Of Memory and Desire: Stories

Lucinda

The night before, Alex had come, arriving sometime after midnight. Pilar sat up in bed, first hearing the car door slam, then the sound of the key in the lock. She slipped out ofbed without turning on the light, hoping not to wake Lucinda, who lay in a warm curl beside her, her small chest rising and falling with her breath. When Alexwasgone, Lucindaslept in his place. "You are here," she said, going into the living room, blinking against the light. He had thrown his windbreaker across the chair and was sitting on the couch, taking off his tennis shoes, grunting and groaning like an old man. "I'm beat. All the fucking trucks on the highway. Crowd a man. Have to take up the whole goddam road. Oh, God, I am fucking tired." "Do you want me to rub your back?" she asked. He worked his shoulders around—heavy, muscled shoulders . "Thanks," he said. "But I'm too goddamtired to stay up for it. Just got to get me some shut-eye." Heheavedhimself off the couch and into the bedroom, Lucinda's room. Pilar stood in the doorway, watching him take off his shirt and undo his belt. He looked fat and tan, as though he'd soaked up all the sun he could find out there onthe Coast, put some ofit on his shoulders and the rest on his belly. He wasa burly man, thick, carrying a load at the middle. Too much food, too much beer, Pilar thought as she gazed at him. Now he was there—back. She did not know exactly where he'd been and what he'd done—that is, what he had brought back with him, what she was supposed to do with it. LuciNdA LUCINDA 145 "You just gonna stand there?"Alexwanted to know. "Look, kid, you ain't getting nothing out of me tonight. Right now, I'm no more good than a spavined horse." Hefloppedheavily onto the bed, made it groan. She turned out the light and went back to Lucinda. When she slipped under the covers, Lucinda turned over, murmured something in her sleep and nuzzled against her. Pilar touched her on the shoulder, not enough to wake her, and lay in the dark for a moment, taking in the warm, sweet scent of her childhood. Alex was home—for how long this time? It was his way, to come in like a change of weather, like a cloud of dust on the desert, or a cloudburst that sends the rivers roaring through the arroyos. Without warning. And when he came, it was always different, and when he left something changed with him. She lay in the dark wondering why this was, and how it would be now with his coming. It did not always happen, it wastrue. His dealings took him away for days or weeks at a time. And things went on the same. She was used to his comings and goings, to the many conversations on the telephone, often in Spanish, ofwhich he knew enough to take care of things. "Tiene usted el dinewi" she would hear him ask, with an intensity she had come to recognize. And the amount ofpesos he mentioned was more than she had ever seen. Somuch money. She did not know all the numbers even to count it. What would anyone dowith so much money? She could not tell how it would be this time. A month he had been away, in Los Angeles. Making deals. Buying, selling —she did not know what. She never asked him, he never told her. Sometimes he came back, singing at the top of his lungs, smirking like a well-fed tomcat. Then he'd pick her up and swing her around, and say, "Well, my chiquita, we'll do the town up brown. Do some of them nightclubs over in Juarez."But he'd never taken her backover there. Shewasjust as glad. Other times he complained about the fleabag hotels he'd put up in or the time he had spent waiting for Jose or Garyor 146 OF MEMORY AND DESIRE Fulgencio or some other stranger to turn up, but these were the only clues shehad as to where he'd been orhow he'd spent his time. She did not want to know. Once, not long after he'd brought her across the border, she'd been frightened nearly out...