Chulito (12 page)

“What are you talking about, Catalina? You act like we seeing each other or that we got some big thing going on,” Chulito said loud enough for Carlos to hear as he passed them.

“Act like?” Catalina slowly placed fists on her hips and planted her feet. She was like a statue, completely still except for the two pearl droplet earrings that swung on each earlobe. “You mean we not? Uhh, didn’t we go out a couple of times? Don’t you stop by here on the regular, except for the last two weeks? Didn’t you buy me a gold chain, these earrings and this charm bracelet?” She held the bracelet up to his face.

Chulito turned and saw Carlos waiting for the light to change to cross underneath the Bruckner Expressway.

“Baby, right this minute is not a good time to…” he said as he backed away.

“Don’t be fucking calling me ‘baby’. Hold it. Where are you going?”

Chulito’s anger rose and he wanted to run up to her and place his hand over her mouth to shut her up. He thought of Brick and Jennifer. “Look, stop pressing me. I told you now is not a good time to talk. I have something to do.” Chulito looked over his shoulder and saw Carlos walking down the steps into the number 6 train station.

“Pressing you? Chulito, you better not go ‘cause I’m tired of chasing you.”

“So stop chasing me then.”

“Are you breaking up with me?” she shouted. “I need to know because I am not going to be all faithful to you while I am in the D.R. and you’re gonna be chasing other bitches back here in the Bronx and in Puerto Rico.”

“Now you know I’m not like that, Catalina, but—” Chulito closed the gap between them and whispered, “maybe it’s best if we’re just friends. I mean, you going away and shit. And I’m going to P.R. with my moms so…”

Catalina stood firm with her arms crossed in front of her ample breasts. She stared at him defiantly, waiting for him to finish his response.

“So? What are you sayin’, Chulito?”

“So…” Chulito checked out the corner where several of his buddies bopped to a beat he couldn’t hear.

Chulito turned back to her. Her eyes were filled with tears that just sat in her eyes as if she could control when they would spill down her cheeks. He didn’t like hurting her. He knew it hadn’t been fair to lead her on.

“So I think that…uhh…since you going away and all…that maybe we should, you know…”

“I’ll finish for you. So this relationship is OVER!” she blurted as her tears fell.

“I’m sorry, ma—”

She put her hand up to stop him from speaking. “You go your way and I go my way. I’m done chasing you, Chulito. You can walk past this store and not worry that I am going to come out after you. I liked you ‘cause you’re not like the other niggas around here. You a gentlemen. You took me out. You didn’t try no shit, and you kissed me when I said it was O.K. But I am serious about you, and maybe it’s because you just a kid, but you’re not serious, and can be just as much of a playa as the rest of those assholes over there,” she said, pointing to the fellas on the corner. “But all that jewelry you gave me I am keeping ‘cause they were gifts, right?”

Chulito nodded. Although he felt guilty for playing Catalina, he felt relieved.

“Mira, I’m leaving next week to the D.R. and I’ll be back here before school starts. You take some time to think about what you want. And if you need to find me you will figure something out ‘cause you a smart boy. But I’m over feeling stupid.” She pushed past Chulito and went back into the salon.

Chulito turned and ran full speed toward the train station. He dodged cars under the Bruckner Expressway, ran down the stairs to the train station, looked around for cops and jumped the turnstile. He bounded down the stairs to the downtown train, but saw the fading lights of one that had just left the station. Carlos was gone.

He wondered whether he would ever catch up with Carlos or if he’d spend the rest of the summer chasing him and his world beyond Hunts Point. Chulito knew there was more to life and Carlos was it, but whatever it all was remained out of his reach. If he just got on the next train and went downtown, to the Village, he might see Carlos. How big could the Village be? Weren’t Villages small, like in the old vampire movies? Weren’t they this little area where everybody knew everybody? He could go find Carlos and maybe there they could talk, smile and not worry about the fellas and the neighborhood, but he didn’t know where it was. Maybe he could ask someone, but would they think he was gay? He checked out the subway map. There was an area called Greenwich Village and an area called East Village. He didn’t know there was more than one.

A young couple about his age came down toward him. The dude held the young girl’s hand and nodded a greeting to Chulito. The young girl stole a glance. They took each other’s hand and Chulito wondered whether he’d ever hold Carlos’ hand. The thought seemed ridiculous and pointless. He would never hold Carlos’ hand up there, in Hunts Point. It was a waste even to think about it. From the hot, dark subway, he looked up at the crisp blue sky, heard the rumble and whoosh of the Bruckner Expressway and wiped sweat from his brow. He took another step, then another, then another and soon reached the top. He looked around at women walking from the beauty salons with large pink rollers in their hair, blue-mouthed kids sucking on piraguas, Mexican women selling carved up mangoes with chili and lime, as the cars honked, the busses zoomed, and people laughed. Chulito realized he hadn’t moved until a small Chihuahua barked at him. The old woman walking her dog yanked the chain. “Macho, stop it.” She looked at Chulito and apologized. “He’s little but tough.”

Chulito crouched down and extended his hand toward Macho and the dog bared its crooked fangs. Chulito stood up.

“Sorry, he doesn’t like to be petted. He’s very protective.” The woman walked away and Macho looked back at Chulito and barked a few more warnings then trotted beside his owner.

Chulito wiped his brow again and shook the sweat off his hand. His heart slowed down. He looked down the subway stairs one last time and considered going after Carlos, then walked back toward his ’hood. As he waited for the light to cross underneath the Bruckner, he wondered where else he could go.

The light changed and he crossed. He walked on the other side of the street to avoid the salon. The heat was rising in waves from the concrete on the sidewalk and tar from the street. It distorted his vision as he saw the fellas on the corner and Damian sitting in his beach chair. It was as if they were swaying from side to side and would melt into the ground. All of Hunts Point was caught in the heat and looked like it would all dissolve. Then the whole neighborhood wouldn’t exist and he’d be free to go wherever he wanted. Through the heat’s blur he could make out Davey waving to him from the corner. He lifted his arm to wave back. It felt heavy, but he managed to wave. He felt as if he were walking through sand as he took one step, then another and another toward the fellas. Chulito felt like he was caught in a force field drawing him to the corner. He could hear congas playing from the barber shop, where every Friday the owner, a few barberos, the conga teacher from the local community center, Mr. Rodriguez, and some local men jammed. He wanted to resist the corner, but the pull was too strong. The drums continued,
tuka tun, tun, tun—tuka, tun, tun, tun—tuka, tun, tun, tun
and he glided toward the fellas. For the first time he listened to their beats and his heart kept rhythm with each
tun, tun, tun
. He remembered how when he took classes as a little kid, Mr. Rodriguez would tell them, “Listen with your heart.” Chulito didn’t understand until this moment. Those thumps from the congas were always a part of his world, whether he heard them from the barber shop or a street corner or from a picnic in Pelham Bay Park, but today they sounded different. He heard their echo from the mountains of Puerto Rico and the shores of Africa.

“Yo, yo, yo, Chulito.” Davey’s voice sounded distant and muffled as if he were talking from behind a closed door. “We saw Catalina wildin’ out over there. She was pissed.”

Chulito spoke slowly and carefully. “Yeah, she’s going to the D.R. for the summer and wanted to seal some kind of deal between us.”

As the fellas spoke, their voices sounded muffled and distant. “I know that shit,” Chin-Chin said. “My girl went to Puerto Rico last summer, and she was like, ‘We gotta get engaged…’cause I ain’t gonna be over there and you over here doin’ your shit.’”

Chulito knew the fellas were trying to connect to him, but the sound of the drums amplified. “What?”

“Hey, Chu, you sure you’re O.K.?” Papo touched his shoulder. He looked into Papo’s eyes and they turned from light brown to black as a dark cloud blocked the sun.

Chulito nodded, but he wanted to keep walking. He wanted to go home. He needed to move away from the corner. But it was as if his heavy boots were anchored there.

Davey piped in. “You all talk, Chin-Chin, because you got engaged.”

“But I still fucked around with whoever I wanted.” Chin-Chin slapped high-fives with Davey, Looney Tunes and Papo. He held his hand up to Chulito who stared at it a moment before high-fiving him.

Papo shook his head. “No way a chick is gonna pin me down with some shit like that. I just tol’ my girl, ‘You could trust me, baby. I only got eyes for you, baby girl.’”

The fellas laughed and nodded. Chulito wondered if they wanted women only for sex, holidays and family gatherings because otherwise it seemed like they didn’t spend time with them. He rarely saw them holding hands with their partners like the young guy he saw at the train.

“Yo, Chulito, what happened to my slice?” Looney Tunes asked. To shut him up, Chulito handed him a $5 bill, as a large raindrop slapped his hand. Then another, then another and then, as if someone had given a good twist of the wrench to a fire hydrant, the rain poured down on Hunts Point.

“Holy shit!” one of the fellas yelled and they all ran for cover in the bodega. The auto glass guys ran into their shops and within moments the sidewalks that had had people walking and babies in strollers, old men and women with canes, and kids on bikes and skateboards, were empty. Chulito stood in front of the bodega, the rain soaked into his braids and ran down his neck. The drops pelted his shoulders and slipped underneath the fabric of his jersey. It ran down his arms, past his watch and dripped off his fingers.

“Yo, Chulito!” Papo held open the door to the bodega. He flicked his head, inviting Chulito inside. “The rain’s gonna mess up ya gear.” Chulito looked down at his Yankee jersey that he’d just taken out of the dry cleaners, his Tommy jeans and his boots that were going from tan to dark brown as the rain drops splashed them. Watching the droplets dance around his feet, they dripped from his nose and chin. He took one soggy step away from the corner, then another and another and another. The rain washed down the sides of his building, slid along the parked cars and created a small river in the gutter carrying an empty, crushed bag of Cheez Doodles toward the drain.

When he reached the entrance he looked over his shoulder. The light posts and traffic lights were still there. The wire garbage cans filled with trash, and the milk crates that served as sidewalk stools were still there. The Chinese restaurant and bodegas were still there, the cars were parked, but the people had vanished in doors. And as he took in the streets that were now clear of people, standing under the downpour, he could still hear the pounding of the drums.

Chulito slipped off his boots, peeled off his wet clothes, shook out the plane tickets that were in his back pocket and placed them on his dresser. Naked, he tip-toed, so his mom wouldn’t catch him, into the bathroom to hang his clothes to dry, then returned back to his room. He lay on his bed, gave Fat Joe and Big Pun a break and listened to the distant drumming. The congueros were now singing. Although he didn’t understand their incantations, he recognized Elegua, Yemaya and Chango, names of the Orisha Gods. He hugged his pillow which felt soft against his cool skin and watched the rain blur the pane. He sank into his hurricane of thoughts.

At the center of the storm was Carlos and his desire for him. Then swirling around in the debris was Kamikaze, the fellas, his mother, Catalina, the auto glass workers, Martha, Brenda and Debbie, the Tats Cru guys, Brick, even classmates he hadn’t thought of before that moment but he feared what they would think about his desire.

Chulito gripped himself tightly. He felt his protective wall crumbling because strange things were happening to him, like the dream with Damian and how it had become more and more difficult to keep his emotions for Carlos in check.

The drums continued. “Elegua, Elegua.”

Chulito’s mother knocked on his door. He took the thin, gauzy sheet that had belonged to his grandmother and covered up. He used to play the game where he’d cover his face and his grandmother would pretend that he disappeared. “Where’s my little Chulito? Where can he be?” The sheet was soft and he could see her through it searching for him. On her last visit, a few years ago, she had anointed it with Agua Florida, saying that it would bring him protection, peace and comfort.

“You want some food?” Carmen asked through the door. She cooked every night, even if Chulito was not going to be home for dinner.

“I’m not hungry.” It was an automatic answer, but he, in fact, was ravenous.

“O.K., I’ll put the food away.”

“Wait.” He got up, wrapped the sheet tightly around his waist and opened the door. “I got caught in the rain.”