Carry Me Like Water (40 page)

They looked at him without saying a word.

“Look,” he wrote, “I got five bucks for the guy that can bring him to me. Whoever brings me the Mundo I’m looking for from the T-birds will get the five bucks.”

“Make it ten,” one of them said.

“I’m not the Juárez Market,” Diego wrote, “five bucks.”

“Forget it then.”

Diego nodded, “All right—ten bucks. Bring him to San Jacinto Plaza. Tell him the deaf guy’s looking for him. Tell him
today.”

They read the note and all of them nodded. Diego headed for San Jacinto Plaza and again he waited.

Half an hour later, Diego looked up and saw Mundo standing in front of him. He recognized one of the young kids who was standing next to him. “You lookin’ for me, Mr. Diego?” Mundo cocked his head and rubbed his chin.

Diego reached out and shook Mundo’s hand. He looked at the kid as he reached into his pocket.

“Don’t pay him,” Mundo said. “This kid knew exactly where to find me. He just wanted your money—don’t give ‘em nothin’.” He put his hand around the kid’s neck and playfully choked him. “He don’t need your money, got it? He’s only gonna throw it away on some girl who don’t give a damn about him.”

Diego handed the kid a ten-dollar bill. “A deal’s a deal,” he wrote.

Mundo motioned the kid to take the money. “Now beat it, and
the next time Diego here needs a favor you don’t charge him. You got that?”

The kid nodded and smiled. He strutted away.

Diego watched him go. “Did you teach that kid how to walk like you?”

“You should learn to do it. You drag your feet when you move, see—people don’t respect that. But you didn’t go lookin’ for me to talk about my walk—what’s shakin’?”

“I need your help.”

“So shoot.”

“Help me find a friend.”

Mundo looked at him. “So you think I’m some kind of fuckin’ private eye?”

“I’m serious. I need to find this friend. Something’s happened to her.”

“Is she your new woman?”

“No. I don’t have a girlfriend. Is that all you think about?”

“You bet. A good street fight and a woman … man, that’s what it’s all about.”

Diego shook his head.

“Man, you’re so fuckin’ straight, Diego. What you gonna do with your life. Too uptight, see?”

“Skip the lecture, Mundo,” Diego wrote. “Teach me about life some other time. Right now I have to find my friend. She’s been missing since Sunday, maybe even since Saturday.”

“How do you know she’s missing? People disappear all the damn time, but they always show up again, I got some friends who don’t show up for weeks. Don’t mean nothin’.”

“She didn’t show up on Sunday. We were going to meet here at ten, and she never showed.”

“Just ‘cause a woman don’t show don’t mean nothin’—they do it all the time. She forgot or she didn’t feel like seeing anyone—they’re like that. They don’t mean nothin’ by it.”

“No, she didn’t forget, and she didn’t change her mind. Something happened. I’ve looked everywhere all morning—I can’t find her. Something bad has happened.”

“Goddamnit, Diego, look what’s happening to you! Your hands are shaking—you can’t even write straight. Maybe she’s visiting one of her friends or something—or her mother. You worry too damn much.”

“Goddamnit! I don’t worry too much. Something’s happened to her.”

“How the hell do you know?”

“I had a dream.”

Mundo shook his head as he read the simple statement on Diego’s pad. “Man, what’s wrong with you? Dreams? You’re as bad as the old ladies—”

“You think only women believe in dreams?”

“Look, Diego, everyone has dreams, know what I’m sayin’? I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ bad about dreams, but you don’t go lookin’ for someone just because you had a dream, that’s bullshit. This woman’s drivin’ you crazy—just relax, we’ll have a beer—talk about it.”

“Are you going to help me or not?”

“Look, I’ll do what I can. But I think she just stood you up.”

“Mary wouldn’t do that. She’s a little crazy, well, she’s a lot crazy, but she wouldn’t stand me up.”

“Her name’s Mary? You got yourself a gringa?”

Diego glared at him. “Where do you look for missing people?”

“What does your gringa look like?”

“She’s about five-foot-six, has blue eyes, dirty blond hair, wears piles of weird clothes, carries a bag with her all the time. I don’t think she has a place where she regularly stays. She lives out on the streets I think—and she thinks she’s the Virgin Mary.”

Mundo laughed. “I know that pendeja—everybody knows her. She’s a fuckin’ pain in the ass. What the hell are you doin’ hangin’ around that pinche broad?”

“She’s not a pendeja.”

Mundo shook his head. “Look, man, sharp guy like you—she’s not worth your time.”

Diego got up from the bench and wrote angrily on his pad: “Just forget it. I thought you’d help me. I should have left you in the trash.” He ripped the note off his pad and shoved it in Mundo’s hand. He walked toward his house, turning his back to
Mundo. Mundo read the note and chased him. He took him by the shoulder and tried to talk into his face. Diego pulled away and kept walking.

Mundo grabbed him again. “Look Diego, calm down—don’t get excited. I didn’t know you had such a bad temper.”

“I don’t have a bad temper,” Diego scribbled. “You could piss anybody off.”

Mundo threw his hands up. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you. Pinche Diego.” He lit a cigarette and offered it to him. Diego shook his head. “Come on, take it—take it.”

Diego took it, put it in his mouth, and took a deep drag.

“I’ll find her, man—I’ll find her.” Diego wasn’t watching his lips. Mundo touched his arm and made sure Diego watched his lips. “I’ll find her, goddamnit.”

Diego said nothing. He tried to keep himself from crying.

“Look, just go home, Diego. I’ll get back to you. If she’s in this pinche city I’ll find her. You got the right man for the job. Just wait for me at your place, got it?”

At about four-thirty in the afternoon, Mundo found Diego sitting outside the steps of his apartment. His pallid skin had turned red in the sun. There was a pile of cigarette butts at his feet. The day had grown hot and windless, and the thick smog hung in the air like the cigarette smoke in Vicky’s Bar. Through the dense air, the Juárez mountains seemed to have moved farther and farther away. Diego could do nothing to pull them back toward him.

Mundo looked down at Diego but said nothing.

“Did you find her?” he wrote after a while. It wasn’t really a question.

Mundo nodded, unable to speak.

“Well?”

“You’re not gonna like it—it’s not a good scene.” Mundo kept shaking his head.

Diego lit another cigarette. He offered one to Mundo, Mundo took it, but did not light it. “Where is she?”

“You really want to know?”

Diego nodded. He stared out at the Juárez mountains.

“It ain’t nice—I don’t think you really want to see.”

Diego wasn’t watching his lips. He just stared out at the mountains. “They seem to be getting farther away,” he wrote.

Mundo stared at the pad. He sat next to Diego and took him by the shoulder trying to make him look up. “I said it ain’t nice. You shouldn’t see her—won’t change nothin’.”

Diego looked at him blankly. He wrote on his pad: “Did you know that Carlota’s jewels are buried out in those mountains?”

“Who’s Carlota?”

“She was Maximilian’s wife—the Empress of Mexico.”

Mundo looked at him strangely, “You’re goin’ crazy, ese—snap out of it.”

Diego nodded. “Take me to her.”

“You sure? You don’t look so good. I don’t think you should see her.”

“I’m already deaf—but I’m not blind. I can see—I want to see.”

Mundo nodded, and lit his cigarette.

They walked toward downtown, both of them dragging their feet. On Santa Fe Street, Mundo noticed a cloud of thick black smoke coming from the south side of downtown. He pointed up, and Diego’s eyes followed his fingers. “Let’s go check it out.”

Diego shrugged his shoulders and followed Mundo, The smoke led them to Sacred Heart Church. When they arrived, the fire engines, policemen, and a silent crowd of watchers all stood in the middle of the street. Firemen raced to put the fire out. Mundo watched Diego as he made the sign of the cross. Out of respect, he bowed his head. Diego searched the faces in the crowd, most of them as silent as he was. He sat next to Crazy Eddie who was sitting on a curb and crying. “What happened?” he wrote.

Crazy Eddie raised his arms, but he let them fall as if they were too heavy for him. “My church—my church has burned down.” Diego handed him a handkerchief. Crazy Eddie wiped his tears on the handkerchief, wrapped his arms around himself, and rocked himself on the sidewalk.

“It’s OK, Eddie,” Diego wrote. “The outside is still standing. Look, it’s only the inside that’s gone. They’ll fix it.”

“It’s the inside that counts!” he yelled. Diego watched his contorted face. He put his arm on Eddie’s shoulder and nodded that it would be all right. Eddie did not believe it.

He stared at the firemen who had put out the last of the flames and were trying to gel people away. Some women gathered, some of them crying, others speaking to each other; and the children began playing in the puddles of water left on the street. Everywhere, people’s lips began moving. Diego saw one of the cops saying: “All right, it’s all over. Everybody go home,” but no one moved. Some of the firemen dragged out some of the statues from the church—all of them covered in a black film. The women clapped.

“Hey, the santos survived the fire,” Mundo said.

“I didn’t know you were religious,” Diego wrote.

“Hey, man, I’m religious—made my First Communion and everything. I even got a rosary.” He pulled it out of his pocket and showed it to Diego. “See—it goes everywhere I go. Yeah, God saved those santos.”

“But he didn’t save Mary,” Diego wrote.

They walked to the morgue in silence.

9

“I
HATE THIS BLIGHT
.” Jake sat in the kitchen staring out into the darkening San Francisco sky. “It’s like a fire that spreads and refuses to go out.”

“I hate it, too,” Tom said.

“But you’re not losing your lover.”

“No, I’m not losing my lover.” He wanted to comfort this hard man, but there was nothing he could say. And anyway, Jake would refuse to be comforted. Tom felt almost as lost as the man sitting next to him—and angry, but he knew Jake would not be the one to listen to him or even see that other people were losing Joaquin, too. For a minute, he hated Jake for isolating himself and all the resentments came flooding back into his body. But Jake had built walls around himself all his life—he had always been like that, lived like that, made a virtue out of living like some goddamned cowboy in a movie. But hadn’t he been taught to do that—hadn’t they all? To be alone in grief was to be strong. Tom did not want to be alone, did not want to be strong. Jake stared out the window. Tom stared at Jake. Sometimes, I hate being a man, Tom thought. Whoever invented it should be shot.

“Is life simple for anyone?” Jake asked. His question hung in the air like the evening rain. He looked at Tom.

“Is life supposed to be simple, Jake?”

“Maybe for some—don’t you think?”

“Everybody gets to stop breathing some day. Is that simple enough?”

“We’re talking past each other.”

“Yes,” Tom smiled, “we always have.”

“What will happen now?”

Tom shrugged his shoulders.

“Joaquin’s the only thing you and I have in common, Tom.”

“That isn’t true.”

“Isn’t it, Tom? He’s the only thing that comes between me and chaos. He always mediated our—our—whatever it is we have.”

“Why can’t you call it a friendship?”

“Is that what it is?”

Tom wanted to tell him he was an ass. He wouldn’t. Not tonight, “You’re very hard sometimes,” he said. He looked at Jake with a look that almost resembled disgust. “Tell me something, why do you find it so difficult to belong?”

“Belong to what?”

“Never mind—it doesn’t matter.”

“Want some coffee?”

Tom nodded.

He got up, ground some coffee, and put on the kettle.

“I love him, too,” Tom whispered.

“Did you say something?” Jake asked.

“I said I love him, too.”

“I could have lived without hearing that,” Jake said.

“I could not have lived without saying it.”

Lizzie walked into the room. She stared at the two men. No one said anything. They pretended they had not been talking—and Lizzie pretended she had not heard the last part of their conversation. They all waited for the coffee in silence, each one separate, isolated, alone as if they had told each other there could be no touching. Jake thought of nothing but the great sadness of his life. There was nothing now, that is all he thought, and suddenly he decided that after Joaquin took his last breath, he would drive to the Golden Gate Bridge and take a plunge. He pictured himself dead before he hit the water like the heron in his dream. Tom tried to keep from
howling, tried to keep from hating Jake, hating him not only because he was so hard and self-centered, but because he would learn nothing from this, he would be as isolated and ignorant about the world he lived in as he ever was. Jake was incapable of learning anything. Jake was capable of feeling—what was that? What was feeling without thought?—I feel bad, I feel good, I feel sad. Was that what living was? What was great about that? All Jake could do was feel, and he hated him for that. Without wanting or needing to, Lizzie could hear what they were saying to themselves. And since she overheard, she could not stop herself from intervening. “You won’t,” she said.