Marcus Vega Doesn't Speak Spanish

by Pablo Cartaya

—M

  I read over the email several times. Then I reread the emails I sent him. Almost every place I was at on this trip is in there. He doesn’t mention anything about them. Maybe he prefers to speak in person.

  My mom walks into the living room and watches me reread the email. She doesn’t say anything. Charlie bounces into the rowboat and starts humming.

  “There’s no telling, where we going,” he sings, moving side to side. “There’s no way or even knowing.”

  “That’s not how the song goes, man,” I tell him, giving him a gentle shove. He laughs and rolls around in the rowboat.

  “Well, there you have it,” my mom finally says. “He responded.”

  I nod.

  “The hotel isn’t far,” Sergio says. “About twenty-five minutes away.”

  “Did you know he was there?” I ask my mom.

  She shakes her head. “No, honey.”

  “This hotel job must be a new thing,” Sergio offers. “In any case, we’ll go. Right, Mel?”

  “Sure,” Mom says. But she doesn’t sound totally sure. Just sure enough.

  “Okay,” I tell them. I suddenly feel excited and nervous at the same time.

  “Tío Pepe went to get eggs and bacon for breakfast,” she says. “We can head out after we eat.”

  After three days of searching, I’m finally going to see my dad for the first time in ten years. I don’t have the same feeling I had when we first got here, or even yesterday. Like, I don’t know, maybe this isn’t such a great idea.

  My mom must notice that my mind is spinning, because she says, “It’ll be fine, sweetie. It’s time.”

  I nod and I wonder what my dad will say to me first.

  * * *

  We all eat breakfast and thank Tío Pepe for another great meal and a wonderful stay. He tells me to keep the flip-flops. I don’t mind. It’s been really humid these last few days, and my feet feel kind of free walking around in sandals. Plus, I kind of like the Puerto Rican flags painted on them.

  “We should have come here years ago,” my mom suddenly offers. “I’m sorry for that.”

  “Don’t be sorry, Mom,” I tell her. “You’re doing the best you can.”

  “We’re going to do things differently when we get back home,” she says. “No more late-night shifts. No more dinners alone.”

  I nod. “And maybe Dad will help us out,” I offer.

  She smiles and pats my shoulder. “Come on,” she says. “Let’s go see him.”

  We are about to head out of Tío Pepe’s house when we hear a loud POP. We all step outside to find Sergio fanning the hood of the truck, which has smoke curling out.

  “We may need to wait a little bit,” he says, frantically trying to clear the smoke. “It appears our truck has popped a gasket.”

  The lime-green pickup that has taken us around the island lets out one last puff before going completely silent. Sergio gives it a kick and then quickly apologizes to it. He paces around while cursing, and then apologizes to us for cursing.

  Charlie carefully leans over the truck and starts blowing on it. He looks at Sergio and shakes his head. “Nope, it’s dead.”

  Sergio rubs his sweaty head. His concerned look morphs into a slight chuckle followed by a full-blown laugh. Everyone joins in, but we’re not sure what we’re laughing about. Sergio walks around the car and puts his arm around Charlie.

  “An excellent prognosis, Doctor.”

  Charlie beams at being called a doctor. Everyone continues to laugh it off. I stop laughing. My dad actually wants to see us, and now we can’t get to him.

  “Let’s call the mechanic,” Sergio suggests. “At least we’re close to town.”

  “Let’s call him,” I tell my mom.

  “Who, a mechanic?” Mom replies.

  “No, Dad. Call him at the hotel. See if he’ll come pick us up.”

  “What about everyone else, Marcus? They don’t have transportation now.”

  I look around. I wouldn’t want to leave them. They’re part of this journey now. But I also can’t wait around to fix the car or stay here another night. We leave for Springfield tomorrow.

  “Doesn’t Tío Pepe have a car?” I ask.

  Sergio says that Pepe doesn’t drive. He says I should try to stay positive, but what is there to be positive about? We’ve come all this way only to stop short of the finish line. I ask if Ermenio can pick us up, but Sergio says he doesn’t drive either.

  “Does any old man drive in Puerto Rico?” I suddenly blurt out.

  “Hey,” my mom says. “That’s not a very nice thing to say. Everyone has been so helpful to us, Marcus. Chill out, okay?”

  I lean against the wall and fold my arms. I know I should chill out like my mom says, but it’s all just so unfair. Why did the truck have to break down on our last day in Puerto Rico?

  “A bus!” My brother interrupts my train of thought. “Let’s take a little bus!”

  “The buses don’t run around here, Charlie,” María says. “It’s mostly in San Juan.”

  “No, the little bus! The little ones!”

  Charlie takes out a map and spreads it out on the floor. He points at an ad for a mini bus service.

  “A pisa y corre! Of course,” María says. “These are little buses that drive through the towns. They’re like taxis, only you share them with other people. Brilliant, Charlie!”

  Charlie beams.

  All that research he did before we left is paying off. My brother, the problem-solver.

  “I’ll return for the truck tomorrow,” Sergio says.

  “I’m coming with you, Papi.” María stands up and walks toward us. “Let’s go find their dad.”

  “You don’t have to come,” I say.

  “I know I don’t have to,” she says. “But I want to.”

  Sergio starts to get all teary-eyed, but María stops him.

  “No empieces,” she says. It sounds like she’s telling him not to start with the mushy stuff again.

  “Let’s go!” says Angela.

  “Let’s call Papa to tell him first,” Hilda says. “Er macht sich sorgen.”

  Angela nods. “Ja,” she says. “Good idea.”

  We all look at each other, confused, until Angela translates.

  “Our father worries. He likes us to call often.”

  Hilda calls their dad and tells him something in German. She keeps nodding.

  “Ja, Papa,” she says, then hands the phone over to her sister. Angela takes it and talks with her dad.

  “He was very happy to hear me calling him,” Hilda says. “I always let my sister do the talking.”

  Angela hangs up with her dad and walks over to us.

  “Wir kommen mit!”

  Hilda smiles and looks at us. “Angela says we’re coming with!”

  María checks where the little pisa y corre bus is located.

  “It’s in la plaza,” she says. “There should be a few of them. They don’t leave until they are completely full.”

  We all say good-bye to Tío Pepe. He gives us each a kiss on the cheek. I give one back because that’s what you do around here. We walk down the sidewalk toward the plaza. Our travel companions, my mom, my brother, and I march through the small sidewalks almost in a perfect single file. Like an invisible line connects us all. I take out my camera. Snap. Snap. Snap. We pass a little place that looks like a chinchorro. I think about the word “chinchorro.” It was difficult for me to say a few days ago. Now it rolls around my tongue like a Tic Tac.

  The first thing María does when we get to the plaza is look for the little buses. She moves around the people peddling hats and jewelry. Some lady offers my mom hair accessories. There are smells wafting in every direction. Pineapple, fish, various herbs.

  I take a few pictures. Snap. Snap. Snap.
/>   “Mira, Papá,” María says. “This is a good market for us to sell fruits and vegetables.”

  “You want to keep doing that?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “But you’re leaving,” Sergio says. “To college. In Florida.”

  “I’m going to study agricultural engineering, Papá!” María exclaims. “Where did you think I was going to go after? To a farm in Montana?”

  “You want to come back to Puerto Rico, to help me?” Sergio walks close to María. I can tell he’s about to lose it.

  “Don’t get emotional, ¡por favor!”

  “I won’t,” he says. “Promise.”

  María is all business, but I can tell how much she loves her dad. She finds a little bus and asks the driver if he has room and if he can make a stop in Dorado at the hotel where my dad works.

  The driver says yes and everyone climbs in. There are already a few people inside, waiting patiently. A few older ladies sitting by the window watch us.

  My mom sits next to one of them. The lady is reading a newspaper and immediately starts talking to Mom in Spanish. I think she’s talking about an article because she keeps pointing at it. My mom tries to answer her in Spanish, but she has a hard time. She nods and agrees, although I’m not sure what she’s agreeing to.

  “What is she saying?” I ask.

  “I think she’s talking about the identity of Puerto Rico and how it’s up to the people to maintain it.”

  The lady talks to us about her concerns about the high unemployment rate, the recent school closings, the island’s debt. It’s cool that she’s trusting us with her ideas, and it seems like she wants to hear what we think. Twice she leans over and pats my mom’s forearm. She has a habit of picking at her teeth when she talks and then pulling on her chin when she needs a moment to pause. I ask her if I can take her photo, and she says yes. She’s someone I want to remember.

  The little bus starts up. My mom hands Sergio some money for the fare.

  “I’m thirsty,” Charlie says.

  “Now?”

  “Yes,” he says.

  “I’ll go get him something,” I tell Mom. “There’s a stand over there.”

  I step out of the little van and go to the stand across the street to buy two cans of Coco Frio. I look back to the van and ask everyone else if they want anything. They all say no. I buy two drinks and start back across the street.

  “¡Un chocolate!” the old lady yells from the window. “Por favor.”

  “Um, okay.” I say, and head back to the stand to buy the lady a chocolate.

  The pisa y corre rumbles to life with loud music and several honks. This bright canary-yellow bus lets out one long, steady honk before starting off.

  “Come on, Marcus!” Sergio says. “Once it starts it won’t stop!”

  I bolt to the little bus, but it’s already driving off.

  “Come on!” my mom says, sticking her head out of the tiny window. She turns back inside and I see her yelling at the driver to stop.

  Seriously? He couldn’t wait? I start running, but I’m getting tired. My dad used to pretend he was a horse running on the beach, and I can’t jog a few hundred feet to catch up to this little bus! In all fairness, I only run once a year in PE. I can’t believe the driver isn’t stopping!

  And then the bus really takes off.

  “Mom!” My legs are long, but I’m barely able to keep up.

  “Hurry up, Marcus!” she says.

  “Mom!” I say, frantically trying to keep pace with the bus.

  My mom’s face turns pale when she sees the pisa y corre getting farther and farther away from me. “Marcus, hurry up!”

  I’m running out of breath. I can’t keep up with the tiny moving bus now that it’s speeding faster and faster. Seriously? I can’t catch up to a tiny little bus? Why aren’t my long legs helping me right now? I’m totally starting a workout routine when I get back home.

  “Mom!”

  “Marcus, you have to run!”

  I’m running out of air. I start slowing down. The camera around my neck dangles like it’s about to give up also.

  “Marcus! Hurry up, slowpoke!”

  I stop panting and look up long enough to see Charlie sticking his head out of the pisa y corre, screaming at the top of his lungs for me to hurry.

  “We’re leaving you!” he yells again.

  My feet ignore my lungs, and I take off in a sprint. The reggaeton music coming from the pisa y corre is both incredibly irritating and unbelievably catchy and motivating as I run. Hilda sticks her head out of the other window to cheer me on. My mom tries to get the driver to stop, but he shakes his head. The jerk. I’m running out of air. Charlie’s voice drowns out everything else.

  “Hurry. Up. Slowpoke.”

  My brother, the motivational speaker.

  Finally, enough of our group complains and gets the driver to listen. The bus skids to a stop and kicks up dust and rocks all over me. The door slides open.

  “¡Apurate!” the driver barks.

  I hop in and move past my mom, who is now sitting in the middle row. I barely have time to drag myself to a seat when the driver speeds off again. He starts talking to us like he didn’t almost just leave me behind.

  “¡Qué lindo día!”

  Did he just say what a beautiful day we’re having? Seriously?

  I grab the safety bar above me and hold on for dear life. This guy is reckless. The old lady next to us reaches her hand out.

  “¿Y el chocolate?” she asks.

  Great. I forgot the lady’s chocolate. Instead, I offer her my Coco Frio. She takes it and slurps it down before handing it back to me.

  “You can keep it,” I say.

  The people inside congratulate me on my victory/near-death experience on this wild little bus driving a hundred miles an hour through the Puerto Rican countryside. My brother turns to face me in his seat and pats my shoulder.

  “Man, you’re slow,” he says.

  I take his head and put it under my armpit. “How does my sweat smell?”

  “Ah! Gross!”

  He pulls away. His glasses slide to the edge of his nose as he wipes his face.

  The bus makes a few more dangerous stops and a few people get on or off. About twenty-five minutes later, the country gives way to a few buildings in the distance. I see a sign that says DORADO.

  “Esa es nuestra parada,” Sergio says, indicating this is our stop.

  The little bus slows down and finally comes to a halt.

  We’re circling another plaza, only this one has taller buildings that feel more like the ones in San Juan. The driver says something in Spanish and we all exit the bus.

  “We need to get a taxi to the hotel,” Sergio says. “The pisa y corre doesn’t run to the hotels.”

  Angela, Hilda, María, Sergio, my mom, Charlie, and I walk to the sidewalk at the edge of the town. The bus driver turns the bus off and takes out his newspaper while he waits for new passengers to load in.

  The old lady waves good-bye. “Bendiciones,” she says.

  “Gracias,” my mom replies, and then turns to me. “She’s blessing us.”

  “Wish she could have blessed the driver so he would have slowed down,” I tell her.

  A few cars pass by and I can see immediately that this isn’t the same sort of beachside neighborhood where we left Tío Pepe an hour ago. The cars here are shiny and new, like the cars parked in the Cherry Hill neighborhood back home. Only the streets aren’t covered in snow, and the trees here are palms, not fir or pine. There are fancy restaurants, cafés, and stores. Men walk around in shiny suits, and many of them talk on cell phones. This place has a very different vibe. I decide I’m going to wait until we see my dad to take more pictures. It’ll be a fitting conclusion to the trip. Then I’ll put them tog
ether and show Danny all the places we went in search of my dad. Danny will like that.

  “The little airport in Dorado was a military landing strip in the fifties,” Sergio says. He really likes talking like a tour guide. “My brother loved Puerto Rican mili-tary history. Come on. There’s a taxi stand close by.”

  If my dad works in this neighborhood, he definitely has money to help us out. I wonder what he looks like now. The picture on his ID looks just like me, but that was taken years ago. Does he like to read? Does he like movies? Which ones? I hope he remembers us. He barely met Charlie. Okay, I need to chill. No sense in getting all nervous.

  We get to the taxi stop and wait for a minivan to pull up. Sergio argues with the taxi driver that we’ll all fit in the car just fine and that we’re going to the Maravilla Beach Resort. The taxi driver doesn’t care. He doesn’t want us all cramming into his taxi.

  María walks over to the driver and hands him some money. She tells him to let us ride. He counts the extra ten bucks and opens the door for us. María steps in first, followed by Angela, Hilda, my mom, and Charlie. Sergio piles in last and tells me to sit up front with the driver.

  I don’t want to, but I know I have to. There’s no way I can fit back there with everyone. Inside, the taxi reeks of really powerful cologne. It makes me nauseous. I’m seriously about to pass out. I hear María coughing a little and Hilda laughing while Angela hushes her. In the end, Angela can’t help laughing also.

  “It stinks in here,” Charlie blurts out.

  “¿Qué dijo? No lo entiendo. What did he say?”

  The guy doesn’t understand my brother.

  I’m about to clarify when Hilda answers, “He loves music!”

  All of a sudden the guy turns up the radio.

  Great. Now I’m light-headed and my eardrums are about to pop.

  We drive through town and into a neighborhood. We continue down a road and finally reach a set of iron gates with an emblem on each gate. We pull up and a security guard comes out. The taxi driver says we’re being dropped off because we have a meeting with Mr. Vega.

  “Actually, he’s our dad,” I say, surprising myself.

  The security guard looks inside the taxi. “Are you staying in the hotel, señora?” he says to my mom.