipe the drool from his chin, but his mouth was already bone dry. “Let's stay under here instead so we don't get wet.”

“Look at those huge clouds! This tree is the last place we want to be.”

He was still pointing to the deep, dark mass when a flash as brilliant as an arc light scissored through the horizon. The contrast of the overcast sky seemed to intensify the violent energy, as Gus jumped to his feet.

“Let's get the hell out of here!”

They were running to the van when Don Pilo crossed their path going in the opposite direction. When he yelled something, Gabriel looked back then nudged Gus to do likewise.

“They're still out there?” Gus asked in disbelief. “What's with those guys anyway? I hope they end up electrocuted.”

Gabriel watched them as they continued to work, oblivious to the elements. “They're like insane drones,” he said, as much in disbelief as in admiration.

More lightning began moving in from the west. Now the crew leader was ordering every worker to leave the field and seek shelter. True to form, the Borrados had to
be told twice. By the time everyone reached camp, the storm quickly started veering north, but the crew boss called it a day. By then Gus had recovered enough and both brothers snuck off to the canal.

Chori and two teenagers from the camp were already on the opposite bank, enjoying the overcast sky. Knowing that Gabriel would not cross, he swam over while continuing his conversation with the teens. Finally he turned to Gus and said, “I saw you under that tree during lunch. I thought we'd end up burying you there.”

“Because of the lightning?”

“No, because you looked dead tired. How did you make it all the way here?”

“Guess I got my energy back.”

Gabriel felt like commenting how the first bolt had given Gus an adrenaline charge that brought him to his feet. Instead he said, “They say lightning in the air revives you.”

“Unless it kills you,” said Chori. “But you don't really realize it when you're in town. Here in the country, though, you might be the only thing standing. You can be out on a clear day, and suddenly, out of nowhere, it strikes.”

One of the boys said, “That's why they have that phrase, ‘Like a lightning bolt out of the sky.'”

The other one added, “Say, Chori, your father said you guys saw something like that up in Utah.”

“I thought it was Idaho, but maybe he's right. Yeah, we were out in a field, running from some rain clouds, when out of the blue a woman just ahead of us gets zapped. One second she's sprinting and laughing, and then just as quickly she's crumpled on the ground. I jumped straight up, I was that scared. My old man and I
were the closest, so we ran over to her.” He paused, somewhat confused or reluctant to continue.

“It seemed her whole skeleton turned to dust. My old man tried to pick her up, but she was limp as a sack of flour. Her body kept sliding from his arms, and when I tried to help, she barely felt solid, like a large slab of flesh without a single bone. Even her face was flattened, like she didn't have cheekbones or a nose.”

He said nothing more, quieting even the loud boys on the opposite bank. Gabriel continued to stare, expecting a sudden laugh from him to erase the episode. But Chori merely glanced downward and nodded absently.

This type of conversation, where life and death seemed so up front, fascinated Gabriel, and while they might occur at any moment in camp, they were rare back home. There, almost everything felt routine or else people made an effort to appear unmoved.

“Too bad Victor wasn't around to hear it,” said one of the boys.

“What for?” said Chori. “He would have just mumbled, ‘Cool.'”

It was obvious that Chori did not think much of Victor. Gabriel had the vague impression that the dislike was not simply a matter of two people locking horns. He sensed a more complex relationship, as if they had been close friends who had a falling out.

Physically, while they shared some traits, those same characteristics set them apart. Victor, although almost as muscular, tried to look bulkier than he really was, while Chori never flexed his biceps for show. And whereas Victor was forever flaunting a timid tattoo he sported on his upper chest, Chori tried to conceal the bold blue-green dragons on his upper arms.