to a nearby batey, and recruited a couple of Haitian braceros to help him, which took a while because the braceros were afraid to leave the batey lest they get whupped as bad as Oscar by their overseers. Finally Clives prevailed and back they raced to the scene of the crime. This is a big one, one of the braceros cracked. Mucho plátanos, another joked. Mucho mucho phitanos, said a third, and then they heaved him into the backseat. As soon as the door shut, Clives popped his car into gear and was off. Driving fast in the name of the Lord. The Haitians throwing rocks at him because he had promised to give them a ride back to their camp.
CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE CARIBBEAN KIND
Oscar remembers having a dream where a mongoose was chatting with him. Except the mongoose was the Mongoose.
What will it be, muchacho? it demanded. More or less?
And for a moment he almost said less. So tired, and so muchpain — Less! Less! Less! — but then in the back of his head he remembered his family. Lola and his mother and Nena Inca. Remembered how he used to be when he was younger and more optimistic. The lunch box next to his bed, the first thing he saw in the morning. Planet of the Apes.
More, he croaked.
— — —, said the Mongoose, and then the wind swept him back into darkness.
DEAD OR ALIVE
Broken nose, shattered zygomatic arch, crushed seventh cranial nerve, three of his teeth snapped off at the gum, concussion.
But he’s still alive, isn’t he? his mother demanded.
Yes, the doctors conceded.
Let us pray, La Inca said grimly. She grabbed Beli’s hands and lowered her head. If they noticed the similarities between Past and Present they did not speak of it.
BRIEFING FOR A DESCENT INTO HELL
He was out for three days.
In that time he had the impression of having the most fantastic series of dreams, though by the time he had his first meal, a caldo de pollo, he could not, alas, remember them. All that remained was the image of an Aslan-like figure with golden eyes who kept trying to speak to him but Oscar couldn’t hear a word above the blare of the merengue coming from the neighbor’s house.
Only later, during his last days, would he actually remember one of those dreams. An old man was standing before him in a ruined bailey, holding up a book for him to read. The old man had a mask on. It took a while for Oscar’s eyes to focus, but then he saw that the book was blank.
The book is blank. Those were the words La Inca’s servant heard him say just before he broke through the plane of unconsciousness and into the universe of the Real.
ALIVE
That was the end of it. As soon as moms de León got a green light from the doctors she called the airlines. She wasn’t no fool; had her own experience with these kinds of things. Put it in the simplest of terms so that even in his addled condition he could understand. You, stupid worthless no-good hijo-de-la-gran-puta, are going home.
No, he said, through demolished lips. He wasn’t fooling, either. When he first woke up and realized that he was still alive, he asked for Ybón. I love her, he whispered, and his mother said, Shut up, you! Just shut up!
Why are you screaming at the boy? La Inca demanded.
Because he’s an idiot.
The family doctora ruled out epidural hematoma but couldn’t guarantee that Oscar didn’t have brain trauma. (She was a cop’s girlfriend? Tío Rudolfo whistled. I’ll vouch for the brain damage.) Send him home right now, the doctora said, but for four days Oscar resisted any attempt to pack him up in a plane, which says a lot about this fat kid’s fortitude; he was eating morphine by the handful and his grill was in agony, he had an around-the-clock quadruple migraine and couldn’t see squat out of his right eye; motherfucker’s head was so swolen he looked like John Merrick Junior and anytime he attempted to stand, the ground whisked right out from under him. Christ in a handbasket! he thought. So this is what it felt like to get your ass kicked. The pain just wouldn’t stop rolling, and no matter how hard he tried he could not command it. He swore never to write another fight scene as long as he lived. It wasn’t all bad, though; the beating granted him strange insights; he realized,