Into the Beautiful North(63)

“In a minute, boss!” Chava called. He glanced up at Nayeli. “Pendejo,” he muttered.

They laughed.

He cleared his throat.

“And—Irma? What can you tell me about Irma?”

“She is alone,” Nayeli said.

Chava Chavarín might have jumped a little.

“She never married.”

Chava let out a small puff of air.

“I think I mentioned that she has won the election for mayor.”

Chava laughed.

“That’s my girl,” he sighed. “That’s my Irma.”

“But Don Chava,” Nayeli said. “What of the blonde waitress? What of the baby?”

“Sal!”

“Hol’ your horses, boss!”

He put his palms flat on the table. Studied the backs of his hands.

“I have to go,” he said.

Then he settled back in his seat.

“I am not going to go.”

Atómiko walked past, on his way to the toilet. He flipped Nayeli’s hair. Chava watched him.

“She left,” he said. “The blonde. Of course. She left with a sailor. Who wants a poor Mexican cannery worker? She took a bus to Texas. I never saw her again. I never saw the baby.”

He closed his eyes. Nayeli fell back. He was crying.

“I could not go home. I was so ashamed!”

He banged his fist on the table.

Atómiko reappeared.

“Cheer up, pops!” he said.

Chava looked away from Nayeli and collected himself by watching Atómiko try to cadge a bowling lesson from Yolo so he could feel her arms around him. Chava wiped his eyes. “I don’t know if I like that fellow,” he noted. His face was the saddest thing Nayeli had ever seen.

“Off your butt, Sal!”

“On Mexican time here, boss!”

Nayeli reached across the table and put her hand on his.

“Now it’s my turn,” she said. “Let me tell you a story.”



When Chava Chavarín volunteered to join them on their journey, it was only after Nayeli assured him that everyone in Camarones would be thrilled to see him again. Everything would be forgiven—they needed him. Even Irma needed him. He wrung his hands. Irma, he mouthed. He nodded once and shook her hand and went back to work. Nayeli looked across the rail at Yolo and held up one finger. Yolo hurried over to her.

“Isn’t he old?”

“He’s wise.”

“I thought we wanted young men.”

Nayeli said, “He knows all the words the Americanos use. It’s a very complicated language.”

Yolo thought about it.

“He’s not a soldier. Or a cop.”

“But Irma asked for him.”

Yolo nodded slowly. She grinned.

“That’s one,” she said. “For Tía Irma!”

They slapped hands.

Matt and Atómiko were rolling appalling gutter balls. When the girls were able to pull them away, Nayeli made her full report. Matt drove home. He had to admit, he was loving this whole story. It was like falling into one of the books he’d been reading before he dropped out of college to go to Mex. It was crazy.

They got home to the doors of the duplex standing open, and the lights all on. Vampi was out on the lawn with Carla the tweaker. They had a hibachi fired up. Apparently, nobody cared that they were cooking hot dogs at midnight. Next door, Sundog the Mongol and Alex El Brujo were engaged in a furious bilingual game of Guitar Hero III.

Yolo nodded at Vampi and held up one finger.

“We got one,” she said.

Vampi smiled and looked into Sundog’s door.

She raised her hand and showed them two fingers.

“Two,” she said.





Chapter Twenty-four



Rigoberto wouldn’t let Tacho spend any money. Tacho felt guilty, but Rigo seemed to get a thrill out of helping him. He had prisms hung in his kitchen windows, and they shot rainbows all around the walls. In his bathroom, he kept tall brown bottles of almond oil shampoo and conditioner. Tacho smelled edible. Rigo’s housekeeper and cook were laughing girls from Playas de Tijuana, and they recolored Tacho’s hair and made great omelets that they ate with sourdough English muffins. Tacho had never eaten English muffins, and he had never heard of sourdough.

“Let’s have some tea,” Rigo said.

The girls placed a clear glass pot on the table. They dropped in a green puck of crushed leaves.

“Watch this,” Rigo said.

They poured in steaming water. The puck unfolded into blossoms and leaves, a small garden in the pot. Tacho had never seen the like—his mouth fell slightly open and he sat there smiling.

“I love that,” Rigo noted.

His lover, Wilivaldo, was in Mexico City shooting a commercial for Pan Bimbo. It turned out that Wili was also bleached blond, and his clothes fit Tacho, more or less. Rigoberto decked Tacho out in fresh black Jordache jeans and a black silk T-shirt. He put a pair of Italian shades on Tacho’s face and smiled. “What do you think?” he asked his cook. She nodded.

“Exactly,” she said.

“Exactly what?” Tacho asked.

“Keep the sunglasses on,” Rigoberto said.