Marcus Vega Doesn't Speak Spanish

by Pablo Cartaya

  “No,” she says. “My sons are here to see their father.” My mom points to my brother and me.

  “And who are these people?”

  “They’re our family,” Charlie says, smiling at the security guard.

  The guard looks at him for a moment, then at the rest of us. “I’ll need all of your names.”

  He takes out a notebook, and after about ten minutes, he opens the massive gates and lets us in. The huge stone columns lining the road that lead up to the hotel look like they belong in a fairy-tale palace.

  “Wow!” Hilda says, then blurts out something in German.

  “‘Rich’ is one thing to call this place,” Angela replies.

  I open the window to look at the bright red flowers with yellow flecks in the middle lining the long driveway.

  There are several gardens with gigantic palm trees lined up along the whole road. There are two-, three-, and four-story buildings on each side of the perfectly paved path. Up ahead at the circular entrance is the biggest fountain I have ever seen, and a building that straight up looks like a castle. We drive around the fountain and into a high-ceilinged entryway. Several men dressed in white and wearing little caps open car doors. They look like they’re from a spy movie. The taxi driver pulls up to the entrance. One of the guys in white opens my door and I step out. My dad is somewhere inside this massive place.

  NINETEEN

  HOTEL MARAVILLA

  “Bienvenidos,” the guy in white says. We make eye contact, and by the look on his face, I can tell he’s thinking the same thing I am: What the heck are we doing here?

  We walk through the enormous double doors. Enormous even for me. There is a chandelier in the middle of the entrance and a seating area on each side.

  “Wow,” Charlie says. “He works here?”

  “I guess so,” my mom replies.

  Sergio, Angela, Hilda, and María fan out.

  “We’ll meet back here at three thirty,” Sergio says. “Good luck, boys!”

  Sergio is always so positive and helpful (and way emotional about María). I wonder if having lost his brother and his parents when he was younger made him care more about people. Like if maybe he wants those around him to feel welcome and safe. Mom says I’m a heat giver. I think Sergio wouldn’t mind the cold so much either.

  My mom takes our hands and we start toward the reception area. She asks about Mr. Marcus Antonio Vega. The guy takes a look at us and wrinkles his nose like we’re the worst-smelling people he has ever gotten a whiff of.

  “He is in meetings, señora,” the guy huffs. “He’s very busy.”

  I check myself out in the large mirror behind him. I look like I fought a grizzly bear in the mud. I ran after that little bus for, like, half a mile, and the dirt from the country mixed with my sweat is now caked all over my body and feet. Even my Puerto Rican flag sandals look dirty. Nice way to meet your dad for the first time in ten years.

  Charlie watches the TV screens in a bar area behind the reception desk. Some basketball game is on. He moves closer, like the TV has put a spell on him or something.

  “Charlie, don’t stand so close to the TV, man. You’re going to get a headache.”

  He waves his hand dismissively at me and continues watching. He doesn’t seem nervous to be here at all. My mom asks the guy behind the desk if he can page my father. He grudgingly picks up the phone and starts dialing. It annoys me that he thinks he’s better than us.

  I walk over to Charlie, who hasn’t taken his eyes off the screen. His neck tilts back because the TV is too high for him to see level.

  “At least sit down, man.”

  Charlie looks at me briefly, then at the cushy chair facing the TV. He walks backward to it and plops down. It’s some team from Puerto Rico playing basketball with some other team from Puerto Rico. I don’t get why he cares about this game.

  “Your dad is finishing a meeting,” my mom says behind me.

  “Did the guy at the front desk call him?”

  “No, I just saw him.”

  My heart skips a couple of beats and my stomach flops. It’s the way I felt on the two flights it took to get here.

  “Where?”

  “Over there,” she says, pointing about one hundred feet from where Charlie sits.

  There’s a guy smiling with some people at the table. He’s wearing a brown tailored suit with no tie. I notice he’s not wearing socks and his shoes are really shiny. His hair is combed perfectly, and he barely has any facial hair. I don’t see the resemblance. This guy is totally clean-cut. He looks nothing like the picture on the ID.

  “How do you know that’s him?”

  “I was married to him, Marcus. That’s your father.”

  “But he doesn’t look anything like the ID.”

  “He had more hair. And back then he didn’t care about what he wore or who he impressed.”

  This guy seems like he cares about how he looks. I catch myself in another mirror—mud-streaked face and all. Why are there so many mirrors in this place?

  “Honey? Are you okay?”

  We came all this way to talk to a guy who I thought was supposed to look like me. Maybe sound like me. Maybe even act like me. This guy sitting at the table looks nothing like I do. He looks like he would live in the Cherry Hill neighborhood. Like he would send his kids to the best private schools. Except he hasn’t.

  This guy isn’t my dad. My dad is the guy in the ID. A guy who loved growing vegetables and being outdoors. A guy who started new businesses all over the place. Who loved to run on the beach with his cousin. Who visited family members. Who would be happy we’ve spent time with them. Gotten to know them. A guy who would be thrilled we came to visit him. A guy who would apologize to my mom and help out his kids.

  “Marcus, honey,” my mom says. She takes a tissue from her bag and wipes my cheeks. I don’t take my eyes off the guy at the table.

  “Sweetie, let’s get some water and sit down. Okay?”

  My mom takes my hand and guides me to a seat next to my brother. He pats it and tells me to watch the game. My mom grabs us some water from the bar. I drink it fast. My throat is dry. My eyes sting. My head hurts.

  “We can do this another time, sweetie. We can come back to Puerto Rico.”

  “No,” I say. “I mean, yes, I want to come back. But no, Mom. Everyone has been all around this island with us, looking for him. Looking for him because I wanted to find him. I need to do this.”

  I stare at the game on TV. I have no idea which team is which or who is winning. I just don’t want to look at my mom or Charlie. The guy at the table keeps popping in and out of my head. I close my eyes, trying to erase his image. Why did I come here? Was it for my brother? My mom? Or was it really just for me? Was I trying to understand something that really had no explanation? My dad left me. He left us. And he turned into someone who is nothing like us.

  I finally get out of my head when I hear a man say, “Hola, Mel.” It’s him.

  “Hi, Marcus,” my mom says. Her tone is reserved and she keeps it short.

  There he is. Standing right next to us. I can tell he’s looking at me, but I don’t turn to face him. My eyes are fixed on Puerto Rican basketball.

  “Hello, Marcus,” he says.

  Charlie turns to him.

  “And this is Carlitos?” the man asks.

  “Charlie,” my mom corrects.

  “Hello, Charlie,” he says.

  Charlie scoots back in his seat and stares at his shoes.

  “I got our son’s messages. His many, many, many messages. The trip was okay?”

  “Yeah,” my mom says.

  “How is Tío Ermenio?”

  “Good. He hasn’t touched your room. It’s exactly as you left it. He hopes you’ll come back one day.”

  “We always had so much fun with Tío
Ermenio, remember?”

  My mom nods.

  “You’re leaving tomorrow?”

  My mom nods again.

  If I don’t get up and say something now, I’ll never get another chance. I know I’ll regret it.

  “Your mom says you want to talk to me,” he says, smiling.

  I nod.

  “Why don’t we take a tour of the hotel and we can talk? Does that sound good? Charlie, do you want to see the big pool?”

  Charlie turns to my dad and smiles. “Yes.”

  “Good, let’s walk to the pool first. Do you have swimming shorts?”

  “We brought a small travel bag,” I suddenly say. My throat is dry. I need another glass of water.

  “Okay,” he says. “Would you like to go to the pool?”

  “I don’t really swim,” I say. “Never learned.”

  “You didn’t give him swimming lessons, Mel?”

  My mom glares at him.

  “It’s cold in Springfield,” I tell him. “And the outdoor pool in the community center hasn’t been open for years.”

  “It is cold over there!” he says. “Way too cold for me.”

  My mom mutters something under her breath, but I don’t catch it. My dad looks at my shoulders and sees I have goose bumps from the air conditioning. I’m not used to fake cold.

  “You’re friolento, just like your old man, huh?” My dad points to my goose bumps and laughs. “Remember how cold I used to get in the winter, Mel?”

  “Yep,” my mom says. “I still live there, remember?”

  This conversation is not going well.

  “So where’s the pool?” I ask.

  My dad pats my shoulder and extends his hand to Charlie. “Follow me.”

  Charlie takes my dad’s hand and together we walk around the enormous hotel as my mom stays several paces behind. She’s trying to give us some space, but I don’t think she’s willing to hand us over to our dad completely. My dad swipes at a few doors with a card. They open to rooms with even more elaborate designs. There is a ballroom, a fitness center, even a library. This place has everything.

  “So did you ever open your restaurant, or start your tour company of the chinchorros?” I ask, wondering what he does in this fancy hotel.

  “Have you been stalking me or something? Ha, I’m just kidding,” he says, then winks and smiles. I don’t smile back. “Those businesses,” he says, “weren’t really for me.”

  It’s strange hearing him say that. All I’ve heard about is how much he loved farming and the outdoors.

  “So what do you do now?” I ask.

  My dad tells me he started working for the resort about nine months ago.

  “Total game changer,” he says. “A whole lot cleaner than shaking dirt off fruit.”

  “I just thought, you know, you wanted to start those chinchorro tours. What about the farm you were going to start with Sergio?”

  “Sergio is a good guy, but he never strikes out on his own. He’s always asking Darma for advice. I take action. Anyway, that life is too slow for me,” he says. “Puerto Rico’s tourism industry is way more lucrative than its agriculture.”

  He continues to tell us about the hotel and its history. He says this property used to be an orphanage run by nuns.

  “Can you imagine how incredible it would have been to be an orphan living in this place? It would be like Puerto Rican Annie in Daddy Warbucks’s home!”

  “Right,” I say, trying to agree with him, although why would anyone want to be an orphan?

  We go through another secured door and enter a courtyard that has the largest pool I’ve ever seen in my life. A fountain shoots water into the pool.

  “I want to go,” Charlie says. “I want to go in the pool.”

  My dad pauses. “What did you say?”

  “He said he wants to go in the pool,” I tell him. My dad doesn’t understand Charlie at all. He keeps bending over to try to pick up what he’s saying. Then he looks at me to translate.

  “Oh, well, did your mom bring your bathing suit, my friend?” my dad asks Charlie. “Because you can’t swim in your underwear.”

  I think this is supposed to be a joke, but nobody laughs. Charlie walks over to the edge of the pool and puts his hand in.

  “Be careful, man,” I say, walking toward him.

  “I won’t fall like Augustus Gloop!”

  “What did he say?” my dad asks again.

  “He’s talking about the kid who fell into the chocolate river in Willy Wonka.”

  “Oh,” he says. “So do you like the place? It’s beautiful, ¿no?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “It’s really nice.”

  “A place you could maybe visit? Plus, I work here now. You could use vacation weeks, or maybe trade points for a larger suite.”

  “What?”

  “You said you like this place, ¿no?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine, I guess.”

  “And your brother likes it?”

  Charlie splashes water in the pool and cracks up every time the splashes reach my mom, who has moved a bit closer to us now.

  “You should ask her,” my dad says, watching my mom. “Ask her if she’d like to purchase a time-share here.”

  “Huh?” What is he asking?

  He takes out a small notepad from his jacket pocket and starts scribbling some numbers down. He shows them to me.

  “It’s really not that expensive,” he says. “And this would be your home base. Where I work. We could see each other at least one week a year, more depending on the package your mom chooses.”

  Oh, I know what’s happening. A sudden electric charge runs through me. My dad is trying to sell me a time-share. He’s only showing us around this gigantic place that feels cold and empty inside because he’s trying to sell us on it. My head spins.

  He continues to talk about the architecture and the tennis courts and the square footage of the two-bedroom suites and how great it all is. Finally, I gather my focus. I watch him carefully. He’s about to speak again, but I interrupt him in the middle of his bit about twenty-four-hour concierge service.

  “Why did you leave?” I say, my voice trembling.

  He seems shocked. I just interrupted the sales pitch he’s memorized, and it seems like he doesn’t know what to do. He remains silent for a moment.

  “It’s complicated, Marcus,” he tells me.

  “You know what’s complicated?” I start. “Feeling like you have to keep everything together all the time.” The words are almost ahead of my thoughts, but I don’t stop. “Help out with money, take care of my brother, make sure my mom doesn’t feel too guilty. It’s tough.”

  “I’m sorry, Marcus,” he says.

  “And it isn’t easy at school,” I continue. My heart beats faster with every word. “It’s lonely being the biggest kid. Being feared just because of my size. Feeling invisible on the inside because all anyone ever sees is the outside. They just assume I’m a monster. They call me that. Over and over again. It’s not easy. And my brother deserves a chance just like everyone else. And I’m probably going to get expelled from school and Charlie is going to be left alone to fend for himself and my mom will have to keep working extra shifts just to cover the basic bills. And in all of this . . . where have you been?”

  “You’re going to get expelled?” he says suddenly, acting concerned. “What did you do?”

  “I punched a kid for saying something about my brother.” I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks.

  “You punched a kid? Marcus, being expelled is a pretty big deal.”

  “You’re going to be my father now?” I feel myself stepping closer to him. “Just a second ago you were selling me a one-bedroom suite.”

  “It was a two—” He doesn’t finish. “One-bedroom, two-bedroom—who’s keeping
track?” he says, backing away like the kids at school.

  “Where have you been, man?”

  My dad tells me he was young. He didn’t know how to be a father, much less to a kid like Charlie. It makes the blood rush to my neck and cheeks and then down to my fists, but he continues to talk.

  “An opportunity came up to start a business in Puerto Rico,” he says. “It was a pharmaceutical start-up in Toa Baja.”

  “And what about working in Pennsylvania? Where your wife and kids live?”

  “There was no way to earn enough money there,” he says. “Marcus, if a business is failing, you find another one. Why doesn’t anybody understand that?”

  With each excuse he gives, I become less angry.

  I realize what everyone has been telling me all along. “They do understand,” I finally tell him. “But they also know that sometimes the necessary thing isn’t always the easiest.”

  “Ay, Díos mío, you’ve been spending too much time with Tía Darma,” he says, shaking his head.

  My mom and Charlie have been standing there the entire time. My mom doesn’t say anything when my dad finally finishes talking. But Charlie does.

  “You broke the rules!”

  “What?” my dad asks.

  Charlie steps close to him, and I swear he’s trying to make every syllable come out as perfectly as he can.

  “It’s all there, black and white, clear as crystal! You stole fizzy-lifting drinks, so you get NOTHING! You lose! Good day, sir!”

  Charlie steps back, digs into my mom’s purse, pulls out his crumpled Wonka hat, and puts it on his head. It flops over, but he doesn’t care. He stares down my dad, his hands on his hips.

  My mom tries to hold in a laugh, but she ends up snorting.

  “Did he just?”

  “Yeah,” I tell her.

  “Oh man,” she says. “That one is going down as one of the all-time greatest Charlie moments.”

  “Definitely,” I say.

  My dad looks confused.

  “You stole fizzy-lifting drinks, man,” I tell him. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Angela, María, Hilda, and Sergio being let into the pool area by another guy dressed just like my father.