And Yesterday Is Gone

by Dolores Durando

  “I don’t know about anything anymore,” he growled, “but boys? Hardly. Six feet if they’re an inch—they are grown men. You should have seen them out there wrapped up with each other like Siamese twins.

  “I suspected that Mexican was queer, but have they brought another one home to roost? Beats me. I’ll never understand—it’s not right. They ought to be ashamed—in broad daylight, too.”

  “Henry Mackey,” came his wife’s surprised—and angry—voice. “You—yes, you ought to be ashamed. Miss Sara loves that boy and any fool can see that he adores her. Only the day after he got home from the hospital you said what a nice boy he was—for a Mexican—for working down there in the hothouse with you, his ribs all taped up. And I don’t hear you complain about Miss Sara or Dr. Teddy or is that because they sign your paycheck?

  “It’s a different way of life, but does that make it wrong?”

  She turned with her hands on her hips and demanded, “Do you understand why the sun rises in the east? What if it rises in the west tomorrow? Would you understand that? Would that make it bad? Obviously, there are lots of things about love that you don’t understand. I’m here to testify to that. Shame on you.

  “Get out of the cookies now. You’ve made me mad so get out of my kitchen, too.”

  • • •

  Surprise and amazement were written on the faces of the three women who stood in the doorway watching the two embracing, exhilarated young men, the steaming car in the background.

  Sara said, “Let’s have a cup of tea and give them some privacy. I’m sure this is the friend Juan has told me about.”

  Rica asked, “May I use the phone to call my dad?”

  “Surely, use the one in the kitchen, and would you tell Mrs. Mackey we would be delighted with a pot of tea. We’ll have it on the veranda. I think I smell cookies, probably still warm from the oven.”

  When Juan and I had run out of breath and were able to speak coherently, I asked, “Juan, what are you doing here? Who are these people? What happened at the ranch?”

  “Later. Later I’ll tell you everything. Not now.”

  But I persisted, “How in the world did you get here?”

  He paused a moment, then answered, “Mamá Sara found me in the park and now I am her son. Come.”

  He took me by the hand, my heart thudding, and led me like a child through those massive front doors. We followed the sounds of laughter, voices and the unmistakable aroma of fresh-baked cookies.

  Two older women and Rica sat at a large glass-topped table upon which stood a pedestal plate that now held only a few chocolate crumbs.

  They paused in their conversation as we stood for a moment in the doorway. Then the smaller woman motioned us to her and stood with an outstretched hand.

  Juan choked out an emotional introduction with pride in every syllable. “Mamá Sara, this is my friend, my friend that I love—Steve.”

  Looking down at this little woman, her gray hair tied back with a colorful band, I saw Juan’s love reflected in her twinkling green eyes.

  Laughing, she turned to the woman beside her. “Teddy, I’m sure you’ve suspected that this is Juan’s friend.” Then she added, “Steve, this is my dearest friend, Dr. Teddy.”

  “This calls for a celebration,” Sara said. “It’s too early for champagne, but I’m sure Mrs. Mackey will come back with the tea cart.”

  As Sara predicted, the tea cart reappeared as if by magic, and Dr. Teddy and I reached for the cookies simultaneously.

  My cookie stopped in midair as Dr. Teddy said seriously, but with a sly smile on her lips, “I must tell you how I admire your bravery in that incredible act of raw courage.”

  Me? She’s talking about me? What act?

  Noting my confusion, she added, “You know, when you went over Victoria Falls in that birch-bark canoe. I suppose the water was very wet, too.”

  Everyone laughed. The ice was broken.

  Rica had ratted.

  I looked across the table and my eyes refused to move, riveted to the picture she had made as she sat, totally unselfconscious, one long, shapely leg crossed over the other.

  She didn’t seem to notice—or care about the smudge of dirt that colored her skirt, a farewell gift from the dented fender.

  A shaft of light from the tall window behind her shone through that long, black hair, black as the soft underfeathers of a raven’s wing. I had an almost uncontrollable urge to leap over the glass that separated us to run my fingers through that silken hair and kiss away the almost nonexistent chip of orange paint near the corner of her mouth. For starters.

  The sweat beaded on my forehead and elsewhere as my stomach tightened. I dropped a napkin on my lap.

  Almost as if she could read my mind, her eyes slanted in a devilish wink and she raised her left hand and wriggled her third finger.

  Trembling, I forced my eyes away and looked directly into the eyes of the tall woman who sat beside me and whose eyes questioned mine.

  The spell was broken as Mrs. Mackey entered and announced, “Miss Rica, your father is here.”

  • • •

  Juan sat between me and his Mamá Sara. His big dark eyes dancing with delight, the words tumbling out, his newly acquired English generously interspersed with Spanish. His excitement was contagious and radiated around the large, shady veranda that Ma would have called a front porch.

  I marveled at Juan in these incredibly beautiful surroundings. The wealth and luxury was understated, but unmistakable. He looked as though he’d been born into it.

  Juan poured tea for me in a tissue-thin cup and handled the ornate teapot as gracefully as his Mamá.

  It felt like there were ten fingers on each hand—surely that many fingers could hold any cup securely.

  Dr. Teddy and I had found a common ground. I was surprised to find out how knowledgeable she was about the intricate workings of an engine—far surpassing me.

  “I thought you were a doctor, not a mechanic,” I questioned.

  “My father loved cars and taught both of us. He owned one of the first horseless carriages in the city.” Dr. Teddy laughed, remembering, “Mother went into hysterics when I’d come in with grease on my petticoats and under my fingernails.

  “Dad wanted to know what made those engines turn and so did I. We tinkered until the chauffeur had a mechanic on permanent call. I still like to know what goes on under the hood.”

  Watching and marveling at Juan as we talked, my mind questioned how this could be the same person.

  Sitting here on this lovely veranda, surrounded by warmth and comfort, I suddenly felt cold.

  Unbidden, those buried memories stirred and shook themselves alive. My mind could not release the pictures that would not fade. Once again I was back on that brush-covered hillside in the drizzling rain, my only friend teaching me to roll my first marijuana cigarette, both of us turning the corner of young manhood, shaking with cold and laughter. The smell of the potent cigarette competed with the stink of the wet sheep.

  And now, this Juan. Has he changed inside, too?

  His long, tapered fingers held the pot that filled my cup, more tea than I’d ever drunk in my life. Was this the hand that had fastened my shaking fingers around the handle of a shovel used to bury a dead man? The hand that held his murderous father back as he pushed against me? My life lay in those hands.

  Is this the terrified boy who held me while I puked and pissed myself? Who half carried me down that dark trail?

  I smelled not the sweet fragrance of luxury, but the ancient wet dirt that lay piled beside the black hole.

  The fragile cup rattled in its saucer, then shattered on the floor.

  Dr. Teddy’s hand on my shoulder returned me to reality.

  Instinctively, I knew that Juan had not changed. This tall, handsome young man in his elegantly casual clothes in this magnificent home was the same loving boy who had suffered with me. We had clung together as brothers for our very existence.

  • • •


  The cookies were long gone; the teapot was dry.

  “Dinner at eight, gentlemen,” Dr. Teddy announced.

  In the privacy of their bedroom, as they prepared to go down to dinner, Sara said, “I noticed you and Steve got along famously. I’m so glad you like Juan’s friend. I like him, too.”

  “I like him, but he is what he is, and that’s going to break our boy’s heart,” Dr. Teddy responded.

  CHAPTER 19

  I called Ma from Juan’s apartment. She was disappointed that I wouldn’t be home. I told her I was staying with some nice friends and we’d just had dinner. When I added that the cooking couldn’t compare to hers, she was appeased.

  What Juan’s apartment lacked in square footage made up in comfort. Big, soft leather sofa, matching chair, a bedroom overlooking the rose garden where Mamá Sara’s award-winning hybrid roses were grown in the adjoining greenhouse.

  “I help her there,” Juan said proudly, then showed me through a half-open door. “This is her studio.”

  The easel held the unfinished portrait of a woman. There were dozens of canvases, the smell of paint, tall windows that now showed the twinkling lights of the city below.

  Kicking off my worn-down shoes and sprawling on the sofa, I could contain my curiosity no longer.

  “Juan, stop pacing and sit down. I want to know everything. You said Mamá Sara found you in the park. How did you get there?”

  “My father.”

  It seemed that every word had to be dragged out of him.

  “Why? Did Lupe tell him you helped me?”

  “No. He killed Lupe.”

  I sat there stunned, my heart sick to think of her lying dead in an unknown grave. I shuddered to know how close I had come to the same fate.

  Juan was up and pacing again.

  “Damn it, will you sit down? Tell me, why did he dump you at the park? Surely he must have planned to come back. After all, you are his only son.”

  “No, he hated me. He said he should have killed me, too.”

  “Then why?”

  He flung himself into the big chair, covering his face with his hands and sobbing, “Because I am a maricón.”

  “Maricón? I don’t know that word. Tell me in English.”

  “Queer,” he almost whispered, then blurted, “I have always loved you, Steve. There will never be another.”

  When he leaned toward me, I held up a restraining hand. The meaning of his words dumbed my senses.

  We sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity. I could not have been more shocked if he had said he was a werewolf. Surely he had read the expression on my face.

  “Now you will hate me, as he hated me,” he spoke through his fingers covering his face.

  “Do these women know?”

  “Of course, they are the same.”

  My mind boggled. “Dr. Teddy? Sara?”

  “Yes.”

  My mind cartwheeling, it catapulted that information into my brain—a brain that insisted “No, no, no.” But in my heart I knew Juan didn’t lie.

  The silence hung dark and heavy.

  I knew it had taken more courage to tell me this, believing that I would hate him, than he had shown the night he had stood between me and his father.

  I wondered if I would have had the guts to do it.

  The quiet lengthened. Walking to his chair, I slid in beside him. With my arms around him, my voice choked, “I could never hate you. I’ll love you always as a brother.”

  His words were spoken softly, but the dark eyes were pleading.

  “No, Steve, please no—not brother.”

  Knowing I had to do this right and do it now, I told him, “That’s the only way it can ever be, Juan, my brother, my friend. We are different.”

  That old adage “This hurts me more than it hurts you” came to mind, but I knew it was a lie. It was close, though.

  He stood wordlessly and walked unsteadily to his bedroom, then closed the door.

  Sitting back in that big chair, using my sleeve to wipe the wet from my face, I tried to gather my thoughts.

  CHAPTER 20

  We did not, to my knowledge, know of anyone openly queer. And “gay” was a word that meant happy.

  Theirs was truly a closed world. Actually, that was a subject that “nice” people didn’t talk about. If there was any question of right or wrong, Ma would get the Book and find the answer.

  Having been schooled in the Book myself, I knew exactly where she’d find it: Leviticus Chapter 18, Verse 22. I could almost hear her voice as she would read chapter and verse, then close the Book and that was final. No ifs, ands or buts.

  My thoughts would not be stilled as my mind worried the question like a dog worries a bone—right or wrong?

  When I had opened that Book, I found passages that so many more learned people than I had seemed to miss—or disregard.

  In my Book, Jesus said, “Love one another.” He didn’t say, “Love only the ones without sin.”

  I thought Ma would probably love me anyhow, even if she knew about my exploits with Lupe in the hay, but I hastily reclassified that to myself—that wasn’t “sin,” that was pleasure—and comforted myself. Probably lots of people thought that way.

  I didn’t think that God expected us to understand that great Book in its entirety, so He made it simple. He gave us the condensed version: The Ten Commandments. A plan for our well-being so plainly written that even a child could understand. He hung the meaning of the entire Book on the first two Commandments, which to me are:

  “Love God.”

  “Love one another.”

  No ifs, ands or buts.

  After hours of analyzing pros and cons, I concluded that the God who made the universe was fully capable of judging it and did not need any help from me. Having allowed God that responsibility, I felt a great weight lift off my shoulders.

  • • •

  Waking in yesterday’s clothes, a blanket thrown over me, a pillow in the vicinity of my head, I smelled the coffee perking in his fancy percolator, noted the clean clothes he had laid out for me.

  Showered, dressed better than I ever had been in my life, I preened in front of the mirror. “Just call me ‘Dude.’ ”

  “No, I’ll call you brother.”

  With a flourish, Juan poured me a cup of fresh coffee.

  I was unhampered by any worry except the nagging thought about what I was going to do with that old junker cluttering up the driveway with twenty dollars in my pocket. How can I bring myself to borrow whatever it takes to get it towed away? I felt almost ashamed—that faithful old Buick had been my ride to freedom.

  As we walked down the stairs, Juan slipped an arm around my shoulder. With a little twisted smile, he said, “I am so glad you are my brother.”

  My voice choked, “Me, too. You’ll never know.”

  Since we were late, we had our hotcakes and various other delicious foods in what Mrs. Mackey called the “breakfast room.”

  Stuffed to full capacity, I followed Juan out of the kitchen door. I didn’t want to see what still sat in front of the house as if waiting for a memorial service.

  We walked to the garage, converted from the building that in years gone by had housed the fine carriages and the horses that pulled them.

  Juan pressed a button and the doors slid open without a sound. He walked to a silver Mercedes coupe, which was elegant beyond belief.

  “My birthday present. Rica taught me to drive.”

  Beside it sat a Mercedes sedan.

  “Mamá’s,” he explained. “And this is Dr. Teddy’s.” Juan pointed as he led me to an older Bentley. “She’s had it for a long time and says, next to the Bentley, she loves Mamá best.” He laughed.

  We went back to his birthday present and I tried not to drool on it.

  “Open the hood,” I said.

  “Why? How? Is something broken?”

  I had to see what was under that gleaming silver hood.

  While look
ing for a release that would allow me that pleasure, a hand protruding from a white linen sleeve with a monogrammed cuff reached past me and popped the hood.

  I’m sure my heart stopped at the beauty of it.

  Then, of course, we discussed everything that had a motor.

  Dr. Teddy taught me about fine cars while that Buick sat and waited. Its disposal finally became priority and I had psyched myself to ask for help.

  As though she read my mind, Dr. Teddy said, “Don’t worry so, I’ve already had it towed away. We’ll see that you get back to class tomorrow, so enjoy the day.”

  I dared not look up lest she see the teardrop that hung by an eyelash. I looked away—my pride intact, my gratitude inexpressible.

  She gave me a pat on the shoulder. “You’ve got what it takes. Some day you’ll be driving a fine car. I know.”

  As she walked away, she left behind a burning determination in my heart. I would make my life a success, too.

  In a back corner, as though ashamed to be in such elite company, sat a vehicle mostly covered but for a few random red spots showing through.

  “Juan, what’s that?”

  “Oh, nothing much I don’t think.” Pausing at his coupe, he said, “Let’s tour the city. Want to drive?”

  “Do I want to go to heaven?”

  He directed me and we spent the day exploring this indescribable city by the bay. I never wanted to leave.

  It was almost dark as we drove up the hill.

  The coupe had made any other car in the whole world look like a hay wagon. I was forever hooked.

  We were tired and happy. We’d had such a wonderful day.

  Coming through the gate, I could see that the vacancy left by my Buick was filled. Suddenly, my ears deafened by Juan’s delighted laughter, I turned my head to see Dr. Teddy and Mamá Sara standing in the doorway, waiting.

  I came to a stop behind a shiny red pickup. Perched on the cab, tied by a big, red bow, was a sign with a single word, “Steve.”

  Dazed, speechless, and paralyzed, my legs wouldn’t move—only my eyes.

  Dr. Teddy motioned to me. Juan nudged me out of the coupe. We walked to the truck, then he returned to stand with his Mamá.