by Lolly Walter
Devin wanted nothing more. “Okay.”
“My name is Efraín. Nobody except Victor, Ebony, and Boggs knows that. Boggs made me change it to something white-sounding when I came to Flights of Fantasy.”
“Should I—”
“Call me Joe. It’s been years since anyone called me Efraín, except Victor, and that boy I was… I haven’t been him in a long time.”
Joe was watching him expectantly, so Devin said, “Yeah.”
“My dad abandoned me.”
“Joe—”
“He’s been gone nine years, papi. When he left, he said he’d come back for me as soon as he could. If he hasn’t come back in all this time, he’s not going to. He could be dead. He could have a new life, a new family. I don’t know. But I’m not going to see him again.”
“You don’t know that. He may not know where to find you.”
“Every time I stayed someplace different, I left notes in my old house, telling him where I was. So he could find me, you know? He’s not coming. He said he would come back for me. A year. Maybe two. I stayed there, in that house with my stepmother, waiting.”
“What Victor said about you and her…” Devin let the words hang. He didn’t know how to finish the sentence, wasn’t even sure what he wanted to know. He already knew it was true. Maybe all he wanted was to hear the truth from Joe instead of Victor.
Joe pulled his legs up on the bench, his knees at his chin. He was making himself smaller, Devin realized, protecting himself.
“My dad brought Maria home when I was eight or so. He didn’t marry her, but that’s what they were. Maria wanted me to call her mom. I did. It seemed to make my dad happy. When he left, he left us both. Maria, she’d never been a loving mom. Mostly she left me alone when my dad wasn’t around. But he got the chance to work on the biodomes. He’s an engineer, and they needed engineers. The plan was, I’d study hard and he’d take me and Maria north eventually and petition for our citizenship. You can do that — be granted citizenship if you prove you have a special gift to offer America. I’m really smart, and my dad was certain I’d get in.”
“Is that how your dad got in?”
Joe’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open. “I’m telling it out of order. My name is Efraín Tomás Daniel Brady García.”
Devin was supposed to understand something, but he didn’t get it. Joe waited, tilted his chin down, widened his eyes some more. Devin parroted the gestures and shook his head.
“My dad’s surname was Brady. He was white.”
Finally, the light went on in Devin’s brain. “Oh! That’s why you’re so pale and have curly hair!”
Joe scrunched his face and shook his head as though to clear it. “No. Well, yes, in the strictest sense. I’m pale and have curly hair because my dad was pale and had curly hair, but it’s way more complicated than that. I can’t believe that’s the part you’re latching onto.”
“But it explains why you don’t look like the other Mexican runners.”
Joe slapped his hand over his still-scrunched face. “Shut up. When I say ‘white,’ what I mean is ‘the majority of that person’s ancestors come from Europe and he or she is fair-skinned.’ I don’t mean ‘white.’ Race, ethnicity, it’s way more complicated than colors and where a person’s parents were born. We’re both white, papi, you and me. Bea is — was — white. Victor, Roxy, the twins, all white. My mom’s family is Mexican. The twins’ family came from Argentina. Bea’s mom was Brazilian. Victor came from the bowels of hell.”
Devin barked out a laugh and was rewarded with a small smile. He had a feeling Joe’s smiles would be even fewer and farther between now.
“Don’t get wrapped up in trying to understand the complicated stuff. What I want you to understand is that my dad, Aaron Brady, was an American citizen.”
“And you aren’t.”
“And I’m not.”
“But you’re his son.”
“Not good enough in the eyes of the New American government.” Joe shrugged and leaned into Devin’s side. “So we studied all the time so he could petition for my citizenship. I read everything, learned and learned and learned. He said when he came back, I’d get to go north with him. He always included Maria, too, but I don’t think she would have had as much to offer the country. She wasn’t like my mom, educated and smart. Maria had street smarts. I think my dad picked her because she’d help us survive down here.”
“And instead she raped you.” Devin knew about rape and consent. One of his novels had been very clear on the subject.
“I guess. I was young. At first, I didn’t understand that what she was doing was wrong. She messed with my head, told me it was my duty. I was so alone, missing my dad. School had closed. We didn’t come here anymore.” He patted the choir bench. “The world was shutting down around me. She was all I had.”
“Did it start as soon as your dad left?” Devin didn’t want to know the answers, but Joe was talking. Maybe he needed to get this out, to someone he really could trust, as much as Devin had needed to tell him about Tanner’s death.
“Not until a couple of years had passed. It always made me uncomfortable, but I went along with it. After a while, it started making me sick. I’d throw up before and after, and she’d get mad at me.”
“So you ran away.”
“I didn’t.”
The words came out so quietly that Devin wouldn’t have heard them if he hadn’t seen Joe’s lips move.
Joe closed his eyes again, like this part was the hardest. “I didn’t leave. I kept thinking if I could just hold out a little longer my dad would come back and save me. I got angry. I threatened to leave her. I threatened to stop doing it. That’s when she started saying she was pregnant, how I couldn’t leave a woman pregnant with my child.”
Devin couldn’t help it. He doubled over, sick to his stomach. He didn’t throw up, but he had to fight not to. Joe’s hand fell heavy on his back and made slow circles along his spine.
“I doubt she was really pregnant. We were almost starving. She probably couldn’t conceive, and even if she did, well, I wasn’t the only one she was intimate with. Sometimes she’d leave for days at a time. She’d say it was for food, and she’d come home with some food, but she always smelled like sex, too.”
“This is really fucked up.”
The floor under Devin’s feet was rotting, the wooden boards mildewed and soft. They were close to the old lake bed. Water must have sneaked up its banks and flooded the building at least once. The church had looked so safe when Devin had only focused on the pretty parts.
Joe rubbed Devin’s back a little harder. “I know. If, after this, you can’t be with me, I understand.”
Devin had been resting his head between his knees, trying to stave off the sickness, but when Joe said that, he righted himself so quickly he saw stars. “God no, that’s not what I meant.” He dropped down onto the ruined floorboards in front of Joe’s drawn-up knees and hugged him tightly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. She was a monster. No kid has control over something like that.”
“I… uh, Victor.” Joe cleared his throat. “Victor, after Maria ran off and didn’t come back, I scrounged around for a while until Victor found me. We were… together… before Flights of Fantasy. Ebony, too. I guess I already mentioned that. Anyway, he convinced me the stuff Maria made me do wasn’t my fault. I haven’t blamed myself for a long time. I just didn’t want anyone else to know.”
Devin tapped a rhythm on Joe’s thighs. He kissed each kneecap, then turned his head to the side. Maybe Joe would have an easier time answering his next question if they weren’t face to face. “That day with the hunter, you said that once you’d thought you’d loved someone, had sex with someone you loved. That was Victor, wasn’t it?”
“It wasn’t really love. I don’t even know if it was attraction. I was desperate and scared.” Joe dropped his feet back to the floor and stretched his arms over his head before continuing. “You and me, we�
�re even, right? Partners? Victor, god, papi, he had all the power. I ate because he provided for me. I slept because he kept me safe. He fought for me. He taught me that the bad stuff that had happened to me didn’t mean I was bad. When he started curling up with me instead of Ebony, and he kissed me and told me he loved me, said I was beautiful — I was so flattered. I believed he meant it. I was happy to suck his dick. And it hurt so bad at first because neither of us knew what we were doing, but I was grateful when he had sex with me. I thought it made me special.”
“You are special.”
Joe rubbed his knuckles over Devin’s hair. “Thank you, but I was dumb. Victor was readying me to go out and hustle. He was prepping me to be a whore. That’s what I meant to him: The potential for more food.”
“And Ebony went along with all this?” Devin had always thought of Ebony as gentle and kind. This version of her, one that would prostitute a child, was like being introduced to a stranger behind a friend’s face.
“Don’t blame her. She didn’t stop it, but she and Victor had been hustling for years. They’re only a year and a half older than me, both of them, but they’d lived out there alone a long time, first apart, then together. From her perspective, Victor was giving me the tools I needed to survive.”
The decay underneath Devin’s knees was bothering him too much. He staggered upright, tugged on Joe’s hand, and led him to a place in the church where the floor was firm and they were bathed in light from one of the windows.
“I’m sorry. Living with Tanner was so lonely, but what you went through… It’s a lot, Joe.”
They didn’t sit down again. Instead, they clasped hands and stood facing each other in front of the window.
Joe leaned up and kissed the tip of Devin’s nose. “You went through a lot, too.”
“Hey, Joe?”
“Yeah?”
Devin needed Joe to hear this, for reasons he couldn’t articulate even in his own head. “You aren’t a victim. That’s not what I see when I look at you. I don’t pity you.”
“I’m not a hero, either, though.”
Devin gently punched Joe’s chest. “I never said you were. You’re a guy. Which, yes, still weirds me out a little bit, but that’s because of how I want to rip your clothes off and fuck you. That’s my adjustment to make. But when I look at you, I see who you are, not the stuff that’s happened to you. Understand?”
Joe slipped his arms around Devin’s waist and buried his head on Devin’s chest. “We need to leave so I can say goodbye to my friend.”
Devin returned the embrace. He looked one more time at the stained glass. He thought about God, and this time, thinking of what he had both to lose and to protect, Devin found he had no trouble praying.
***
They got back in time to help dig the grave.
Six shovels and a pick mattock were checked out from the requisitions desk, and seven runners made their way to the cemetery. Ángel, the req desk clerk, would only give the mattock to Joe, and to get it, Joe had to swear not to let the other runners use it. Ángel had handed it over, smiled sadly, and whispered, “Vaya con Dios.” The others hoisted shovels across their shoulders, or in Marcus’s case, dragged it along behind like a tail.
The sound of the metal scraping the pavement grated on Joe’s nerves, and he dug the heavy, flat head of the mattock into his shoulder blade to remind himself that he’d been given the responsibility of the most dangerous tool because he was the one who possessed the most self-control. He pulled the handle toward his torso, moving the mattock away from his shoulder blade. The pick part of the tool, long and curved, swung near his face. Cool steel brushed his ear where the handle attached to the dual blades. He touched the end of the pick.
It was sharp, but not sharp enough to pierce his skin. Still, once he swung it, that pick would penetrate just about anything. Ground. Metal. Flesh.
Victor must have had that thought, too, because he kept his distance. Trig was leading the gravediggers toward the cemetery, and Victor, his nose and eye socket bruised and swollen, walked with him. Joe and Devin stayed in the back. Devin was quiet; he mainly seemed to be concentrating on not accidentally stepping on Marcus’s shovel.
Joe watched Devin’s near misses and tried not to think about why they were making this trip.
Devin’s foot missed the shovel in front of him by an inch, and Joe swung the mattock down and hooked it around the neck of Marcus’s shovel.
Marcus stepped forward only to be jerked back. He jolted and looked first at Devin with the hint of a scowl before he realized Joe was the source of the impediment. His scowl melted into something that more closely resembled fear.
“Pick it up, Marcus,” Joe said, keeping his voice calm. “We’re about to enter the cemetery, and it’s respectful to be quiet.”
“Sorry, Joesy.” Marcus’s impish little face colored, and Joe wanted to soften his chastising.
“You didn’t know. It’s all right.”
“Here.” Devin laid the shovel across Marcus’s shoulders the same way he and the other men carried theirs.
The shovel dwarfed Marcus, and Joe was reminded of the story of Christ carrying his own cross before the crucifixion. It made him want to ask the runners to lay down their shovels and walk away.
While Joe thought of the macabre and useless, Devin helped Marcus get his hands in the best position to carry the shovel. When he finished, he turned back to Joe with a tilt of his head and a small smile. Devin seeking approval was baffling. He had no need to prove himself. He had already earned every ounce of esteem Joe was capable of giving.
The other runners had turned around to watch the exchange, and Joe caught Zeke’s eye. He tried to smile but knew he failed. His mouth wouldn’t turn up at the corners.
The A company had tried to talk Zeke out of it, but he’d insisted on coming to prepare Bea’s grave. Joe understood. If the runners hadn’t been out searching, Bea would be alive. Zeke had to feel as guilty as Joe. Of course, Joe was the only one who’d had real power to stop the search. All he would have had to do was tell the other runners that Boggs had all but admitted he’d taken Nina. Then everyone would have understood the futility of looking around the city. Devin would have suffered, though; Boggs would have seen to it. The part that left Joe the guiltiest wasn’t the decision he’d made to withhold the information; it was knowing he’d make the same choice again.
“Where to, Joesy?”
It was nice of Trig to ask, but except for Devin and Marcus, everyone knew where to go. They’d buried their dead here before. Still, Trig stood to the side, clutching a bar on the heavy ornamental gate, and waited for instruction.
“To the right of the pond bed. Next to Chicho.”
Chicho had been a good guy with broad shoulders and a loud laugh. He cheated in poker and no one ever held it against him. One night, he got angry at his partner, a girl named Marisa, and went out running to cool down. The next morning, the first runners out found him four blocks from the Flats with a hole in his head. His attacker had taken his shoes. Three days later, Marisa walked out of the Flats and had never come back.
So Chicho was buried here, along with Suri and Hector and Felicia and other runners Joe had never known or whose names he’d forgotten. They weren’t the only occupants. A fancy gated archway at the north entrance said this was the Texas State Cemetery. Famous men and women were buried here, governors and senators and heroes, their gravesites marked with large headstones ensuring they were remembered in perpetuity. The runners marked their friends’ graves with piles of rocks. Someday, someone would come along and take the rocks, and the dead runners would be lost to the earth. Joe liked their way better. It was more natural, more humble.
He didn’t think Bea would like it, but it was all he had to offer. She’d liked the big headstones. When they had buried Chicho, she and Joe stayed afterward, and she ran around the cemetery like the rest of them did at the carnival, stopping in front of the most impressive monuments and asking
Joe if he knew who the person had been. She liked the idea of fame, of living beyond this life. He should have taken her to the church, but that had been a part of himself he hadn’t been able to share. It was one more way he’d failed her.
Victor and Trig stopped next to Chicho’s grave. Joe used the pick blade of the mattock to trace a rectangle in the hard earth. Then he made sure everyone stood clear, gripped the handle tight enough to make his bruised knuckles burn, swung the mattock high over his head, and drove it into the ground. Over and over, Joe hit the ground inside his neat rectangle, making every swing, every impact, a lament for the friend he’d killed.
When his arms ached and the pick was sinking to the hilt in the soil, Joe drew back and the men with the shovels moved in. They dug quickly and quietly, and all of them seemed to take care not to strike one of the others, which was impressive given their proximity to each other.
The afternoon lengthened. When the shovels began to scrape instead of dig, Joe would shoo everyone back and move in with the pick, piercing the ground like a giant, angry woodpecker. After he’d finished, the shoveling would start again.
The soil in this part of Texas gave way to a mixture of dirt and rock after about six inches. The digging was hard work, but no one complained. After an hour and despite the mild day, everyone except Joe had shed their shirts. Trails of sweat soaked their shorts and jeans. Joe stared at the bruises on Victor’s torso and wished he’d left more.
By the time the hole reached Joe’s waist, the sun was setting.
“We’re done,” he said, and he hopped out of the hole and gave Marcus a hand up. The rest of the gravediggers climbed out, too.
They walked back to the Flats, Devin and Joe still taking up the rear. Joe slipped his hand inside the back of Devin’s jeans and rubbed the sweat-slick top of his ass. Devin tensed at first, but he relaxed into Joe’s touch soon enough. Joe didn’t mean it to be sexual. He needed something lovely and real.
Ten
Bea’s body rested in Vail’s exam room. Joe had no desire to see it. He knew what dead looked like. Her lips would be cold and pale, her body stiff. Her soft blond hair would be the only part of her that moved. The runners who’d stayed behind, the ones closest to her, they would have cleaned the blood from her body and dressed her in the best clothes she’d owned.
