Amigoland (33 page)

“Just to live in peace.”

“You can do that back on the other side,” he said. “We need to go now.”

“Then go.”

“Not without you.”

“What you need to do is go find the girl and stop worrying about an old man.”

“This wasn’t how we planned it.”

“And tell me, what is it that happens exactly as we plan it? Do you think I planned to be so old, with my body failing me
in so many ways? Who plans such things?”

“They can take care of you better over there, when you need to go to the doctor’s office or if you have to go to the hospital.”

“Ya, I have seen all I want to of those places,” Don Fidencio said. “And anyway, if God is good to me, it won’t matter.”

“These poor women are going to get tired if you keep talking that way, always about being sick or dying.”

“Whether I open my mouth or not will not change things.”

“We never said anything about this, only about the trip to see the ranchito, nothing more.”

Don Fidencio placed his hand on his younger brother’s shoulder. “You were good to offer that. But you also promised me that
I would never have to go back.”

“I only promised to take you on the trip.”

“So you took me, now I want to stay.” He smiled and patted his brother’s shoulder.

“You were never going to go back with us, were you? You planned this, knowing that you would find a way not to go back.”

“What does it matter?”

“You could have at least told me.”

“How many times did I say I wanted out of that place?” he said. “And how many times did you listen to me?”

“I wanted to help you.”

“You did,” he said. “Now you should worry about you and the girl.”

Don Celestino wanted to argue with him but wasn’t sure what to say anymore or if there was anything left to say. They headed
back to where the women were standing and together walked toward the taxi. When they arrived at the fence, Don Celestino turned
aside and leaned on one of the posts until his brother was standing alongside him. He felt his arms wanting to tremble in
the moment and was calmed only when he finally held his brother’s frame.

“Take care of yourself,” Don Celestino said.

“You do the same.”

“Maybe me and Socorro could come see you later?” he said as he pulled away. “Now that we know how to find the place.”

The old man began to say something, but then stopped and only nodded. “Yes, maybe you will.”

Isidro had come around to open the taxi door, and without turning Don Celestino stepped in, forcing himself to not look back
at the others waving from under the tree.

“Go on,” he said.

“To the station?”

“Tell me something,” he said, leaning forward. “How long would it take if you were to drive me to Ciudad Victoria?”

Isidro turned to look back. “That’s a long way, maybe an hour and a half, maybe a little more.”

“But still faster than the bus?”

“Much faster.”

The taxi began to coast away, moving slowly in order to make room for the dogs that were barking at the tires. They had traveled
only to the end of the road when Don Celestino noticed his brother’s plastic shopping bag on the floor, and he said, “Wait,
stop the car.”

Isidro slammed on the brakes in the middle of the road, sending up a haze of gravel and dust. But when Don Celestino looked
inside the bag, the pill dispenser was still packed and the extra vials hadn’t been opened. Everything was the same as it
was when they left the pharmacy five days earlier.

“Then what?” the driver turned to ask. “I go back or not?”

Don Fidencio and the two women were standing beneath the tree, gazing at the idling car. “Maybe he forgot something,” the
granddaughter said.

“Who forgot?” The old woman tugged on her granddaughter’s shoulder. “Tell me what you see, what did he forget?”

But just then the brake lights faded and the taxi continued down the road.

“Nobody,” Don Fidencio said, and then he waved. “Nobody forgot anything.”

I am grateful to so many of you. To Becky, for making room in our lives for this novel. To my family, immediate and extended,
for always being there for me. To Armando Leal Ríos, José Skinner, Dr. Victor M. Gonzalez Jr., Dr. Carlos Pestana, Mando Hinojos,
and John “TJ” Gonzales, as well as the staffs of the Hays Nursing Center, Spanish Meadows Nursing and Re hab, and Ebony Lake
Healthcare Center, for all their expertise, and graciousness in sharing it. To Tony Zavaleta, Jim Priest, and Shawn Isbell,
for providing shelter and a place to write. To José Limón, Jim Garrison, and Richard Flores, for their support at a crucial
time. To Richard Abate, for his vigilance and friendship. To Reagan Arthur, for her patience and wisdom. And to tío Nico,
for remembering.

Oscar Casares was born in the border town of Brownsville, Texas, the setting for his critically acclaimed story collection.
The recipient of a 2006 National Endowment for the Arts Literature Fellowship, Casares is a graduate of the Iowa Writers’
Workshop and now teaches creative writing at the University of Texas in Austin, where he lives with his wife and young son.
This is his first novel.