Broken Mirror

by Cody Sisco

  “See?” Hector said. “A bunch of horseshit. Enhanced food is more nutritious and affordable. They sound like they’re a perfect match for the Puros. They can be insane together.”

  Julia pointed beyond the dusky yard. “The Puros used to be local boys fighting for independence from Washington-fascist Corps. Now they’ve all lost their way.”

  Elena tensed. Victor squeezed her knee, and she smoothed her hair, apparently rethinking the wisdom of getting involved in a discussion of Puro ideology with her family.

  Hector turned to his ma. “What you say is not true,” Hector said. “The Corps were trying to keep the States together.”

  Julia tut-tutted at her son. “That’s what you were taught!” She wore a cruel smile. “They’ve got no representation in the government, and let’s hope they never will. Enough lunatics live there already. They’re trying to pass a bill to investigate the invasion of Miami.”

  Maria sighed, and her gaze wandered across the yard. “That again.”

  “That was decades ago,” Victor said.

  Julia said, “It’s never too late to fight over the past.” The scorn on her face hadn’t gone away. Victor felt her derision like static electricity on his skin.

  He could feel the family’s annoyance with the old woman brimming over. His own volcanic anger wanted to escape. He needed to calm himself. He pictured covering his anger with an ocean, trapping the heat in his core with cool, firm pressure.

  Julia clucked and continued. “They say the invasion was masterminded by President Kennedy before he was impeached.”

  “What?” Hector yelled. “That’s crazy!”

  Julia said, “A lot of people benefited from the invasion. Federal monies went to Florida and Cuba for rebuilding. The president doubled the defense budget overnight and got to look so strong. Venezuela established naval bases and won all sorts of trade concessions. I guess the only losers were the Miami people who died, but there are memorials for that sort of thing.”

  Hector said, “The death toll in Havana alone was many times worse than all of Florida.”

  Maria smiled at Julia. “That’s a flawed theory. Kennedy definitely didn’t want European troops on A.U. soil again.”

  “The law of unintended consequences,” Julia said and then sipped her tea. “Or maybe he was secretly German.”

  Elena cackled. Maria and Hector were dumbfounded. “Okay,” Elena said, “that’s actually the funniest thing I’ve heard in weeks. Also the most insane.”

  Julia said, “It derailed the American Union’s plans to enter the Sino-Nippon Conflict.”

  “Please, can we not talk about the Chinese Empire again?” Maria said.

  Julia said, “We can’t pretend there’s no world beyond our borders. Millions of people were displaced.”

  Victor said, “I know. A lot of them came to SeCa.”

  Julia laughed, but it was closer to a bark. “And look what a mess that became. The Pacific Coast is going to slide into the ocean one day, and all those foreigners along with those fog-headed, sun-dazzled fruits and nuts are going to throw a party at the bottom of the ocean.”

  “Let me check on the food,” Maria said, and went back inside.

  Victor’s head swam with hunger. He could make it a few more minutes, and then he worried he might literally lose his mind. He turned to Hector and said, “I want to ask you about the Corps and why there are so many at the Lone Star Kennel.”

  Hector froze.

  Victor hesitated, puzzled. What could Hector have to hide?

  After a moment of quiet, Hector turned and asked, “Victor, are you and Elena together again?”

  “Papá!”

  Victor reddened. The shadows under the porch probably helped conceal his reaction, but he couldn’t think of a response.

  Hector cocked his head, waiting.

  “How much are you worth these days?” Julia asked with a mocking lilt in her voice.

  What could Victor say? Truth, lies—they both dried up in his mouth, and he had nothing left. He took a sip of ice tea, which slipped into his lungs and set off a coughing fit. He doubled over, almost retching, feeling every drop of the tea burn in his throat as he coughed up a fine mist of saliva.

  Elena patted him on the back.

  “Excuse me,” Victor said once he had recovered. “We haven’t—”

  “Are you an item or aren’t you?” Julia asked.

  “Abuela! That’s not—”

  Julia opened her mouth to speak.

  “Drop it,” Elena said with such ferocity that Julia rocked back in her seat.

  Hector pointed at his daughter. “Elena, you shouldn’t talk to your—”

  “Enough!” Elena said. “We need to wash our hands before dinner. Come on, Victor.”

  Victor rose unsteadily and teetered past the table, following her inside.

  Elena dragged him upstairs. Every step required focused effort. In her room, Elena hissed, “She always drags me into fights about nothing. Shocks, I wanted to smack her!”

  Victor slumped against the bed. “Calm down. And don’t let me fall asleep. If I don’t eat . . .” He could taste the cooking smells in the air so strongly it was like chewing on garlic cloves and leaves of cilantro.

  “I can’t believe she said what she did. She knows just how to push my buttons. Laws!”

  He asked, “How should I have responded?”

  “You should have told her to stuff it.”

  They sat for a few minutes in silence.

  “You know what?” Elena said. “I’ll bet Abuela is secretly Catholic.”

  Victor’s eyelids drooped. “Why?”

  Elena said, “The way she hates on the Puros. You know they take credit for the Communion Crisis.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  Elena rummaged in her closet and brought out a set of square painted-metal plates. Victor examined them. Printed across the top, in bright orange letters, was “The Purity Caucus.” The plates depicted scenes of protest outside cathedrals. The people wore fancy dress: elaborate hats, men in suits and ties, women in ankle-length dresses with bustles and corsets.

  “These are from the late 1800s,” Elena said, “before they named themselves the Puros. Anyway, they stopped taking communion and started documenting the withdrawal symptoms. When they published A Microbial God and petitioned the A.U. to start an investigation, the Communion Crisis began.”

  “Ah,” Victor said, “that’s starting to sound familiar. I didn’t realize the Vatican’s fall started here.”

  “Not here here. San Antonio, I think.”

  “Still.”

  “Yeah, I guess sometimes what happens in the middle of nowhere matters. But you see now why I joined the Puros? They’ve got guts. Abuela would drop dead if she knew. Not that I want my family to know, so make sure you don’t say anything.

  “Cross my heart,” Victor said.

  Elena laughed. “How do you say ‘Cheers’ in Latin? That’s certain to set her off.”

  “I have no idea.” Victor gave back the plates and rubbed his eyes. “Your fa didn’t answer my question about the kennel,” he said.

  “We’ll ask again at dinner,” Elena said. She put the plates in the closet and started pacing. “I hate being back here. They shouldn’t have asked you about us. It was rude.”

  The mattress beneath Victor’s head was luxuriously soft. He wanted to crawl under the covers and sleep. He closed his eyes. For a brief delicious moment, he slipped into unconsciousness.

  Elena’s voice woke him up. “Why do you always trust everyone?”

  Victor blinked, trying to stay awake. “Huh?”

  “You could have come here without me.”

  “Do you think your fa would have helped me?”

  “Is that all? Come on, Victor. Truly.”

  “I guess . . . I always assume that other people are more reliable than me. I’m so preoccupied with what’s in my head, I figure everyone else has theirs screwed on better. I was disapp
ointed that you screwed up. But you forgave me. You deserve my forgiveness too.”

  “Hmm . . . You’ve got a better grasp on things than most.” She held out her hand and helped him to standing. “Come on, let’s eat.”

  They took turns washing their hands in the upstairs bathroom and then went downstairs.

  “Do you need help setting the table?” Elena asked her ma.

  “Yes,” Maria said, “but Victor can get started on that. I want to talk to you.”

  Victor collected plates, silverware, glasses, and napkins and began setting the table. He eavesdropped on Elena and Maria in the kitchen. They seemed to be discussing Elena’s behavior over the past few months. Victor arranged all the place settings twice to keep his mind off the mismatch between his empty stomach and the piles of food just a few steps away. He wanted to eat spoonfuls directly from the simmering pot.

  Each second oozed along at a snail’s pace. Finally, after what felt like an hour, Maria called them to eat.

  The Morales family jumped into action. Dishes were transported to the dining table, drinks retrieved from the second chiller in the basement, and seats pushed in and out so each family member could take their place. A complicated ballet of roast turkey parts unfolded. Many greens including kale, broccoli, and green beans moved across the table, along with potatoes and rice. All the dishes were generously spiced with dried chili de arbol, epazote, and cumin. Lime garnishes were squeezed and mashed onto plates and mole sauce sloshed freely over the servings. The diners moaned with pleasure. Maria beamed.

  “So good,” Elena moaned.

  Victor controlled the urge to inhale the food all at once by methodically trying moderate bites of each dish individually and combining them to test the flavor combinations in his mouth. Meanwhile, his stomach had developed supercharged suction powers: he couldn’t keep his mouth full; every bit was instantly sucked down his gullet.

  Maria poured everyone a glass full of maroon liquid that at first Victor thought was wine, but when he sipped it, he discovered it was lightly carbonated and sweet, tasting like anise. He took another bite of food, and the flavors danced on his tongue, swirling and lingering. The drink accented the tastes of the food perfectly. He lifted his glass and chugged half of it down.

  Julia pushed a few forkfuls around. She said, “It’s good, but it’s not truly Mexican.”

  “What did you do to this food, mi corazón?” Hector asked.

  “My secret,” Maria said, and rested her chin on the backs of her hands. “Mustard seed, curry powder, and cinnamon. Not too much. Some secret sauce. You like it?”

  “Mamá, delicioso, super!” Elena said. “Mm-mmm.” She had already inhaled most of her first helping, and paused for a drink of the wine-colored liquid.

  “So Victor, how long will you stay in Amarillo?” Hector asked.

  Victor took a bite of the green beans, tasting earth, chlorophyll, and umami. The browned parts added a smoky aftertaste. Crystals of curry powder and salt tingled on his tongue. The moment extended, the flavor developed and changed, becoming oily and bitter, the flesh of the green beans roiled in his mouth. He swallowed and closed his eyes. The tastes intensified, waves of soil and sprouts and spices—

  “Victor!”

  Elena was shaking him.

  He opened his eyes. Everyone was staring at him. Elena looked concerned. Her parents, confused and embarrassed.

  Julia reproached him with a disdainful look and said, “Such obscene sounds are not welcome in my house.”

  “What happened?” he asked. It had just been a moment. The food had tasted better than any in his life. Everything else had faded away.

  Elena leaned over and whispered, “You were moaning for, like, twenty seconds.”

  “The flavors . . . It’s because I haven’t taken my . . .” This wasn’t the right time to discuss it. Not in front of her parents.

  Elena whispered, “No, I’m feeling it too. Like when I was on—like before. Supercharged senses.”

  “You did?” He took a drink. The aniseed splashed his tongue, and again he was on a roiling journey of sensation. “Maria, what is this?”

  “It’s Pump. You like it?” She smiled tentatively.

  “But where did you get it?” he asked.

  “The mercado. Everyone’s drinking Pump now. ‘Tastemaker. Pump makes dinner an occasion.’ The ads are everywhere.”

  “This wasn’t here when I was here,” Elena said. She held up the glass, took a sniff, grimaced. She took a small sip while Victor watched. She nodded. “Mmm. My tastebuds are stimulated.”

  Stims. An amount so small no one drinking it would suspect. “This is sold legally?” he asked.

  Maria said, “What do you mean ‘legally’? Of course. Pump is everywhere. They’ve been giving out samples for free at the market for the past few weeks. Drives the Puros crazy.”

  “I wonder why,” Victor deadpanned.

  Julia gave him an angry look. She hadn’t touched her drink at all. She moved it to one side.

  “It’s just a drink,” Maria said. “It’s not even alcoholic, so I don’t know why they care. Too much sugar I guess.” She sighed. “They don’t want anyone to enjoy themselves.”

  Elena was silent, but Victor could tell she was having trouble staying quiet. Illegal stims like Aura were only the tip of the iceberg. The R.O.T. was being flooded with a product mimicking MRS physiology. Victor wondered what Ozie would have to say about it. He’d call him tomorrow after food and rest.

  Victor helped himself to a few more slabs of turkey and turned to Elena’s fa. “Hector, you worked with my granfa for a long time, right?”

  “A dozen years. Maybe longer.”

  “We were so sorry to hear about Jefferson’s passing,” Maria said. “I wish we could have come to the funeral.”

  “And he helped you?” Victor asked Hector. “After the thing with the unions, he got you a job here in Amarillo?”

  “That’s right,” Hector said, looking warily at Victor.

  “He trusted you, so I’m going to trust you as well. I plan to visit the Lone Star Kennel in the morning. I need to know if it’s safe.”

  Hector looked down and scraped together the few last remaining bits of food on his plate.

  “Is it safe?” Victor repeated. “I saw a bunch of Corps out front.”

  Hector stiffened.

  Victor concentrated on taking purposeful bites of his turkey. He let the remaining Pump in his glass go untouched.

  “Papá?” Elena asked with a look of concern on her face.

  Hector raised his head, and Victor saw fear swirling around his eyes like thick, black smoke. “They arrived today. I overheard—The kennel was always jointly held by Mason and Jefferson. When Jefferson died . . . I heard there was a lawsuit, but I didn’t want to make it my business. The court ruled in favor of Mason yesterday. The Corps showed up today.”

  “So they’re working for Mason?” Victor asked.

  “Who knows? The Corps are in charge now. That’s all that matters. And no, I don’t think it’s safe for you there. Or for anyone. You should stay away.”

  Victor slumped and put down his fork. How was he going to get past a flock of Corps to search the kennel for the XSCT compound?

  Maria said, “There’s no sense in wasting your trip out here. You should stay longer. It’s so nice to see you.” She watched her daughter’s reaction.

  Elena smiled, shyly, “We were hoping to stay here. At least for tonight.”

  “This isn’t a hotel,” Julia said. She was glaring at Victor. “You’re trouble, and I want no part of it.”

  The other three Morales family members froze.

  The spit in Victor’s mouth dried up. What had he done to upset her?

  Julia said, “We’ve had enough of you upstart Eastmores. You ought to go back to working the plantations where you belong.”

  Elena and Maria began speaking at once.

  Victor cut them off. “I’ve been hated for a lot of thing
s. This crosses the line. I’m not ashamed of my skin,” he said, staring at Julia. The room fell silent. Not just the voices, but the clink of silverware and the sounds of chewing and gulping—all of them ceased.

  Julia raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. This set Victor’s blood boiling. He opened his mouth to yell, but Elena kicked him under the table.

  She leaned over and whispered, “Deep breaths. Don’t let her rattle you.”

  The anger faded, crowded out by a fondness and a connection to Elena that was deeper than family. He picked up a turkey drumstick, found a succulent bite, and ate, working hard at ignoring everything else around him. He said, “I thought all the racists had moved to Florida.”

  Elena put her hand on his forearm, a molten brand frying his skin. He jerked away and sent a glass tumbling off the table. It landed with a soft thump on the rug.

  “Well done, young sir,” Julia said mockingly.

  Victor flinched. “All you’ve done since I got here is berate me. I’ve had enough.”

  Julia turned to her son and said coolly, “I won’t be spoken to like this in my own house.”

  “Then treat me with respect!” Victor said.

  The other family members were shocked, but Victor thought they all agreed with him, at least a bit. Julia, however, looked at him from underneath condescending eyelids; her mouth twisted in contempt. “I won’t have you staying in my house.”

  “Mamá!” Hector complained.

  “Please, Julia, don’t be like that,” Maria begged.

  Elena lifted her hands above the table. “Everyone just calm down.”

  “No,” Victor said. He was tired of people. All he wanted was to sleep. “I’d rather go.”

  “No!” Elena hissed. “You can’t. It’s not safe.”

  Hector and Maria looked at each other questioningly.

  “I’ll be fine,” Victor said. Turning to Hector and Maria, he said, “Excuse me.” He ignored Julia completely.

  Elena followed him to the front door and said, “Victor, don’t leave.”

  “I’ll just set the car on autopilot to drive me around all night. That should be safe enough.”