The Ramos Brothers Trust Castro and Kennedy

by Roger Deblanck

  “He’s bigger than you,” Alberto pointed out to Benito. “You should try talking to him first and see what’s his problema?”

  “When I confront him, he’ll have time to say what he needs to say. If he doesn’t say what I wanna hear, I’ll have to take action against him.”

  “What if he whips you?” Alberto protested.

  “He won’t,” said Juan. “We got Benito’s back.”

  “Hacemos? We do?” asked Alberto.

  “Mira, I know you think this kid has come in here with an attitude that can’t be matched,” explained Benito. “Yes, he’s big, but I’m not afraid.”

  “We should just go to the principal,” advised Alberto.

  “We could do that,” hinted Benito, raising his eyebrows. “What do you say, Juan?”

  “Whatever you decide, Benito, I’m behind you.”

  “See, Alberto, your brother’s not scared. Nor should you.”

  The next day after school, the three waited for Miguel at the corner of the soccer field before he crossed el calle off the campus property. As Miguel reached the rickety iron gate to leave the premises, Benito called his name, “Miguel, aquí.”

  Several inches taller than Benito, Miguel approached and spewed out, “Quién? Who are you?” The smirk on his face conveyed annoyance at his confronters.

  “I’m Benito. I watch over this schoolyard, if you haven’t heard.”

  “What do you want?” asked Miguel. “Who are these little maricónes with you?”

  Juan’s temper flared and his face turned red as his bangs flopped across his forehead. Alberto went cold and felt the blood drain from his face. He visualized how white he must have looked. Sweat began to pour from his armpits down his obliques. His slicked-back hair felt tingly with worry on his scalp.

  “I’m here to talk to you about the way you treat people,” said Benito to Miguel.

  “Fuck you, puta,” said Miguel, and he spit on the grass between them.

  Benito took a step forward, Juan behind him, as though they might lunge at Miguel and throw the first punches. Benito had fury in his eyes, and the checkmark scar at his temple began to darken with a pulse. Alberto stretched out his arm to block Benito and his brother from stepping any further towards Miguel.

  “Qué? Are you asustado?” taunted Miguel, lifting his shoulders, which made his head look even smaller.

  “I’m not afraid of you,” said Benito, gaining his cool. “But you have un problema. I’m willing to listen to your side of the story. I’m a reasonable guy, but don’t push me.”

  “What are you gonna do? Qué? I don’t have un problema. You seem to have el problema with me. Now you’re mi problema.”

  “Cut the bullshit, comprende,” said Benito, stepping up again. “You’ve been acting like you own this school, but you don’t. You’re just one of us, like everybody else. Since you haven’t learned your place, I’m here to remind you.”

  Miguel laughed and tossed his backpack from his shoulder to the ground. “My place is aquí in front of you. What you gonna do? Qué?”

  “You’re making this real easy for me to beat your ass,” declared Benito.

  “You sure?” said Miguel.

  Benito was done talking. He had widened his feet to give himself stability and clenched his fists, all with a calmness that hid his strength. Miguel inched forward and lifted his fist to take a swing at his confronters. Juan had stepped up directly behind Benito, and Alberto stood behind his brother. As the swing came at Benito, he leaned back and ducked while Alberto yanked Juan backwards at the waist. Miguel’s fist sailed wildly over Benito’s head, and he lost his footing as he swung. Benito took advantage of Miguel’s reckless swing and lunged forward to rope his arm around the bully’s throat. With his left leg, he swept at Miguel’s shoes and chopped his feet out from under him. Miguel went down hard like a bag of stones, and Benito fell on top of him and tightened his chokehold.

  It all happened so quickly that Miguel shrieked like una chica, a little girl, “Let me go! Let me go!”

  “Estás listo para escuchar?” asked Benito.

  “Listen to what?” coughed Miguel.

  “Juan, read him el régimen.”

  As Miguel struggled helplessly to escape the grip of Benito’s arm latched around his neck, Juan bent to his haunches and looked Miguel in the eyes. “After I read these rules, you need to nod that you understand. Comprende?”

  Miguel continued to struggle and didn’t acknowledge Juan’s request.

  “I got him, Juan. Go ahead and read it,” said Benito.

  “We, the students, at Santa Dominicana . . . we won’t put up with anyone who acts like a bully. We first try and talk it out. If the person won’t listen, we take action. We want nothing more than to get along. Once everybody is cool with everybody else, we can be amigos. But if someone can’t follow the rules, he becomes an enemy. We put enemies back in their place. Comprende? If you do, nod your head.”

  Miguel stared at Juan as he read the statement off a half-sheet of notebook paper, but he still refused to respond. As Alberto looked on with continued worry, Benito pulled a little tighter with his grip. Miguel’s face turned redder, his tiny head as red as a tomato about to burst.

  “He asked you to nod, comprende?” grunted Benito, his checkmark scar bright as a tattoo.

  “Sí, sí, I got it,” huffed Miguel.

  “He told you to nod. So nod!” blurted out Alberto, wanting to get the incident over with.

  Miguel finally nodded that he would acquiesce to el régimen, so Benito finally loosened his chokehold. After Benito took his arm off of Miguel’s neck, he used both his hands to shove hard into the bully’s chest. Miguel splayed out like a truckload of dumped gravel on the grass. He didn’t say a word as Benito hovered over him. Finally, Miguel got to his elbows, and then Benito leaned over and put his hands on his knees and looked directly at Miguel. “I’m glad this didn’t get too ugly. I hope we can now be amigos.”

  Miguel gave another nod, and Benito extended his hand to help the defeated giant rise to his feet. Alberto remained tense as the two combatants took each other’s hands. Afterwards, he decided that was how conflicts should always end. Juan agreed.

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  After their showdown in the schoolyard, Miguel joined the friendship posse of Benito, Juan, and Alberto. Just as the boys had little trouble getting along after their confrontation, they also had little trouble weaseling into mischief. After school let out, both Benito and Miguel wanted to hang around the Ramos brothers’ home. The expansive house had a backyard large enough to contain the infield diamond of a baseball field. Unfortunately, the number of full-grown trees made it nearly impossible for them to practice either their fielding techniques or their batting skills. On the other hand, they could play hide-and-seek both inside and outside without ever running out of niches to cubby into. The yard also allowed them the space to chase each other around and wrestle in the grass. In the far corners of the yard, they tried sneaking cigarettes and playing with matches until the day Miguel almost caught the brush grass on fire, putting a group-imposed ban on smoking. There next order of menace became loading their pockets with tiny pebbles and ascending trees. Once they found a sturdy limb, they nestled into a nook against the trunk and aimed their slingshots. Until they got caught, they would target unsuspecting passersby on the sidewalk and luxurious cars on the streets. In short, the Ramos brothers had a perfect house for carrying out mischief.

  One particularly hot day after school, Lucretia chased the boys outside because their loudness did not allow her to focus in her office. Making headway with her beauty salon, tentatively named La Hermosa, she was on schedule for a grand opening in early fall. With nothing to do as the evening passed seven o’clock, the boys felt bored and antsy. They sat underneath one of the ceiba trees in the backyard to avoid the last of the sun’s rippling heat. They dug up pebbles and flicked them at one another and talked about who they would most want to
marry at Santa Dominicana.

  “I think Inéz is the most bonita. I would take her,” said Benito.

  “What if she doesn’t like you?” countered Miguel. “I think she’d pick me over you.”

  “Estás loco. You’re crazy, hombre.”

  “In what way? You’re just jealous that I have the cojones to talk to her.”

  “That doesn’t mean she likes you over me,” contended Benito.

  “Dreaming about her won’t make her want you? You got to talk to her, hombrito. That’s why she’s into me,” stated Miguel, nodding his little head as if he knew the truth.

  “Well, I’ve never cared about any muchachas at school,” blurted out Alberto, two years younger than the others. “I’ve been in love with Señorita Silvia since she started working at my mom’s school. Juan’s also been in love with her, too. Longer than me.”

  He shot a glance at his older brother.

  “Is that true, Juan?” asked Miguel. “You’re usually the talker. But the minute we mention girls, you always go silencio. Why is that?”

  “Alberto’s right, I wish I could marry Señorita Silvia,” Juan spoke up.

  “She’s the one with the long braided hair, verdad?” asked Miguel.

  “Yeah, stupido. What other señorita around here looks that good,” said Alberto.

  “You mean she lives aquí?” asked Miguel.

  “Sí, in the guest quarters,” said Juan, brushing his bangs aside from his brow. “Some guy comes to see her all the time.”

  “What are we doing sitting around!” said Miguel. “You mean, ella viva in the house over there, and you guys never spied on her?” He jutted his chin towards the guest quarters.

  “Don’t say such a thing,” said Juan. “My parents would kill us.”

  “Your father’s working,” said Miguel. “And your mother pays no attention to what you guys do.”

  “So what are you saying?” asked Juan.

  “I’m saying, we should sneak up to her bedroom window and see if we can catch a peek,” said Miguel, whispering now, as though someone might overhear their plotting.

  “Think we could get away with it?” asked Benito, clearly endorsing Miguel’s idea.

  “It’s worth a try,” said Miguel, looking at the other three in turn. “We don’t even know if there’s a way to see in. It might all be for nothing anyway.”

  “Let’s try,” said Benito. “You two won’t protest, will you?”

  Juan looked stunned, shaking his head. He stared with an open-mouthed expression at Alberto, who had not yet voiced his protest. Instead, a big smile spanned his brother’s face as he nervously rubbed his ear lobe and then ran his hand over his combed-back hair.

  “Alberto, we shouldn’t do this?” pleaded Juan.

  “I don’t know,” said his brother. “We aren’t hurting anybody.”

  “We’d be spying, invading her privacy.”

  “Stop talking like a lawyer for once,” said Benito. “We just want to see. Una vez.”

  They agreed that since Miguel thought up the idea, he had to barrel over the six-foot, stuccoed brick wall that separated the main backyard from the grounds of the guest quarters, which also had a locked gate at the front. From there, he would have to crawl like a gecko along the perimeter of the west side of the house until he got to the south end. The big window at the back was Señorita Silvia’s room.

  So they waited until dusk and then Miguel jumped the wall. The other three waited with their hearts racing. They worried about the consequences of getting caught. After they heard Miguel’s feet land on the other side, they lost track of him scooting stealthily along the house’s exterior.

  When Miguel reached the window, he lifted his head and knew Señorita Silvia was in the room because her body silhouetted against the curtain from the light inside. Soft music from a phonograph floated through the wainscoting. Then he made out another vague silhouette, that of a man. But other than two blurry figures against the thick drapes, he had nothing to spy at. The curtains covered every inch of the window, sides and bottom, except for the very crest of the window, where he realized a good six inches of uncovered space was available for potential peaking. However, no one had such height. Only with a ladder would someone be able to glare down into her room.

  With his heart pounding, Miguel scanned the area. Los arboles, he thought. Plenty of trees in the yard, but none that ranged at a good angle where he could climb. However, the house behind the Ramos’s did have a tall kapok that if someone perched from the right branch, maybe he could gain a glimpse advantageous to seeing what went on in Señorita Silvia’s room.

  When Miguel came sliding back over to the other side of the wall where Benito, Juan, and Alberto waited for him, he was sweating profusely, his little head like a sundae smothered with caramel syrup.

  “What happened? Did you get in a fight with a hose?” asked Benito.

  “Funny,” said Miguel, wiping streaks of sweat from his forehead and cheeks with the back of his hands. “You can’t see nada from the window. But I think from that big tree in the yard behind your house,” he continued, while looking at Juan and Alberto, “we could definitely see through this gap that’s uncovered at the top of her window.”

  “So what do we do?” asked Alberto, forgoing his usual instinct to think things through, to not do something stupid.

  “We wait till dark and then climb that tree and see what we can see,” said Miguel.

  “You guys sure about this?” asked Juan.

  “You’re the only one acting like una puta. You’re usually gung-ho for doing stuff, except for now,” Miguel pointed out. “Are you a queer or something?”

  “I’m just trying to think about what happens if we get caught,” said Juan.

  “We already went over this,” said Benito. “Your dad’s at work and your mom couldn’t care less.”

  “Sí, sí,” said Juan, still in a state of uncertainty, a position his brother usually assumed more often than he did. He considered why he wasn’t drooling over the idea of catching a peek of Señorita Silvia, as the others were ready to do, and the only feeling that registered was that it didn’t feel right. In fact, it felt despicable and unpleasant, incompatible with his tastes. Yet he didn’t protest.

  “Sí, then!” said Miguel, slapping his hands together. “It’s decided. Let’s go grab some refrescos.”

  They went into the kitchen of the Ramos brothers’ house, and Juan quietly opened the fridge and pulled out four Coke bottles. He tossed them out to Benito, Miguel, and Alberto. They weren’t supposed to drink soda after dinner, but with no one to tell them otherwise, they didn’t care. Why should they care, thought Juan, suddenly feeling more like his daring self. It was a dumb rule—no soda after dinner—and if they were in the mood to break rules that evening, drinking soda ranked at the bottom of their worries.

  Slowly, the sun became a slice of fruit disappearing off the platter of the hungry horizon. As they sipped their Cokes and waited for the day to dip entirely into darkness, they talked about school. But clearly the only subject on each of their minds was what they might see if they had access to look down into Señorita Silvia’s room.

  When the evening’s gray curtain had pulled fully across the sky’s stage and ended the day’s light, Miguel gulped down the last of his cola and let out a belch. “Estoy listo,” he said.

  Benito, Juan, and Alberto followed him to the brick wall in the far back of the yard that divided the Ramos property from the residence behind. With Juan and Alberto looking on, Miguel and Benito stepped back and got running starts. They jumped as they reached the wall, and their sneakers scraped halfway up and propelled their bodies with a lunge, whereby their hands caught hold of the top of the wall and they pulled themselves up. Once they were both standing like tightrope walkers on the narrow ridgetop of the wall, the next tricky maneuver was jumping to the kapok in the next yard and grabbing onto a branch.

  Miguel made the leap safely. Benito followed and almost
slipped, his right hand barely securing onto a limb as he hoisted himself upward. From the ground, Juan and Alberto watched their friends climb. When they reached a sufficient height, they both lay on their stomachs on sturdy trunks and inched outward. Benito finally whispered out that he had a good angle. “But I can’t see nada,” he said.

  Then after a minute, he said, “Wait, there she is . . . I see the guy . . . They’re . . . He’s removing her shirt . . . Wait . . . I can’t see . . . Carajo.”

  From the ground in their own backyard, the Ramos brothers relied on Benito’s words and now both thought maybe this was a bad idea. Alberto felt acid rise from his stomach, which had turned queasy with guilt about spying. Juan shook his head and raked his fingers through his floppy hair as he watched Miguel try to gain a precarious spot in the tree.

  Indeed, listening to Benito’s description of what was going on, Miguel tried to inch farther out on his branch because he lacked a good angle. As Benito continued to whisper details, Miguel lost his balance and shouted, “No, no, no! Wo, wo, wo!”

  In the next instant he tumbled down from the tree, flapping through the air like a wounded duck, snapping off branches the way a lumberjack would swing his hatchet. At that moment, Señorita Silvia and her novio heard the crash and turned to the upper crest of the window and caught sight of a figure scurrying away from the upper branches in their view.

  Benito scrambled down the tree and reached Miguel at the bottom. He groaned in pain and held his left arm. Sweat and panic consumed his face. He looked at Benito who gawked at the splice of bone puncturing slightly through the skin of Miguel’s arm.