Oscar Casares (6 page)

After he finished with the first section, he turned to the want ads. They were taking applications at the Levis plant. Parra Furniture needed a deliveryman. The security job at Amigoland Mall looked cool. All those guys did was drive around the mall and make sure your car didn't get ripped off while you were shopping. How hard could that be?

People had it wrong when they thought Bony didn't want to work. He was only trying to have a good time before it was too late. Bony used to think he and Mando would be partying for the rest of their lives. Mando had told him about school and getting married, but he never took him seriously.

Guys talked, and lots of times that's all it was, talk. It wasn't until the accident that he realized Mando had a whole different life he was planning. At first, Bony couldn't believe he was dead. It messed him up. He didn't know how to make sense of his friend dying. Bony hadn't been doing much except hanging out and partying. So why did God take Mando and not him? A couple of times he'd seen Mando's kid playing alone in the front yard and had gone over. He was a happy kid, but playing with him made Bony miss his friend, so he didn't go over that much anymore. It was better just to wave at him from this side of the street.

“¿Todavía?” Bony's father was standing on the front porch. “I thought we told you to get that chango out of here.”

“I thought you meant later, or tomorrow.”

“Now, Bony.”

“Pues, I don't know where to take him.”

“That's not my problem, Bony. That's your problem. You can drive it all the way back to Africa, or wherever it came from. I don't care.” His father crossed his arms and leaned against the porch. “And I'm going to wait right here until you do it.”

Bony took his time standing up and putting the monkey back in the plastic bag. He could feel his father's eyes on his back, but he didn't let it get to him. He walked down the street, trying to look like any other guy walking down the street with a monkey's head in a plastic bag. No worries. He waved to Domingo, but the old man was busy trimming the grass around a neighbor's tree. A few houses later, Bony threw a rock at the same cat from the night before.

Lincoln Park was at the end of the block. It looked more like a long, skinny island than it did a park. The palm trees were one of the few things that stood out when the resaca flooded. The water usually took a couple of weeks to go back down to its normal level, which was more than enough time for all the mosquitoes to show up.

He crossed the small bridge over the resaca. The park was empty at that hour. He climbed the wooden fort that the little kids played on during the day. This was also the fort where Mando and Bony convinced a couple of girls to come hang out with them one night. The guys were sixteen, the girls were fifteen. Bony scored two bottles of strawberry wine and they took turns going down the slide. After a while, Mando and his girl went for a long walk. Bony stayed with his girl in the fort, where she let him do everything but go inside her.

He took the monkey out of the plastic bag and set it next to him. From where he was sitting on the fort, Bony could see most of the park. If you played basketball here, you had to be a fast runner or the ball was going to be rolling into the water every game. This was the court where Bony first got his shot down. Next to the basket were the picnic tables that filled up fast on the weekends. You could forget barbecuing here unless you started setting up way before noon. If they were having a lowrider show in the park, you'd be lucky to find a place to sit.

By the water fountains was where Bony had stopped a guy named Javier Ortiz. The girl Mando had been with that night in the park was Javier's old girlfriend, and now Javier was saying he was going to jump Mando.

“I heard you were talking shit about Mando.”

“What's it to you?”

“You got a problem with Mando, you got a problem with me.”

“No, man, I don't have no problems with you,” Javier said. “It's cool.”

“I think you do, puto. And I think I'm going to kick your ass,” Bony said.

And then he did.

Bony looked down and saw that flies were buzzing around the monkey's head and landing on its nose. He shooed them away with his hand, but they kept coming back. Looking at the long whiskers on the monkey's cheeks, the deep lines around its eyes, made him want to find out where the head had come from. Bony thought about calling the zoo and asking them if they were missing any monkeys, but then he figured that if a monkey had been kidnapped, they might be tracing the phone calls and he'd get blamed for the whole thing. He didn't need that kind of trouble.

He walked back to the house remembering all the monkeys he'd seen on TV or at the movies, but none of them looked like his monkey. He thought how weird it was that he'd never seen one like this before. When he made it home, he put the monkey in the truck and drove out of the neighborhood. He passed the park and headed down International, in the direction of the library. Pink Floyd was on the stereo and the woofers were maxed out enough for people to feel the vibrations two cars over. The monkey was riding shotgun.

The library parking lot was full, so Bony had to circle around a few times to find a spot. He left the monkey on the floor mat, where people couldn't see it. As soon as he felt how cold it was inside the library, he wished he'd worn long pants. The encyclopedias were on a short bookcase close to the entrance. He sat in a chair and read about the differences between monkeys and apes. The most interesting part was how much they were related to humans. He'd never been completely comfortable with that idea, but at the same time he didn't know what to make of the story of Adam and Eve and a talking snake. Even if he did believe people came from monkeys, he had to ask where the monkeys came from.

The encyclopedia had a life-size picture of a gorilla's hand. Bony placed his own hand on top of the gorilla's hand, and although his was a lot smaller, they did match. The encyclopedia had pictures of more monkeys and apes than he ever knew existed, but he couldn't find a picture that looked exactly like his monkey's head. He finally spotted one in a book called
Monkeys of the New World.
In the picture, the black monkey was standing on a tree branch picking fruit. It was a spider monkey, from Ecuador. Bony read about what they ate, how long they lived, how they took care of their babies. He even checked out a picture of two spider monkeys having sex, which he didn't look at for too long because he didn't want the library lady walking by and thinking he was some weirdo.

He put the monkey back on the passenger seat as he drove home. Now that Bony had learned something about the monkey, he wanted to name it. The first thing that popped into his mind was to call it Spider Man because he kind of liked the guy in the comics. He thought about naming it Blackie, but he knew that was dumb. Zorro was kind of a cool name, but there was already a black dog on his street named Zorro. He couldn't remember Tarzan's monkey's name, or that might have worked. Then he tried to think of a name in Spanish, but the only name he came up with was the easiest, Chango. He hadn't liked it when his parents used the word because they only used it to say it was a dead chango. But the more he thought about it, it fit. He liked the way it sounded when he said it to himself: Chango, Chango, Chango. Ese Chango. Bony and Chango.

Bony stopped at the Jiffy-Mart and bought a twelve-pack. It was three o'clock by the time he stopped in front of the house. His mother and Mrs. Rivas were standing next to the palm tree. Mrs. Rivas held a small plastic bottle upside down and squirted water on the ground. Bony placed Chango on the floor mat and grabbed the beer as he stepped out of the truck.

“Agua bendita,” Mrs. Rivas said as he walked up.

He stepped back when he realized it really was holy water.

“¿Dónde está el chango, Bony?” she asked.

“What chango?”

“I already told Mrs. Rivas what you found,” his mother said. “She says somebody's trying to put a curse on our house, maybe on my business.”

“No they're not, it's just a monkey's head. What's the big deal?”

“¿Qué crees, Bony?” Mrs. Rivas said. “Eh, you think God opened the heavens and dropped that chango's head in your yard so you could tell him your jokes? No, mi'jo, that's the work of brujas.”

“That's crazy. There's no brujas.”

“Listen to her, Bony.” His mother held his arm.

“You think brujas are like you see them on the television, flying around on brooms, but that's not the way it is. You don't know. ¿Tú qué sabes? They shop at the mall, eat at Luby's, go to bailes and dance cumbias. Brujas are everywhere, Bony, probably in this neighborhood.”

The old lady looked down the street and then back at Bony.

“Go ask Mrs. Molina, on the next block. Ask her what happened to her mother. Andale, she'll tell you how somebody threw a dead snake in her mother's yard, y la pobre mujer, she stepped on it barefoot. The very next morning her skin started falling off. I wouldn't lie to you, Bony,
her skin.
Until there was nothing left of the woman. Tell me that's not the work of brujas.”

“¿Ya ves? You're bringing curses into my house.”

“Now tell us where you put that chango's head,” Mrs. Rivas said.

“We already checked in your room, mi'jo,” his mother said.

“You what?”

“Your mother was worried about the curses.”

“He wasn't hurting anybody.”

“Tell us where it is, Bony,” Mrs. Rivas said.

“I threw him away already.”

“Where, Bony?” his mother said.

“In the trash, behind the Jiffy-Mart.”

“Are you telling your mother the truth, Bony?” Mrs. Rivas said.

“Go see for yourself if you don't believe me.”

Mrs. Rivas and his mother looked at each other. Bony walked to the porch and leaned back in the lawn chair. It was just another afternoon in the neighborhood. After a few minutes Mrs. Rivas drove away.

“Más vale que me estés diciendo la verdad, Bony,” his mother said. “I better not see that monkey in my house again.”

Bony shook his head. “Don't worry.”

She walked into the house and let the screen door slam shut.

Bony stayed on the porch. Across the street, Mando's kid was riding his tricycle through the front yard. It was quiet in the neighborhood. Bony cracked open his first beer. The can was sweating in his hand and down onto the porch. He took a drink and kicked back. He wasn't going to let anybody take Chango.

Except for walking inside to grab a piece of leftover chicken, Bony sat on the porch for the rest of the afternoon. He thought his mother might be watching him through the window and he didn't want to make her suspicious. The beer was cold. What more did he need, right?

His parents ate dinner at seven, but Bony stayed outside on the porch. He went in later and microwaved what was left of the tacos they'd had for dinner. His father was in the kitchen cleaning his work shoes. The patent leather was shiny and Bony kept looking at his own reflection.

“You drink too much,” his father said.

“So what?”

“
So what?
This isn't a cantina, where you can get pedo and stare at somebody's shoes. What's wrong with you?”

Bony didn't answer and took another bite of his taco.

“Your mother says you're sad because we made you throw away the chango.”

“I'm not sad.”

“You look sad.”

“I'm just thinking.”

“Are you thinking about what kind of job you're going to look for tomorrow?”

“Not really.”

“I didn't think so.”

After Bony was done eating, he drank another beer and watched a baseball game on TV. He hated baseball, but he was waiting for his parents to go to sleep, which they finally did a little after ten. He grabbed Chango from the truck and put him under the small palm tree. The moon was almost full and its glow filled the yard with light. Bony brought out his lawn chair, just like old times. There was half a can of beer left, which he placed next to Chango. He could see himself doing this every night. His parents never had to find out. Maybe one of these nights when they were away from the house, he and Chango would cook out in the backyard. Some fajitas, some chicken, some beer. It'd be badass. People would be walking by and going, “¿Qué onda, Bony?” And he'd be like, “Aquí nomás. Just cooking out, man.” And they'd walk away thinking the dude knew how to do it right.

It was after midnight when Bony put away the lawn chair and carried Chango back to the truck. He didn't want to risk taking him inside the house and his parents finding out. Earlier he'd left a crack at the top of the windows, but now he rolled them up in case there was rain. He locked the truck and went inside the house.

He tried to relax in bed and enjoy what was left of his beer buzz. Tomorrow he'd figure out what to do with Chango. Maybe his mother would forget about what Mrs. Rivas had said. His father might be okay with him keeping Chango if he went out and found a job. Bony thought anything could happen. He might even fall asleep and turn into a monkey overnight, and then his parents would have to keep him and Chango.

It felt like he'd only been asleep for five minutes when he heard a fire engine driving through the front yard. He sat up in bed and realized it was already morning and the siren was really the alarm on his truck. His father was standing next to the truck with his hands cupped over his ears. Bony's mother walked towards the house when he opened the front door. He deactivated the alarm and then locked the truck again before his father could open the door.

“¡Ya lo vi, Bony!” his mother said. “I knew you were lying. ¡Güerco embustero! ¡Ahora verás!”

“What? He's not even close to the house.”

“Bony, you knew what I meant.”

“Ya fue mucho,” his father said. “I'm going to call the city to come pick up the chango and take it away.” He walked inside the house and grabbed the phone.

“I'll keep him somewhere else,” Bony said.

His father shook his head and opened the phone book.

“What if I get a job?”

“It's too late, Bony.” His father dialed a number.

Bony finished getting dressed and went to his truck. He drove out of the neighborhood, not sure where he was going exactly. Chango sat in the passenger seat, smiling as usual. Bony rolled down the windows and listened to the wind. There wasn't that much traffic on International that early in the morning. He drove past Southmost Road and slowed down for the flashing yellow light in front of la Porter, his old high school, so he wouldn't get pulled over by a cop. When he was on the other side of Four Corners, he stopped at a convenience store. A carton of orange juice and a package of cinnamon rolls were what he needed right now. Jumping out of bed so fast had made him feel extra crudo.