A So-Called Vacation (11 page)

Gabriel, though, seemed focused on smaller, pedestrian matters. “Fine, but we still need an actual plan for staying at the pool. And all that stoop labor takes up all our time and energy.”

“Leave that to me. Besides, now I can pick strawberries in my sleep.”

Suddenly their father's soft voice sifted through the screen door. “You can say that again.”

Both brothers jumped out of their cots, and exclaimed, “Dad!”

Their father entered the door with an enormous smile, savoring their startled expressions. “In fact, Gustavo, the way you move in the field you probably
are
asleep.”

“When did you get here?” What Gus really wanted to know was how much his father had heard.

“We bumped into Mr. Cantú in town. His arthritis was bothering him and I was getting bored, so I volunteered to bring him back in his car.”

“And the girls?”

“They stayed with Mrs. Cantú and her daughters. They're all coming back in our van.”

“Mom won't get lost?”

“Your mother has the instincts of a cat. I couldn't get rid of her even if I wanted.”

Their father made no mention of their earlier conversation, and by the time the work week started, Gabriel understood the larger threat the Borrados posed: by making them both look like slackers, the trip to Disneyland
might be torpedoed. Up to now his resentment of the trio went back to that afternoon when he sat by the canal. He had tried to imagine wading in the shallow end of the public pool, or perhaps diving into the chest-deep part where the non-swimmers huddled. But the image that kept interfering was of the Borrados, splashing and frolicking with impunity.

He had relegated the pool fantasy to the status of a sideshow. Now what bothered him most was that although the family had already been at camp for what felt like a season, they seemed no nearer to Disneyland than back in Texas. As far as his father was concerned, Disneyland had dropped off the edge of the earth. So at dinner he finally gathered the courage to put the issue on their rickety, unpainted table. “Someone told us back home we'd be going to Disneyland.”

“That's right,” Gus added immediately, “but we haven't heard a word since.”

Their father pretended to search for the culprit. “Who told you that?”

“Whoever he was, he wasn't being straight.”

“Don't look at me, Gustavo. I never promised you anything but honest work and whatever money you made. Besides, I'll bet you've had some good times here.”

Perhaps his father was right, thought Gabriel. Once he got past the third-world housing and hard work, meeting new people and seeing new places somehow made the experience worthwhile. If anyone had a right to complain it was his father, whose hopes for setting up a mobile auto shop were withering on the vine. He was thinking precisely that when his father glanced his way. Worried that he might intuit his sympathy and exploit it, Gabriel quickly protested, “But you said you'd take us to—”

“To California,” his father finished the phrase. “You said that's where Disneyland was, and I agreed. And that's all I said. You guys got carried away after that. With such amazing imaginations, who needs Disneyland?”

He turned to Paula and asked whether she had also misunderstood. She offered the reply he was counting on. “I really don't remember, and I really don't care.”

“I'll remind you when we get there,” Gus told her. “Then you can wait out in the parking lot.”

“
If
you get there,” she corrected him. “Now let
me
remind
you
what Dad always says. ‘Make sure you get it in writing.'”

Their father nodded and smiled, proud of having taught her well, and they finished the phrase together: “And before you sign, read the fine print!”

Aware that he was rubbing salt in their wounds, he assumed a more paternal tack. “That's the most valuable lesson you'll ever learn.”

Gabriel felt like saying, What? don't trust your own father? Instead he lowered his eyes in resignation.

Gus, however, matched their father's gaze with a cold, steely resolve, as if throwing daggers in his direction. The outrage momentarily left him at a loss for words, until suddenly he exploded, “So you're saying you tricked us! You kidnapped us, for slave labor!”

“Kidnapped?” their father smiled nervously. “How in the world can a parent kidnap his own kids?”

“You tricked us into crossing state lines! That's a federal offense! You could go to prison for that.”

Their father's smile froze, and he touched his son's arm to suggest that the banter had gone too far. “You're no kid, Gustavo. You're a strong, young man. I couldn't kidnap you even if I tried. You know you're free to leave anytime.” The argument was having the desired effect and might have
done the job had he left it at that. Yet he could not resist one last stab of sarcasm. “Why, you'd be home in three days. Unless, of course, you stopped to say hi to Goofy.”

He knew immediately that instead of bringing Gus to his corner, the remark had pushed him farther into the adversarial position. Then, trying to sidestep the minefield he himself had set, he added, “Just imagine us going to that place looking like this.” He purposely put on a hobo's pose.

“We'd look like hillbillies,” said Paula, then guffawed like one. “Hispanic hillbillies at that.”

Their dad nodded gravely, the way one faced up to a sad fact of life. “They'd lead us out of the parking lot with flashing lights and sirens. We'd end up being nothing but laughingstocks.”

“Unless,” Paula added, “the customers thought we were part of the entertainment. The same way the locals here see us.”

Her last barb stung her brothers the most since they were still bothered by the way the townspeople treated them. It did not seem to bother Paula, though, and later that evening, when they confronted her outside the shack, Gabriel realized the full extent of her indifference.

“Say, whose side are you on?”

“I'm on my side, same way you're on yours. Besides, I'm not the one dying to go to Disneyland.”

“Back home it was you who gave Dad the bait.”

“But it was you rat boys who swallowed it.” Her eyes opened wide, incredulous that her older brothers could be so naive. It was one of their father's favorite facial expressions, and seeing her mimic him so naturally not only explained her ability to see through his tricks but to pull them on others as well.

Paula shook her head in disbelief, then turned toward the door with the smug air of someone who had won a
fight without lifting a finger. “When are you guys going to grow up?”

She bumped into their mother, who was on her way out. “What was that all about, Paulita?”

Gus answered for her. “Oh, only about how we're having so much fun we could stay here forever.” He spread his arms in an expansive gesture to either horizon. “With all this, who needs Disneyland?”

Gabriel offered his mother a rusty chair as decrepit as the porch itself. Back home she would have thanked him but remained standing. Here, however, she took up the offer at once. “You'll survive the summer. Besides, your father's partly right. It hasn't been that bad. You've had some fun moments.”

Gus scooped up a dirt clod, then disintegrated it against a tree trunk with an unerring aim that Gabriel had not seen since they were kids. “When we agreed to come, this is not what I had in mind.”

“I'm sure it's not what you had in mind, Gustavo. He only wanted to do what was best for you boys.”

“Oh, so he did this for us. He should have sent us to boot camp. That would have been easier.”

“Someday you'll understand. If anyone's disappointed it's him. In a way this was his fantasy trip too. Back home he said that if we did well here, then maybe we could stay for good.”

Gus stared at her, astonished. “
Here?
”

“Not the camp. I mean move to California, after you graduated. He figured the camp could help us get our feet wet. If we survived this we could survive anything.”

“Mom,” Gabriel asked, “has anyone hired him?”

She smiled weakly but could not look him in the eye. “It turns out the families here are on the road a lot. So the men already know a lot about repairs.” Her smile broadened.
“For that matter, so do some of the women.” She herded them toward the door, eager to change the subject. “Let's go inside, before he thinks we ran away.”

Gus slowed his pace enough to tell his brother under his breath, “That'll happen sooner than he thinks.”

Gabriel waited for more, but by the time they opened their cots, Gus still had not said a word. As soon as their father started snoring, Gus muttered through clenched teeth, like a prisoner on the eve of a do-or-die jailbreak: “Come morning, I'm gone.”

Gabriel knew that his family was far from ideal, yet the threat triggered the terror that something priceless, however imperfect, might be lost forever. His words came out even more determined than his brother's. “Don't, Gus. You'll be sorry.”

“Not as sorry as him.”

“Dad doesn't always mean what he says.”

“Then he'd better learn to start saying what he means.”

“He thinks this'll make us men.”

“And men never need to have a good time, right?”

“He'll take us. Just wait and see.”

“No, he won't. And I'm not waiting to see.”

“Don't be stubborn, Gus. He'll forgive and forget before you know it.”

“Well, I won't. And neither will he, not after he finds out what I've done.”

Gabriel stiffened in his cot, anxious to know more, yet fearing what he might find out. Gus abruptly looked away, as though his confession had already gone too far.

Their father suddenly said something in his sleep, unintelligible but loud enough to startle them. Gabriel monitored his breathing carefully to make sure he was indeed asleep. “What did you mean, Gus? What else have you done?”

His brother would not elaborate beyond the obvious. “He thought he'd make a killing fixing cars. All of that backfired, and now we're the whipping boys. He made fun of our wanting to go to Disneyland, but this whole trip of his was even crazier.”

“Well, that's his problem.”

“Now it's our problem too.”

“Okay, but before you know it, we'll be back home. It'll be over then.”

“It'll just be starting. Just wait till the other players check out my farmworker tan. Look.”

Gabriel heard him turn in his cot, so he turned to look. But Gus blended so well in the darkness that his invisibility proved his point.

“Fine,” Gabriel conceded, anxious not to antagonize him further. “Only don't leave.”

After a long silence, Gus added: “Know what bothers me most? I promised my
morena
a little something from Disneyland.”

Gabriel waited for a more compelling reason other than Gus losing face with his girlfriend, but that was it. As he wondered how mature the couple's commitment was, he could only imagine them hand in hand, silhouetted in the sunset with matching mouse ears. But he kept the irreverent thought to himself, afraid it might push Gus over the edge.

He stayed up for the longest time in case Gus tried to sneak away. For a time Señor Serenata's domestic strife kept him tethered to the everyday world. But somewhere during the subsequent string of serenades, he drifted off, and the next thing he knew he was waking up to a new day, with a blur of noise and activity that seemed to originate in their shack and then spilled outside. He immediately glanced to his left to make sure his brother was still there.

G
us stayed, if for no other reason than to harass the Borrados and undermine their antlike industry. “We can't beat those guys on the field, not physically,” he told Gabriel as they dressed. “So we need to use psy ops.” He did not give his kid brother time to either inquire or agree. “That's military talk. It's all about messing with your enemy's head.”

Gabriel nodded, thought for a moment, then said, “But it sounds like before you mess with his mind you have to make sure yours is screwed on straight.”

Gus looked him straight in the eye. He continued staring without a word until Gabriel squirmed and looked down.

“Damn straight,” Gus finally said. The moment he walked away, Gabriel realized he had already started rehearsing his resolve.

Gabriel arrived at the edge of the field long before Gus, who took his time strolling from the van. On the way over, he offered a defiant power salute to his friend Victor, who returned the greeting along with a puzzled gaze.

A few feet from Gabriel, the Borrados were going through an animated chatter that sounded like a code only they could decipher. They reminded Gabriel of cartoon chipmunks, with speedy, high-pitched voices that made their movements appear even more manic.