Cholo is a civilized Indian. Ernesto will not be cholo-nized. I will never be tired of being an Indian. The uaga will keep coming forever. Let them come. I’ll never be tired. I’ll never stop being crazy Ernesto. You want erotic salsa show? Good. Be a cholo. You want to kill all the turtles and sell them to the uaga? Good. Cholo. Without your soul you are a comedian. I laugh at you, even though you think you laugh at me.
He stared hard into the distance.
I used to tell my wife this, he sighed. But she went to Bab Dummad without ever understanding. Now there will always be a misunderstanding between us.
Sybil murmured in her sleep. I smoothed her hair.
My husband and I are very different, I said. We keep arguing over and over about the same subjects. We argue, but we never change each other’s minds. We only get farther apart.
I took another swig. Juliet swung slowly on her anchor.
He says it’s our self-interest that keeps us alive, I said. But if that were true, we’d be better off alone, right? But that’s not true. The solitary animal dies faster.
Ernesto closed his eyes, listening.
Ah, who cares, I said, and drank again.
I was about to walk away from the deal. The rational part of me said there wasn’t enough $ to go around, not w/out selling the house. I could A) buy the boat outright and have no money left for repairs or expenses, or B) take out a loan on the boat, which would mean the hassle of another mortgage, interest, payments from abroad…Selling the house was out of the question. Juliet wouldn’t even rent it. What if we wanted to come home early? Hedging your bets is expensive. But I didn’t walk away.
I was in the car. I was in the car, about to drive away. We’d spent months looking for the perfect boat, Harry & me. Paging through binders at our picnic table. Debating over grinders at the sandwich shop next door. I was beginning to think we were doing it for sport. Maybe just to be together. He seemed like a lonely guy. And me, I had no dad. Harry was nothing like my dad, I’m not saying that. My dad was fit, & vain about it. Harry wore what looked like free shit he’d just taken out of a box, crisply folded sweatshirts. My dad was lively, always up for a laugh or a good story. Harry seemed too tired to laugh. His past hung back there like smog. All Harry talked about was sailing. He understood life via winches & cleats.
But being around him…I don’t know. Maybe I missed the physical fact of a dad. Maybe I just wanted some old man to care where I was.
Harry had his hand on the top of my car. (I remember now w/ some bitterness.) Like he was trying to keep me from leaving. Weekenders were pulling into the marina w/ coolers. He leaned down & he said, Michael, I will tell you honestly because you’ve been honest with me, that what you want is a holy human right, and you shouldn’t just give it up.
I humored him. I said, What right, Harry?
The right to feel the burden of carrying your own life. Just you and your family and your boat. No crutches, no excuses.
I almost laughed. Who the hell did he think he was? At the same time, I was in total, giddy agreement.
You stay here and you might just give in, like everybody else. To your dependence and your entitlements. Then you’re just another placeholder.
We both stared out at the water. You could see how swiftly the Connecticut flowed only when you saw some brave soul being swept by in a canoe.
If you were my son, Harry said, I would tell you to go. Go. And that’s the honest truth.
When I reminded him that I was 20K short, he said, Hell, I’ll give it to you. I’ll pay the difference. You just have to agree to