Stalked: The Boy Who Said No

by Patti Sheehy

  “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.

  When they reached the corner, Pedro walked into the middle of the street, stopping traffic by holding his arms in a T-position, palms out. He was talking in a crazy quilt of Spanish and beatnik English, punctuated with heavy doses of profanity.

  Annoyed drivers hollered out their car windows, honked their horns, and made obscene gestures. When cars tried to pass, Pedro stood in front of them like an animal escaped from the zoo. Looking disoriented, he gestured frantically, eyes wild. He screamed, “Can’t ya see what’s happening? Damn important work is going on.” To lend credence to his statement, he pointed to Frank holding onto the refrigerator for dear life.

  When traffic permitted, Frank eased the refrigerator down the curb, over the potholes, and across the street. Heaving for breath, Pedro and Frank maneuvered the refrigerator up the opposite curb.

  After repeating this routine for five blocks, Pedro ran out of steam. Panting, he said, “Maybe we should just leave the damn thing here. It probably don’t work anyway. Why else would somebody throw it out?”

  “What are you talking about?” said Frank. “We’ve come this far. We’re going to get this thing home. If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. But we’re gonna try, damn it!”

  Pedro grumbled. “Well, I gotta have a smoke.”

  “All right.”

  They sat down on the curb, knees to their chests, feet tucked close to the gutter. The refrigerator stood beside them like a pillar of salt. Frank was hoping Pedro wouldn’t leave them in case something went wrong.

  The Brittany ran in circles, a bundle of nerves. The Lab drooled. Drivers beeped and waved like they were watching a carnival. Periodically, Pedro grunted something unintelligible and flipped them the peace sign.

  Frank turned to Pedro and asked, “You do this often?”

  “Nah, not too often,” he said, as if this were a serious question.

  Suddenly, the whole thing struck Magda as funny.

  “What?” said Pedro, fearing she was laughing at him.

  “Look at us,” she said. “Four Cubans, two dogs and a refrigerator! We should be in the circus.”

  They all started to laugh.

  Magda’s brother stood up. “We could form a club—the FC and R—Four Cubans and a Refrigerator.”

  “Yeah, man,” said Pedro. “Get tie-dyed t-shirts and all—FC and R!”

  Magda’s nose began to crinkle the way it did before she erupted with deep belly laughs. Soon the four of them were lying on the sidewalk, holding their stomachs. When their laughter subsided, someone would say FC and R, and it began all over again. The group had no idea how loud they were. Frank looked up to see a policeman coming.

  “What’s going on here?”

  Frank suddenly felt guilty. He sobered up, stood, and addressed the officer. Dread gripped his stomach. What was I thinking? I chanced going to jail for a stupid refrigerator? One that might not even work?

  “We found this refrigerator in the trash,” explained Frank. “And we’re trying to get it home. It’s not
against the law, is it?”

  Frank closed his eyes for a second, hoping the officer would agree. The officer hesitated while perspiration gathered under Frank’s arms. He wondered what kind of jail time you’d get for hauling away a discarded appliance. He looked at Magda and pursed his lips, sorry he had gotten them into this mess. This was the last thing they needed. Fortunately, the officer spoke Spanish.

  “It’s not against the law,” he said. “But I don’t want you holding up traffic. How far are you going?”

  Frank heaved a sigh of relief.

  “Not far,” said Pedro.

  Yeah, thought Frank. Just another hundred blocks or so.

  “Move it along,” said the police officer. “I’ll stop traffic for you while you cross the street.”

  Frank and Pedro steadied the refrigerator while Sergio pushed. When they got to the rooming house, Luis was sitting on the steps, smoking. They rested on the stoop before trying to get the refrigerator up three flights of stairs. The stairwell was narrow, and Frank was afraid they’d gouge holes in the walls. Halfway up the staircase, the tenants on the upper floor started walking down. Pedro hollered to them like he was directing traffic.

  “Stop! Go back! You can’t make it! I’ll let you know when it’s okay.”

  Frank pulled the refrigerator up the stairs while Pedro and Luis pushed it from below. When they pivoted the refrigerator over the last step, they sighed in relief. Having caught their breath, they tilted the refrigerator into Frank’s room.

  Magda moved a table back from the wall to make space. The group stood back and looked at the refrigerator as if it were a piece of fine sculpture. Michelangelo could not have been more proud.

  Magda grabbed the electrical cord and searched for an outlet. She glanced at the prongs and plugged in the refrigerator. For a moment there was complete silence. Then the motor jumped to a hum. Frank opened the refrigerator door, and the light came on. He waved his hand and felt cool air. When he opened the freezer, the air remained warm.

  “The refrigerator works, but the freezer doesn’t.”

  “That’s why they threw it away,” said Pedro, as if this weren’t obvious to all.

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Magda. “At least we have a refrigerator.”

  Frank pulled Magda close to him and kissed her. Her lips were warm and sweet. When he released her, she smiled.

  “Our first refrigerator,” she said happily. “Let’s make a toast.”

  “I’ve got some beer,” offered Luis.

  “Of course,” said Frank, rolling his eyes.

  Luis leaned down and pulled a six-pack of Budweiser from beneath his bed.

  Magda grabbed some plastic cups off a shelf. Luis uncapped two beer bottles with his teeth and poured them each a cup of beer.

  Frank raised his glass and said, “To the FC and R.”

  “To the best refrigerator money didn’t buy!” added Magda. They all repeated, “To the FC and R.” Then they drank some very warm beer.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  After all Frank had been through to get to Magda, he was eager to start their life as husband and wife. Although the couple spent several hours together a week, they were seldom able to see each other without the presence of a chaperone.

  Magda complained to her parents that her American girlfriends could go bowling and to parties alone with a boy, but she could not. But Magda’s lobbying fell on deaf ears. Her parents, especially her mother, would not hear of it.

  “I don’t care what your American friends do,” scolded Estel. “You are my daughter, and you will do things my way, the respectable way, the Cuban way. Our traditions will not be trampled by the American lifestyle.”

  Given her parents’ mind-set, Frank worried about their response when he asked for Magda’s hand in marriage. Although they could rightly argue that Magda was too young for marriage, they knew Frank had risked his life to be with her. What’s more, they had pleaded with him to do so.

  One rainy Friday night Frank mustered the courage to approach them about the matter. He was nervous and excited, feeling he was on the verge of fulfilling his dream. He knew he’d be unable to provide Magda with many creature comforts at first, but he was young, strong, and hard working. Given time and opportunity, he would make a good life for them. Besides, Magda had never shown much interest in material goods.

  He practiced what he would say several times and smiled at the thought of Magda’s parents officially accepting him into the family.

  Frank’s talk with Magda’s parents was short, and it did not go as Frank anticipated. Magda was not present during the conversation. He left the Hernándezes’ apartment, stunned. Frank walked a few blocks before going back to his room, grateful for the fresh air. He needed time to digest the evening’s events and to deal with a raft of conflicting emotions.

  He climbed the staircase to his room, his heart heavy and his head down. A headache took shape behind his eyes. When he opened the door, Luis was lying on the bed reading the sports page of The Star-Ledger. Knowing what Frank had planned for the evening, he looked up expectantly.

  “How’d it go?” asked Luis.

  Frank bit his bottom lip. He didn’t want to have this conversation. He knew Luis would give him a hard time, and he wasn’t in the mood. He shook his head, sat on his bed, and removed his shoes. He stripped off his socks and threw them on the chair. A police car drove by, lights blinking, siren whining. Frank felt exhausted.

  “Well?” prompted Luis.

  Frank sighed and looked at his uncle, bracing himself for a barrage of criticism. “I’m getting married.”

  Luis lifted his eyebrows and dropped his paper to his lap. It rattled slightly. He straightened himself up and rearranged the pillow behind his back. “For someone who went through hell and high water to marry that girl, you sure don’t look happy.”

  He was right. Frank closed his eyes and heaved a bone-weary sigh. “I am and I’m not.”

  “What kind of talk is that?” said Luis. “Either you are or you aren’t. You’re talking in circles. What the hell’s the matter?”

  “Magda and I are getting married in May.”

  “Good. Where?”

  “City Hall.”

  “City Hall?”

  Frank nodded. “The justice of the peace is performing the ceremony.”

  “So, what’s the problem?”

  “The problem is that Magda is only seventeen, so she needs her parents’ permission to get married. Her father put up some resistance about her age, but the real issue is that her parents want her to get married in the Church.”

  “And?”

  “And that doesn’t happen overnight. You have to talk to the priest, go through counseling, schedule the church, and announce the banns of marriage. It takes time. You know the drill.”

  “I’m confused,” said Luis. “I thought you were getting married at City Hall.”

  “We are. But that’s just their way of placating us. It’s a placeholder. Magda’s parents are calling it ‘an act of good faith,’ but they don’t consider it a real marriage.”

  “So?”

  “So although we’ll be legally married, we can’t sleep together until we’re married in the Church. And that can’t happen until August.”

  Luis’s eyes widened, and he let out a whistle. “So you’ll be married, but you can’t sleep with your wife?”

  “That’s the deal.”

  “That’s just messed up,” said Luis a little too loudly. He thought for a moment. “You’re going along with this?”

  Frank sighed. “Yes.”

  “Then you’re messed up too. Besides, I don’t see why you’d get married once, let alone twice. As far as I’m concerned, marriage is just a trap.”

  Frank closed his eyes. He didn’t want to hear Luis’s philosophy on marriage. “Don’t start,” he said.

  “I don’t know what to say then.”

  “Then don’t say anything.”

  Frank expelled his breath,
feeling despondent. All he wanted, all he ever wanted, was to be with Magda. The idea of waiting any longer made his organs weep.

  Luis rewarded Frank’s statement with a nasty laugh before saying, “You’re messed up.”

  “Maybe I am messed up,” Frank admitted.

  “Why would you put up with this?”

  Frank waited, formulating his thoughts. “Because I’m going to be married to Magda for a long time. There’s no point in getting off on the wrong foot with her parents—it’s not worth it. It would kill her. Besides, I don’t have a choice.”

  Luis rolled over and grabbed a pack of cigarettes off the night-stand. “I guess not,” he said, lighting up.

  Frank shrugged, trying to make the best of the situation. “Three months isn’t very long in the grand scheme of things.”

  Luis shook his head. “Then why get married by the justice of the peace at all?”

  “Because Magda and I want to make a commitment to each other. We’ve been through too much not to be husband and wife.”

  “But you’ll be married in name only—it makes no sense.” He thought for a moment, tapping his cigarette against the glass ashtray. “By the way, if you want a woman, I know where to get you one.”

  Frank shook his head, exasperated. “You don’t get it, do you, Luis?”

  “No, I don’t,” said Luis. An annoying smirk swept his face.

  “What are you thinking?”

  Luis’s smirk broadened. “I can’t wait for the guys at the factory to hear you can’t sleep with your own wife. You’ll take a ribbing of a lifetime over this.”

  “I will if they find out.”

  “They’ll find out all right,” said Luis confidently. “Marriages are listed in the newspaper. Besides, when my friends come by, they’ll see that you’re still living with me. There’s no way to keep it a secret.”

  “I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks,” said Frank. “It’s nobody’s business. Magda and I are getting married. It’ll be legal. She’ll be happy. That’s all I care about.”

  “Can you take her to the movies by yourself?”

  Frank sucked his breath through his teeth. “Enough with the questions, Luis. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”