Bodega Dreams (13 page)

“But maybe she wrote in English too. I write in Spanish and in English sometimes,” Blanca said to him. Every time Blanca spoke Blessington would leer. It was one of those cartoon monster smiles, where the monster rubs his hands as he thinks of something dastardly.

“Listen, you people”—he always called us you people—“Julia-day-Burgos is so obscure it would be hard to find a single poem of hers. In any language.” I turned to Blanca and, whispering, asked what
obscure
meant. Sapo was quietly drawing all this time. He drew terribly, but it never stopped him. He mostly did it because he was bored. But I knew he was listening and could jump in any minute.

“But if she is so unknown,” I said confidently, emphasizing the word Blanca had provided to let Blessington know that I knew what
obscure
meant, “then I agree with Lucy, why did they name an entire school after her? Why not after someone famous?”

“Finally, a good question,” Blessington said, adjusting his tie and buttoning up his blazer. “I’ll tell you why: because the people in this district are simpletons, that’s why. District Four has no idea what it’s doing. The name they chose for this school was probably the worst name they could choose. Why, we teachers didn’t even know who she was when they renamed this place.”

“Mr. Tapia did,” Sapo piped up, leaving his drawing for a minute. We all knew what Blessington was saying was that none of the white teachers knew who she was, and they were the only teachers that mattered.

“Oh, him,” Blessington said in a tired voice. “Him again. Well, I heard he’s a good science teacher,” he said with a smirk, “but we’re in English now. You people need to get on with today’s work.” And it was all right with me because we had chopped off at least fifteen minutes of the period. Blessington then went to the board and wrote, “Analogies Between Frost’s Poems and New York City.” I turned around and asked Blanca what
analogies
meant. She told me. I laughed.

“What similarities?” I called out. Blessington was upset now.

“End of discussion,” he said. “Get out your homework.” Blessington walked over to Sapo’s desk.

“Enrique, where’s your homework?” Blessington asked.

“I’m going to jail, so why bother, right?” Sapo kept drawing. “Yo’r the smart guy here, right, can’t you figure that out yo’self?” The class went “Oooooh,” which Blessington took as a challenge.

“You’ll be lucky to even make jail,” he said to Sapo.

“Why you snapping at me? I said you were right.”

“I know I’m right. I’m doing all you people a favor. I say these things to you so you can maybe prove me wrong. Now, it’s sad to say, but I’ve yet to see one of my Puerto Rican students, just one, prove me wrong. And I know it’s not going to be Sapo here.” Blessington then leaned over and took Sapo’s drawing from him and crumpled it in his hands. Sapo got so mad, he shot straight up from his seat and thrust himself at Blessington so they were face to face.

“Thass right, I won’t prove you wrong b’cause I’m going to jail for jamming your wife.” The class was silent because that wasn’t a snap any longer but an insult. They stared each other down for a second or two before Sapo turned around and headed for the door. “Where do you think you’re going?” Blessington yelled, and went after Sapo, grabbing him by the shoulder.

“Don’t touch me, man!” Sapo yelled, but Blessington didn’t listen. I got up from my seat and went over to Sapo.

“Yo, take a chill pill,” I said to Sapo. Blessington yelled at me, “I can handle this. Sit back down!” He didn’t let go of Sapo. Sapo started to pull himself away and that’s when Blessington made the mistake of putting Sapo in a headlock.

“Yo, you choking him!” I yelled, but Blessington kept at it, all the
while cursing at Sapo. Blanca and her friend Lucy started to run out of the room to get the teacher next door. Blessington released Sapo and went after Blanca. And that’s when Sapo jumped him from behind. Sapo crawled on Blessington as if Blessington were going to give him a piggyback ride. Before Blessington could shake Sapo free, Sapo dug his teeth into the base of the teacher’s neck. Blessington screamed; the blood spurted out, running down his back and staining his white shirt collar crimson. Sapo scrambled off Blessington’s back as Blessington fell to his knees, pressing the wound with his hands. Then Sapo came around and grabbed Blessington’s face in his hands and pulled it toward his own. Sapo spat out a chunk of Blessington’s flesh, bouncing it off Blessington’s left cheekbone. Covered in blood and saliva, Blessington’s eyes were frozen in disbelief. He wasn’t screaming. He was in shock. It was only when he saw a piece of his own flesh on the floor that he registered what had happened, and passed out.

Standing in front of the classroom Sapo smiled as only Sapo could; he slowly turned to the class, showing us his shining red teeth. He then calmly walked out of the room. Everyone was stunned. Blanca was the first one to shake herself and ran out of the room. “Help us, help us, Blessington’s dying!” she kept yelling down the hall. A minute later the school nurse arrived. When she saw all that blood on the floor she took off her smock and put pressure on Blessington’s neck. Meanwhile I went looking for Sapo. He had stopped by the bathroom to rinse his mouth and when he saw me he laughed.

“The nigga had that shit coming.” He spat water.

“Sapo, bro, what you gonna do?”

“I could give two fucks,” he said. “I never felt better. It’s as if I let some fucken courier pigeon go free.” At that minute Tapia walked into the bathroom, his face red with fury. It was the same anger he would show us when we let him down by not behaving, by not doing work or getting in trouble.

“Did he really have you in a headlock?” Tapia asked Sapo.

“Yeah, I saw it all, Ta—”

“Shut up! I’m asking Sapo!” I quieted down and backed away. Sapo nodded and Tapia paced the bathroom. He sighed loudly. He stopped in front of Sapo and placed both arms on top of Sapo’s shoulders.

“Look at me,” Tapia said. “Don’t say that he had you in a headlock—”

I jumped in. “But he did, Tapia—”

“Shut up, Chino!
Coño
, just shut up!” This time I did for good. Tapia breathed hard. His eyes were watery. “Sapo, look at me. If you say he had you in a headlock, when he recovers he will deny it. And it won’t matter which of your friends backs you up, they will believe Blessington. Now, you listen to me and you listen good because I don’t want you to go to Juvie. The police are on their way. When they ask you why you bit Blessington, you tell them you heard voices. You got that?” Sapo nodded. “You tell them the voices said to bite Blessington. You don’t say Blessington said all this bullshit to you or that he had you in a headlock, you just say you heard voices. You got that?” Sapo understood and a slow smirk began to form on his big lips as he nodded. When he had completely registered what Tapia had told him, that smirk became a full-blown smile.

That whole year Sapo saw a shrink and thus avoided juvenile detention. He must have lied, and I bet for a while he loved the opportunity to have an audience for those stories he was so good at making up. It was like getting away with biting Blessington’s neck all over again. But then he got tired of it, started blowing off sessions, and ultimately he dropped out of school and moved out on his own. That year something happened to Sapo. He had always been Sapo but that year, after biting Blessington, he started turning into someone who wasn’t afraid to die. It was the beginning of the adult Sapo. His was the sneaker you wouldn’t want to step on because “sorry” wouldn’t cut it. He became that person you wouldn’t want to cut off in traffic because he’d pull a knife and slice you. He became that person you wanted on your side so you could unleash him on your enemies. Like the rest of us, Sapo was still a kid, but he was already turning into something else. He had reached that point in existence where he wasn’t afraid to hurt anyone who threatened his only source of meaning, his love for himself.

I figure it was around the time he left school that he met up with someone who knew someone who knew Willie Bodega.

•

SEEING SOMEONE
bite a chunk out of someone’s neck and then spit it at their face isn’t something you forget. That incident stayed with Blanca, as it did with all of us. And as
El Diario
kept publishing more facts about Salazar, Blanca couldn’t help herself.

“Julio, you heard about that reporter, Salazar, Alberto Salazar?” I was cooking dinner and she was sitting at the table reading
El Diario.
Blanca would usually read the
Times
but
El Diario
was the only newspaper that bothered to cover the story about Salazar.

“Nah. What about him? You want more beans?” Blanca’s religion didn’t allow her to eat meat, so she had to get her protein elsewhere.

“That’s enough,” she said when I showed her the plate. “He was killed.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Yeah, I know, Julio. They say that he was bitten before he was shot. They also say that he was—thanks,” she said as I placed her plate on the table and sat down. I had served her real fast because I knew she had to pray and I was hoping that she would pray a long time and forget about Salazar. But Blanca prayed real quick, so I guess she just thanked God for the food and said Amen. “So they said that he was working on a story around here. He was investigating a possible drug lord and then they found him dead.”

“Wow, that’s too bad,” I answered, and then Blanca told me something that somehow had escaped me.

“Have you noticed that this block doesn’t have dealers on the corner? All four corners of this block are quiet. Have you noticed that, Julio?”

“No, I haven’t,” I answered honestly. Apparently, Bodega didn’t litter in his own house.

“Julio, who owns these buildings? It’s just amazing that somehow dealers steer clear from here. At times—”

“Blanca, count your blessings and eat up, all right?”

She smiled and felt a little embarrassed because she was talking with her mouth full. “Just tell me one thing, Julio.” She swallowed and looked straight at me.

“Wha’?” I said with a mouth full of rice and beans.

“Tell me that you know for a fact that Sapo is not involved in that reporter’s death. A piece of the man’s shoulder was missing.”

“So?”

“So we know who sells drugs and we both know who bites like that.”

“Man, Blanca, you got some imagination. Sapo is this nickel-and-dime dealer. You knew him when we were kids. He wasn’t the smartest of people. A good dealer at least could count what’s coming in and what’s going out. Sapo couldn’t even do that.” I was lying. Sapo was very smart. Blanca wasn’t buying it. She stopped chewing and looked at me.

“Sapo is smart, Sapo was always smart. Those teachers never knew how to reach him. Well, maybe Tapia did. But he was always smart. He has to be, otherwise he wouldn’t have that big car he drives.”

“Maybe he got lucky.”

“No, Julio, there is something else here. I don’t know what. Sapo makes me nervous. And what really makes me nervous is that you are his friend.” Blanca’s voice was a bit desperate.

“All I know, Blanca,” I said flatly, “is that you know he’s my friend. A guy growing up in this neighborhood can get beat up. Sapo was always there for me. That’s why I let him keep his stuff here. I know you hate it but I owe that much to him. Remember Mario DePuma? He broke my nose. If Sapo wouldn’t have jumped in that Italian would have killed me, you know that.” Blanca shrugged. She knew Mario DePuma. He’d always been making passes at her. That was the reason him and me had that fight. Then Blanca got up to get more water. She sat back down and continued to think about the possibilities.

“How is it, Julio, that as crazy as it seems you know nothing. I mean as crazy as it seems, you have no idea about this reporter getting killed.”

“Why would I?”

“I don’t know. Where’s Enrique anyway? He hasn’t shown his face in days.”

“What a miracle, you of all people asking for Sapo.” But that worried me: Where was Sapo?

“I hope that he stays lost, but it’s too good to be true,” she said.

“You know Sapo, he’ll show up when he needs a favor.”

“Fine, you’re right. I shouldn’t care.” I was happy that was over with. But then she said something equally unnerving.

“Julio, I’ve invited Pastor Vasquez and Claudia over for dinner next week—”

“That’s great,” I said, dropping my spoon on the plate. “I hope the three of you have a good dinner. What did you do that for, Blanca? You know I don’t like to be preached to—”

“They’ll only be here for dinner. No one is going to preach to you, all right. You think that just because he’s a pastor he has to always be preaching or something? I just want him around before the baby arrives. At least once.”

“Well, when are they coming?” I grumbled.

“Next Friday. And you better be here.”

“Blanca …”

“You better be here, Julio. I want you here when they visit,” Blanca said firmly. I knew it was important to her so I just nodded, part in agreement and part in disgust.

“How’s the husband-hunting for Claudia going?” I asked to shift the subject.

“Not too good.” She pushed her food away, then rested her face in her palms, her elbows on the table. “But Roberto Vega—the seventeen-year-old anointed—is visiting our congregation and will give a speech.” Just thinking about that, Blanca became animated again.

“You really believe he’s anointed?” I was relieved to talk about anything, anything that didn’t have to do with that reporter’s death.

“Yes. I believe he is.” She smiled and placed her hand on mine. “Come to church with me, Julio. You can see for yourself.”

“Have you seen him?” I asked, turning my hand over to hold hers.

“No, but I’ve heard of him. They say he can lift an entire church. Please come. You can also meet Claudia.”

Then the phone rang. I got up from the table and went over to answer it.

“You don’t know me but I’m your brother.”
I got the Doobie Brothers’ lyrics and knew it was Nene.

“How you been, I have the notes for you. Yeah, yeah, tell your
cousin I have the notes for him.” I hoped Blanca would think it was some guy from class and Nene would think it was from a song.