Moving Serafina

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161 “They never did celebrate much on this one,” Gus said to Alvaro. “Maybe you were too young to remember.” Gus sat at the little round table in the kitchen speaking of their parents to his brother who stood at the stove. “Cinco de Mayo isn’t what a lot of people think it is anyway. Not across the border here in Texas, not even some Mexican citizens who haven’t been here long. But our folks knew it was not Mexico’s Independence Day. They always celebrated the real one on September first, not May fifth.” “What’s today all about then?” Alvaro asked because he knew his older brother wanted him to. “Today’s about a whole different thing. But it’s importanttoo.CincodeMayoiswhenMexicokickedthe shit out of the French down there and ran them out of the country. You should know that, Alvaro.” Gus thought about the days he had sent false messages concerning Alvaro missing school as a teenager. Gus held no illusion that his brother even knew Texas history, much less anything about their parents’ Mexican heritage. “If you want to know the truth, I don’t give a shit what either one is,” Alvaro said. He poured himself a cup of coffee. “I just like to go in and eat the carne asado and drink beer at Julio’s Bar. That’s where everyone else C H A P T E R 15 Bob Cherry 162 who doesn’t give a shit will be, out of the sun, in where it’s cool. And did I mention, drinking cold beer?” “Then you will go?” “To Presidio? Oh yeah,” Alvaro said. “Hell, this is the only vacation I ever get, right? One day, and it don’t make a shit to me what holiday it might be across the border or over here either.” “You can take as many days as you want, Alvaro,” Gus said. “You know that, even if you don’t know what holiday it is. And you’ll ask around?” “Hey, that’s some deal between you and Clayton Elliott,” Alvaro said. He joined Gus at the table, his back to the hallway. “It’s none of my business.” “You better eat something.” Alvaro picked up an orange from a bowl on the table, inspected it, put it back. “Not hungry.” “I could fix him something,” a voice came back. Perfidia had padded in silence down the hallway, her bare and healing feet cooled on the maroon Mexican tile. She had stood at the doorway, listening behind them. “Or for both of you?” Alvaro held his coffee mug suspended. Even though it was a strange voice, he did not seem startled. Helookedoverthemugathisolderbrotherandfrowned, but Alvaro did not turn around to the voice. “Well, I haven’t had that kind of offer in years,” he said. “Not in this house anyway.” Perfidia moved into the kitchen and stood near the table, waiting. She had showered and dressed in the new clothes and brushed her long hair until it shone like a raven’s wing. Gus looked first at Alvaro and then both stared at Perfidia, her quiet beauty escaping neither, MOVING SERAFINA 163 even with a cut lip and bruised cheek and bare feet. But she appeared as though she had not slept well and there was no vitality in her face. No one spoke for a long moment. “That’d be fine . . .” Gus finally said and then said her name. “ . . . Perfidia.” “Perfidia?” Alvaro studied her. “You’d be—” “The one I told you about,” Gus interrupted. “You never said she was back there, brother,” Alvaro said. “You weren’t around when I came in yesterday,” Gus reminded him. Alvaro moved his hand across his morning beard. “You said you brought Clay’s steers over. You never said you brought something else.” He looked at Gus. “She’s pretty quiet . . . for a woman.” Perfidia lowered her eyes. “I can make something to eat,” she repeated, her voice almost inaudible. “What?” Alvaro said. “I couldn’t hear you.” He continued to study his brother. “I said I could make something,” she raised her chin and spoke louder. “If that will be okay?” “Sure,” Alvaro said. “Whatever. Hey, I’m just the little brother, right? But I don’t know what you’ll find in that refrigerator except mold.” “There’s eggs,” Gus offered. He rose and crossed to the refrigerator and opened the...