Before the End, After the Beginning

by Dagoberto Gilb

  “Is he an asshole? Is that it?”

  She slugged me in the arm. “His name is Don.”

  “Don?” I asked. “Not Dionisio? “

  “He goes by Don.”

  “Dionisio comes out Don? Whatever, they’re both old, from way back in ancient history.”

  She slugged me again.

  “I mean, as names . . . just, you know, don Don . . .” I was laughing, she wasn’t. “Okay, I know he’s your man, I’m sorry. I’m the asshole.”

  “My asshole.”

  I heard that my and it spilled all over me. Made the room look crazy. We were smiling at each other.

  “It’s been so long,” she said quietly. “You’re more handsome now.”

  She looked so great I was sucking back drools.

  “Lotta good my looks did me.”

  “You know they did some good.”

  “So?” I asked.

  “So what?”

  It was like before, like we still knew some secret about each other. “What about you having a baby?” She didn’t even notice that I knew about this like I knew where she lived.

  “Oh yes!”

  “I can’t believe you used the name Brisa.” It was the name she told me once would be the name of our daughter.

  “Why not? It’s a beautiful name,” she said.

  “I guess el don liked it, too, then.”

  She shook her head. “She’s sleeping right now.” She started getting more distracted. Then, “You’re staying for dinner.”

  “Hell yeah,” I said. “But it’s okay? With him?”

  She was elsewhere. I dropped it.

  “I bet she’s beautiful.” I opened another beer. “I can’t believe you’re a mom.” I wanted to be Daddy. “I was so lucky back then, nothing else.”

  She slugged me on the arm hard and grimaced doing it.

  “Harder,” I told her.

  “You’ve changed so much.” Sarcasm that was happy. “Let me go see. . . .” She made eyes and walked out of the kitchen.

  She was back alone.

  “Is he an asshole? What’s going on?” I really was asking now, curious. I wanted to know if she was goofing around.

  She didn’t defend him. She didn’t say nothing.

  It made me sad for the dude, kind of. I was poor, dirty, and unemployed. She missed me? Cool. It seemed weird, too. “You struck gold, Angie.”

  “It’s surface. Things don’t mean that much.”

  I looked at her like, if it were there, I’d know. I got shit.

  “I think about you,” I told her. “But from back home, back then.”

  She didn’t look at me. “Your family?” she asked. “How’s your mom?”

  “She’s okay, you know. She still lives all alone in the house on Wheeling. Everything in there is the same, only a bunch of years later.”

  “Right,” Angie said. “I know.”

  “How do you know?”

  “When I go back, I drive by.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Seeing if you’re there, too.”

  “Really?”

  “Listen, I have to make us dinner,” she told me.

  She used a food processor. I’d never seen one work before. To get a closer look, I brushed against her. Then I had to ask.

  “I don’t know why,” she whispered to me.

  For grace, she made me hold her hand. I didn’t have to hold his, because he was sitting so far away opposite me, but she did, with her other hand.

  Bless us O Lord these your gifts which we are about to receive from your bounty through Christ, our Lord.

  I really shut my eyes. I didn’t feel just a hand. The words were sounds I heard way back there in some darkness, way back there in a different, slow time. Touching her skin, on her hand even, aroused me like reaching into her bra. I know I wasn’t praying right, I knew that. It was wrong.

  I was hungry, and I ate, but it was impossible for me to concentrate. He didn’t say much. I felt like I shouldn’t be there, it was me causing the silence, but I didn’t know what else to do. She didn’t say much either. It was one of those long, and I mean really long, meals.

  “Yeah, I guess I am,” I said. I’d caught the tail end of what he was asking and jumped at it. “I do get up early, you’re right.” I could almost yawn if I let myself. Mostly I was buzzed, really more weirded out, but like a downer-upper mix.

  She started picking up the dishes, and I stood to help, but he wanted it all, insisted. She led me to the guest bedroom.

  “I’ll come by later,” she whispered. “Late.”

  “Angie,” I started.

  “He takes pills to sleep. Don’t worry.”

  Nothing electrical was plugged in, but it was kind of black-and-white TV in the room. I could watch her like a porn movie. My hand, not real on her hips, not real on her waist. I couldn’t stop running hands on that skin so creamy moist it was lotion. When she was on top of me, arching back, holding the baby against her naked chest so the baby could sleep, her hips locked into her eyes. That was the most sick pleasure moment I’d come close to even imagining, all of it like an addict’s rush—dangerous, bad news.

  “I love you so much,” she said after, pressing against me. The baby was sound asleep beside her.

  It didn’t sound right. It couldn’t be anything close to true. No, it wasn’t true.

  “I can’t believe this,” I said. I had to get up.

  “Baby,” she said, “do you still love me?”

  I opened a window and went to the bathroom and I came back to the bed. “I don’t know what to do now. Maybe I better take off.”

  “No. It’s all right. Please.”

  My face fell back on the brand-new pillow and fine linen sheets. It wasn’t all right to me. It wasn’t all right. But there I was. “She’s gonna wake up,” I said. “She’s gonna see me here.”

  “She’s a baby,” said Angie.

  “Angie, that’s what I’m saying.”

  “It’ll be all right. I’m her mother. She knows she’s safe.”

  It was still early, barely eight, when I got up. I had to leave. I tried to sleep once Angie was gone but couldn’t. I had to leave. There was no other option. And I would’ve gone straight out the front door if he hadn’t been there.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “You’re up already, too, Mr. . . .” I didn’t mean to talk to him like he was a high school teacher or whatever. It just popped out of me. I was too sleepy, and bumping into him made me jumpy and more nervous.

  “Don.”

  “Oralé. Don. Thanks.”

  “You sleep well?”

  “¿Cómo no? You have such a beautiful home. Perfect room. Great bed. . . . I’m just used to getting up early.”

  “Me, too.”

  I was still stumbling in my head, not yet sure what to say or do.

  “You’re used to it because of your work.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “Earlier than this. I slept in. Since I’m not working here yet.”

  “You hungry?” He stood up, set down reading glasses he was using for the newspaper, this morning the rubber chanclas slapping his bare heels when he walked. “I have some coffee made.”

  “No, I’ll be fine. I can get something.”

  “It’s not a problem for me. Eggs, cereal, toast. We have options.”

  “Really nice, pero no gracias, really.”

  “You drink coffee, though?”

  He had a mug out already, and he had the carafe aimed to pour. I nodded, no choice.

  “Milk here, sugar there,” he said, pointing. “Angela sleeps later because of Brisa.”

  I didn’t want to, but I sat down at
the table. One of what they called rustic Mexican. I worked with a guy in El Paso who started a business selling this. I wondered what they paid for this one here in New Mexico. “Lot of work having a baby, I guess.”

  “I try to help,” he said, “but she takes the worst of it.”

  “A lot of work I can only imagine.”

  “Are you planning to stay? If you need the room while you’re looking, I’m sure we can accommodate you.”

  “Cool, cool of you.” But I didn’t want to talk about that. Wanted to talk about anything else. There was a bag on the table and inside were blue tortilla chips, and I pulled them to me. “Man, I’ve heard of these, but I’d never seen them before.”

  “They’re good. I don’t know what alignment of stars made me want them for breakfast. Not usual for me.”

  “Yeah, blue chips for breakfast. Kind of living freaky, Don.”

  “Funny, yeah, chips with your coffee being wild. I’m a ­yogurt-in-the-morning kind of guy.”

  “There it is.”

  “Try one. They’re good, then you’ll see. I woke up this morning, and I wanted them. Not like me.”

  “One of those mornings,” I said. I ate one. They tasted like tortilla chips, and I didn’t taste any of the blue.

  The phone rang. He answered it and talked standing for a minute and then he stopped.

  “I have to take this in there, excuse me.”

  I was eating the chips and sipping coffee I didn’t want and now once he was out of the kitchen, I got a rush that said now. I wasn’t working with a tick tick but since he was taking a while, suddenly, like that, in a sprint I made it out the front door and to my car.

  It was near the river, close to downtown, when I realized I had the bag of blue tortilla chips with me, too. Still no idea where I was going, now I was concentrating on them, how I wasn’t even conscious of taking them, how it meant worse about me, and for Angie, than me leaving without a word. Don would say I was a rude chip thief—and what would she say, what could she say? I went on eating them, and then I needed something to wash them down. I pulled into a Circle K and bought a tallboy. A dude I couldn’t help but notice going in I noticed more coming out. Or he was more into me because now I had a brown bag he recognized. He had long black hair like an Indian, but the rest of him looked like street and homeless. Almost homeless, because his running shoes seemed pretty plush, almost washed white.

  “I got no money, boss,” I said. He was right outside the door, that look, and he followed me. He didn’t move like a homeless dude.

  “Just a couple bucks, man. For some food.”

  He was right behind me as I was opening the car door and shaking my head really or not. “You’re hungry?”

  “Really hungry, yeah.”

  I got the bag of chips. “Have these, then. They’re blue, but they’re really good.”

  He stared at the chips bag while I started the car.

  “Thirsty, too, man,” he said, close to the window. “You know?”

  “There it is,” I said. “Like I thought.”

  “You know how it is,” he said. “Come on.”

  I shook my head. “You come on. I did my deed. Chips are it.”

  I was expecting some stupid pedo, but he stood up like a man and let it go. I backed out, and when I shifted to drive, I saw him crunching a chip and motioning thanks. I stopped. I waved him over and, like a don Don, took the smallest bill in my wallet, a ten, and gave it to him. “Spend it wisely, compa,” I said. “Be good.”

  Sipping the tallboy, I cruised Central trying to decide what to do besides taking I-25 South back to El Paso. When I saw the Frontier Restaurant, I remembered the bowls of green chile they had there. I wasn’t not hungry. I didn’t know what was wrong with me—besides the nasty Angie sex . . . and all that twisted-up shit I guess I couldn’t take. I went in and ordered and found a booth by the window. Albuquerque was like supercool big city compared to El Paso. Even in the morning, there were all these tattooed people and real cowboy types, beside ones only styling it, hippie students with science books, and nerd girls tapping computer keys, and stoner musicians and artists, a couple of them pretty hot, drawing by themselves while they drank coffee. Normal people, too. Then there were the tall and short, light and dark, dumb and smart, fat and bony walking or riding by on bikes, and one cute as a billboard poster. I liked it. A lot. Made me feel like, no matter, I did right even if I did everything wrong.

  Even though they called my number, my green chile wasn’t up there when I went, so probably I was gone longer than usual, which was why these two dudes took my booth.

  “I was sitting there, you guys,” I said.

  They looked at me, then at each other.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “It was empty here,” one of them said.

  “That’s because I got up to get my order.”

  “Let’s find another table, Timmy,” said the other, starting to slide out.

  “Why? Let him find one.”

  “Why don’t you just listen to your friend, Timmy.” It’s true I said his name with a little disrespect, like it belonged to a five-year-old.

  “Fuck you,” he said. He was coming out of the booth.

  “No,” I said, half setting, half throwing my bowl on the table, “fuck you.”

  I gave him a shove when he was standing there too close, both of us about to throw chingazos, when a big man dressed like a cook appeared, stepping between us.

  “Take it out of here, both of you!” he said.

  Timmy’s friend was nudging him away. I didn’t want to go.

  “Sir,” the man said. “Please.”

  “I just wanna eat my breakfast,” I said.

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d leave and we don’t argue,” he said.

  “I wasn’t doing nothing. I’m not now.” I scooted into the booth and started wiping the spilled green chile with paper napkins. Most of it was out of the bowl.

  “Sir, I insist you leave.”

  I didn’t say anything. He went away, and when I finally looked over the other way, out the window, I saw that Indian dude who was at the Circle K. I waved at him to come in.

  “Compa!” I said, standing up, shaking his hand like we were old friends.

  He was acting less sure than me. “Sit down, sit, sit. Hey, you still hungry?”

  He didn’t say no.

  “Stay here, hold the table, I’ll get us both a bowl of green chile.” There wasn’t a line at the register for once, so it went fast. They were all watching me, I could feel that, too.

  “It’s good food, brother,” I said when I got back. “You probably know that.” I put the receipt on the table. “We’re number seven.” I was trying to make it easy. “Can’t be better.”

  He still wasn’t saying.

  “So, what are you?”

  That got his attention, even if he was slow with the words. “Two arms, two legs. One dick. How ’bout you?”

  I laughed, he smiled. “Okay, you got me. I’ll come clean to you. I got two dicks, so I gotta work double hard.”

  That busted out a real laugh from him.

  “I meant,” I said, “what kind of Indian?”

  “Mescalero.”

  “Apache?”

  “Mescalero,” he said.

  “Cool, very cool.”

  He kind of shook his head at me, disappointed, like I’d become a dork for saying he was cool. “What tribe you from?”

  “Good question,” I answered. “Depends on who’s saying. Lemme see. Messican. Pocho. Culero. Pinche mamón pendejo.” I was trying to apologize in my way, but he wasn’t getting the jokes. “I’m from El Paso.”

  “Been there. Better here.”

  “So, what brings you to Burque?” I ask
ed. Another bad. The dude stank. Probably hadn’t bathed in a month. I met him begging at the Circle K. I jumped back in. “I drove up to check out an old girlfriend. I did, too. Híjole.”

  I thought I had him interested but something else at the entrance—at my back—took his attention. So much that before I could look for myself, he had slid across the seat and was standing up. And then he took off! I didn’t know it, but there was an exit door that way, back there. Two Albuquerque cops were quick behind, screaming at him to stop, and the whole restaurant went into a gasp. I got up fast and rushed to the entrance and out and I could see him flying, way out ahead. I might have registered more but then the explosion of sound came at me. “Don’t move! Stop! Do not move!” The cop had his gun aimed at me. Two more cruisers squealed up and four more came out of those cars and the one with the aimed gun was telling me to lie on the ground with my arms out. Then two or three were on me, one whose knee was on my neck, another on my legs, and my hands were cuffed. I’m sure I was cussing and making noises but they were yelling like I was assaulting them.

  I’d been pulled up and now I was being pushed toward a cruiser. “Can you please tell me what the fuck I’m being arrested for?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Sir, I didn’t do nothing.”

  “Where were you last night?”

  “Last night? What’re you talking about?”

  One of the cruisers tore off out of there but two more came, until they sped off. The two cops stayed with me and one opened the back door of his vehicle. “Get in.” He pushed, though he kept a hand on my head. He left the door open. The other cop came. They were listening to the police radio and it seemed my Circle K brother slipped them. I heard it. They wanted him for an armed robbery.

  Then the cook was there. “Yeah, he’s who I called about. I didn’t see his friend when he started the fight.”

  “I didn’t start a fight. We didn’t even fight! And he isn’t my friend. I just met him.”

  They stepped away from me and soon the other cop was there. “Toilet paper,” he said.

  Probably I didn’t recognize him without his shades on.

  “So, you know this is some kind of mistake!”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you saw where I was.”