Stalked: The Boy Who Said No (13 page)

“Lay off me, will you?”

“I’m not laying off. I live here too, and I deserve some answers.”

A moment passed before Luis turned to face Frank. He grunted. “Rosa’s not coming.”

Frank looked at his uncle, astonished. “What are you talking about? She’s your wife. That was your plan.”

Luis held Frank’s gaze for a moment. He looked chagrined. “I said she’s not coming. That’s that.”

“Is she sick?”

“No.”

“Are the kids sick?”

“No.”

“Then figure out how to get her here, damnit. There’s gotta be a way. You can’t give up.”

“I’m not giving up. I don’t want her.”

Frank sat back, alarmed. “Because you feel like you can’t support her?”

“It’s not that—”

“Then why?”

“I don’t want her here, that’s all. I don’t need to explain myself to you—case closed.”

Frank waited a moment, digesting this news. A vision of Aunt Rosa, her hair bundled atop her head, danced before his eyes. She was high-strung and nervous, but she’d do anything for anyone—she had a heart of gold. Luis was lucky to have her, and Frank couldn’t imagine him living without her. If she didn’t come to the States, Frank might never see her or his cousins again. He wondered how they would manage without Luis. It saddened him to think about it.

“Don’t you love her?”

“She’s always riding my ass. Besides, she wouldn’t understand my life here.”

“You mean she wouldn’t approve of your friends,” Frank said with a touch of sarcasm.

“That, and other things.”

“What other things?”

“None of your business, Frankie. Back off, will you?”

“All right. But you’re making a big mistake. You can’t treat your family like table scraps.”

“It’s my life. Besides, who are you to tell me what to do? I’m older than you. I’m a grown man. I know what I’m doing.”

“Forget I mentioned it.”

Frank undressed and climbed into bed, wondering what in the world had gotten into his uncle.

When Pino entered Foreman Castillo’s office for his semimonthly meeting with Torres, he found the first lieutenant sitting in the foreman’s chair with a folded copy of
Granma
in his lap.

The trees rustled against the window. A thunderstorm had just passed. In a few minutes the cool air would be vanquished by humidity.

Pino’s skin was still scabbed, but his blisters were healing. He watched Torres sip coffee from an old, tin mug, wondering how their meeting would unwind.

The former lieutenant had been exceptionally well behaved during the past two weeks, and he figured the report on him would reflect improvement in his attitude and behavior. Pino watched Torres stand and smile. He accepted an offer of coffee and sat when the lieutenant gestured to a chair. Pino occupied the edge of his seat, feet flat, back straight. He waited for Torres to begin the conversation.

“How’s it going?”

“Fine,” replied Pino.

“You seem to be healing well.”

“I am.”

“Good. Have you been getting along with the other men?” Pino gritted his teeth and raised his chin to expose a column of throat. A gallery of sores dotted his neck. He crossed his arms in front of his chest like a brick wall. But he kept his expression neutral.

Why should I have to worry about getting along with anyone? If things were the way they should be, people would be worried about getting along with me.

Pino looked out the window. A breeze dislodged water droplets from the trees, creating a crystal shower that puddled on the walkway. A heat haze shimmered over the cane fields, but dark clouds still loomed in the distance. The rain could resume at any time. Watching the sweat drip off the faces of the
macheteros,
Pino renewed his vow to play the role required of him.

“Yes. I’m getting along well with the men.”

Torres nodded his approval. “What do you attribute that to?”

Pino took a hard swallow, weighing his words. “I’m minding my business, following orders, and not taking charge.” He lifted his chin in a gesture of defiance. “I believe that’s what’s required of me.”

Torres nodded. “Good. So you’re learning to follow the rules?”

Pino looked at Torres, determined not to be his own worst enemy. He knew it was necessary for him to modify his behavior to save his skin. But it wasn’t easy.

“Yes, I’m following the rules.”

“Have you given more thought to the Mederos business?”

Pino pushed his teeth together and clenched his jaw. “Yes, and I admit to being hardheaded.”

“Explain.”

Pino hesitated, formulating an answer that would please the lieutenant. “My zeal in getting Mederos clouded my thinking. I should have pursued him using other methods.”

“So you admit your mistake?”

Pino closed his eyes. This was more difficult than he had anticipated. He knew he had made the right decision to go after Mederos the way he did. Even if he had informed the CDRs, the militia, and the police of Mederos’s escape, they wouldn’t have been able to catch him. He had done the right thing, despite its outcome. Now, he was forced to play this juvenile game that mocked his efforts.

An image of his mother crossed Pino’s mind. She was standing in the kitchen wearing a striped yellow apron. She tapped him on the shoulder and handed him a colander and a pot of black beans that had been soaking in water.

“What do you want to me to do with them?” he had asked.

“Strain and contain them,” she replied.

That’s what I need to do now,
thought Pino.
Strain and contain my emotions. Get control.

“I made a mistake, a big mistake,” said Pino convincingly. “I put my own ego ahead of the Party, ahead of the cause. I was arrogant, and I am truly sorry.”

“That’s good to hear,” said Torres. “Admitting your mistakes is the first step toward rehabilitation.”

“I understand, sir. I have every intention of making amends for my mistakes.”

A hint of a smile lifted the corners of Torres’s mouth.

“I’m pleased to know you feel that way. I will see you again in two weeks. Keep up the good work.”

“I will, sir.”

Pino saluted Torres and left the office.

On a Friday night at the end of April, Magda and her mother visited Frank in his room for the first time. He had made his bed and tidied things up for their arrival, aligning his shoes and banishing his clothes to a drawer. He had no concept of housework. In his eyes, the room looked fine. But he was still nervous, hoping to make a good impression on his future wife and mother-in-law. When the two women arrived, their smiles disappeared. They looked horrified.

“This is awful, Frank,” said Magda. “How can you live this way? This bedding is all tattered and torn. It looks like a bunch of rags.”

“It’s what was here,” Frank offered by way of defense.

Magda rolled her eyes. “You need new linens. Let me pick some up for you.”

Frank smiled. If this was a preview of what it would be like to be married to Magda, he liked it.

Frank glanced at his watch. “I’d go with you, but I have to work.”

Magda shrugged. “Mother will come with me. By the time you get home, we’ll have you all fixed up.”

By the following morning Frank had forgotten their conversation. When he walked into his room, he marveled at the transformation. The floor was mopped. The lampshade had shed a layer of dust. A plaid curtain hung at the window, and a new spread covered the bed. Magda had even nailed a crucifix above the headboard. A jingle Magda sung sprung to Frank’s mind: “It’s so easy when you use Lestoil.”

Frank switched on the fan. He lay back on the bed, propping his head on his folded arms. He closed his eyes and had just begun to drop off to sleep when Magda and her brother, Sergio Junior, knocked on the door. Magda walked in, smiling. She looked proud.

“Do you like it?” she asked.

“It’s great! Thanks.”

“I got you sheets. Here, help me make the bed.” Magda ripped the sheets from the plastic bag and nodded for Frank to take the other side. She removed the spread, fluffed the sheets, and tucked them in using hospital corners. Frank wondered where she had learned that trick.

Once they made Frank’s bed, the three of them decided to take a walk. It was a beautiful spring day, perfect for a stroll. They set out in good spirits. A couple of blocks from Frank’s rooming house, a Cuban man approached them. He began speaking to them in Spanish. His name was Pedro.

He was tall for a Cuban and rail thin. Gray threaded his hair and his straggly beard. Rimless glasses sat on his nose, and a faded flannel shirt with missing buttons hung open over a ribbed undershirt. A large cross announced his Catholicism from a black cord around his neck.

Pedro wanted to know where they were from, how long they’d been in Union City, and how they liked America so far. He seemed friendly enough, not a bad sort, although Frank suspected he was high on something. Once they told him a little about themselves, he turned to Frank and said, “Man, did you hear about the refrigerator?”

Frank wrinkled his brow. “What refrigerator?”

“The one on Palisades Avenue.”

“Sorry, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Pedro ignored Frank’s statement. “Do you need a refrigerator?”

Frank thought for a moment. “Yeah,” he said. “I could use one. I live in a room with my uncle. There’s no place to store food.”

“Then let’s go get it.”

“What do you mean?”

Pedro looked at Frank like he was a simpleton.

“There’s a good refrigerator just sittin’ on the street. If you need it, go pick it up.”

“You mean steal it?”

“Nah, I mean take it.”

“What’s the difference?”

“The difference is that the people don’t want it no more. So it ain’t stealin’.”

What Pedro was saying was so far removed from Frank’s experience that he couldn’t get his mind around it. “They threw it away? Just like that?”

“Yeah, people here do that kinda shit all the time!”

Frank shook his head. “You gotta be kidding me. Why would someone throw away a perfectly good refrigerator?”

“I don’t know about it bein’ perfect, man. But I’m telling ya, the real deal is just sitting out on the sidewalk waitin’ for the takin’, if you know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t know what you mean.”

“Jesus, man! What the hell is wrong with you? You think I would lie to you about sumptin’ like that?”

“No,” said Frank. “But it doesn’t make sense. You saw it yourself? Or you just heard about it?”

The man pointed to his eyes with the first two fingers of his right hand. “These eyes,” he said. “No stinkin’ rumor. Hell, if I needed a refrigerator, I’d take it myself.”

“So you’re telling me theres’s a refrigerator—a real refrigerator—just sitting on the pavement where anybody can claim it?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. Are you hard of hearing or sumptin’?”

Frank closed his eyes for a moment.
I’ve literally just gotten off the boat. I can’t risk going to jail over a refrigerator. What would my parents think? What would Magda’s parents think? On the other hand, this guy may be telling the truth. And we could use a refrigerator.

Frank glanced at Magda. “What do you think?”

She shrugged. “What do I know?”

Frank looked again at Pedro. “Is it legal to haul away something like that?”

“Hell, yes. People do it all the time.”

“And the police don’t care?”

“Nah! I’ve lived here for almost a year. I know how things work in this country.”

Frank threw his head back and laughed. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go get it.”

“That’s the spirit!” said Pedro.

“We’re going to need a rope and a hand truck,” said Frank. “Do you know where I can get them?”

Pedro thought for a moment. “My brother works at a bodega on Twenty-Sixth Street. Wait here. It’s not far. I’ll see what I can do.”

About fifteen minutes later, Pedro returned with the hand truck. “One of the wheels is kinda funky. The rubber is missin’, and it don’t move quite right.”

“It’ll have to do,” said Frank. He grabbed the hand truck from Pedro and started rolling it down the sidewalk. “Let’s go! We can’t waste any time.”

Young Sergio ran beside Frank, hoping for an adventure.

“How far away is it?” Frank asked.

“Not far. You’ll see,” said Pedro.

They walked five blocks, the hand truck rattling and squeaking along the pavement. Two dogs, a Brittany spaniel and a black Labrador, were sniffing a garbage can as they passed. Their ears sprung up, and they wagged their tails furiously.

They decided to tag along.

It was the morning rush hour, and traffic was heavy. Cars and trucks honked and darted past each other, jockeying for position. The contingent walked at a brisk pace, wanting to claim their prize before someone else did.

They walked four more blocks, and Frank began to get suspicious.
He turned to Pedro. “You aren’t kidding me, are you? This thing really exists?”

“No shit! It’ll be there, unless someone’s already picked it up.”

They had just finished walking another block when Sergio started screaming and jumping around. He pointed to a large white object sitting on the curb. “There it is! Do you see it?”

Frank shielded his eyes from the sun and looked where Pedro was pointing. Sure enough, a full-size refrigerator sat on the curb.

“Bingo!” he said. Sergio was so excited he hugged Pedro. The dogs sniffed the refrigerator and pawed beneath it. A line of cockroaches emerged from the motor, stopped, and then quickly retreated. Pedro stood proudly beside the appliance, while Magda jumped around like a child.

“Wow!” said Frank. “It looks brand-new.”

“See, I told you,” said Pedro.

Frank and Pedro wedged the hand truck beneath the refrigerator and positioned it on the platform. It tipped backward. They steadied it before inching it down the street. The right wheel wobbled and scraped the pavement. When it refused to budge, Frank stopped to adjust it.

Pedro chased people off the sidewalk, hollering, “Make way— valuable merchandise coming through!” His beard flapped in the breeze, and his hair hung over his face like wet spaghetti. He was oblivious to the impression he created.