One day in April when the sky shimmered like a pebbled glass window pane, Tomas watched Roberto mount a trophy fish on the wall.
"What is that? A bonita?"
"Hey-Boy, don't you know a tarpon when you see one?"
Sitting near the television, a barfly barked a complaint. "Hey, you two cu~nos, shut the hell up. And turn up the sound."
Roberto replied in a friendly snarl, "Hey, deadbeat, go home and watch your own TV."
Another patron piped up. "Bay of Pigs!"
*
"Excuse me, my friend." A firm hand squeezed Tomas' shoulder. It was the man they called Indio.
Tomas almost coughed up his heart. "Yes, hombre?"
"Roberto tells me your name is Reyes."
"That is so."
"Then I would wish to speak to you in private." The formality did not escape Tomas. "Perhaps we can go to the delicatessen and sandwich shop they call Topp's. Do you know it?"
"Si. But--"
"But can you trust me? Let me say that I have news of your uncle who worked for the Jews in Havana."
*
The front door at Topp's opened upon a slice of New York kosher. With a meat case on the left and tables to the right the room marched like a shotgun blast deep into the street story of a tall office building on busy Flagler Street. Red checked tablecloths and neon beer signs and glossy wood paneling, zinging hubbub and laughter and jukebox music, all greeted eye and ear at once. Aromas of cheeses and meats made you want to sit down and swig a Heineken. Smack your lips.
The place was peopled with downtown types. Suits and work-service uniforms, hipsters in white teeshirts and bluejeans with their halter-top beach-bunnies. Indio led Tomas all the way to the rear. Looking side to side and over his shoulder.
Tomas had been here before with his Mami after they saw a Gregory Peck movie at the Olympia, a majestic theatre designed to suggest Shakespeare's Globe, complete with a sky on the ceiling. Across the street was Jann the Magic Man's toy and hobby shop. That evenng she had bought him a balsa kit of the Sopwith Camel. He was very skilled at assmebling this type of thing. Papi had shown him how to glue joints and pin down pressure points, always being patient, step by step, until the airframe was complete. Then the model was ready for its fabric, in this case: tissue paper. Several coats of dope shrank the fabric until it was taut as a drumskin.
"Hola, Tomas!" Indio broke through the reverie. "Do you wish something to eat?"
His voice sounded earnest. But his visage was stony as a cemetary. Something was up.
"No money--"
"As they say, it's my treat."
"OK."
The waitress smelled and looked like apple dumplings. She took their order for knockwurst and iced tea.
Growing nervous, Tomas absently toyed with a small jar of brown mustard.
"Now listen," Indio said. "Do not turn around. A man just seated himself in the front. He is wearing a hot sharkskin suit. He is my tail."
*
Lawn-mower boys passed by the postage stamp yard on their way to larger jobs. Teresa Reyes didn't mind. She thought they charged too much anyway. So Tomas handled the chore of mowing and edging the grass, trimming the hedge and raking around the giant ficus tree. She prided her back yard shrubs. A riot of colors. Bougainvilla and oleander climbed lattice archways leading to a flagstone patio. Tomas worked hard in the yard. Saturday mornings the wang of the edger blade biting the sidewalk woke her.
She was preparing brunch when he came in by the jalousie door.
"Hola, Mami."
She motioned for him to sit.
She handed him a plate of Merita toast, and he made a huge PB&J, slathering on plenty of Peter Pan (wondering again why Peter Pan was a slim pretty woman in a green skirt) and Palmaleto guava jelly.
"Are you finished with the yard?"
He nodded with a full face.
She gavehim three dollars. "Are you saving anything?"
He could not lie. "No. I love books and movies."
"The movies. All condemned by the Legion of Decency."
"Of course."
They smiled. It was their little joke. Ever since he and a neighbor boy named Carlos went to see "Solomon and Sheba" with the boy's parents. The two fourteen-year-olds contracted their first cases of blue-balls. Carlos, she was told, suffered such an erection that he hid in the bathroom.
Rising from the table,Tomas asked, "Is there anything else you want me to do?"
There was an awkward silence. "Yes. Please tell me what has been troubling you."
"Oh, Mami. I have been holding news that will upset you."
"My magnificant young man--"
He delicately squeezed her hand. "Uncle Zoot is dead."
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