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Authors: Robert B. Parker
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Rios, he’s a mason, works with us on a lot of jobs.”
“Us?”
“You know, I work with my father and my uncles in the summer,” I said. “And a lot of weekends during school. One summer they weren’t building anything, so I worked a couple months with a landscaping company run by Mr. Felice. Roberto Felice. All the workers but me were Mexican.”
“So you don’t hate Mexicans,” Jeannie said.
“Like everybody else,” I said. “Like some, don’t like others.”
“My father hated all Mexicans,” she said.
“Your father probably hated all everything,” I said.
We bumped and stumbled our way around the dance floor again.
“Why you asking me about Mexicans?” I said.
The music stopped, so we got some doughnuts and some cider and went and sat on a couple of folding chairs.
“We never had any money,” Jeannie said. “We always lived in poor neighborhoods.”
“Your old man never worked,” I said.
“That’s right,” Jeannie said. “So my mom had to work. She was a cocktail waitress at the country club, and it meant she had to work nights.”
“So who took care of you?”
“Mrs. Lopez,” Jeannie said.
I nodded.
“She lived next door,” Jeannie said. “And she had a little boy, about my age. Aurelio.”
“Aurelio Lopez,” I said.
“You know him?”
“I see him around school,” I said.
“Mrs. Lopez’s husband is a busboy at the club, and he had to work nights too, so I would stay with Mrs. Lopez every night.”
“How was that?”
“She was great. She is great. She’s like . . .”
Jeannie stopped and took a little breath.
“I love her,” she said.
“That’s nice,” I said.
“She’s like my other mom,” Jeannie said.
“Maybe that’s why you turned out so good,” I said.
Jeannie nodded.
“You don’t like my mom,” she said.
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you don’t,” Jeannie said. “I know. Lotta people don’t like her. She drinks a lot . . . and she’s man crazy. I bet your father doesn’t like her. Or your uncles.”
I shrugged.
“She’s had a hard life,” Jeannie said. “But she’s my mom and I love her too.”
“Good,” I said.
One of the teachers announced over the sound system that this was the last dance. And to be sure when we left to take all of our stuff with us. No one would be permitted back in the school. And anyone who left anything would have to reclaim it at the principal’s office in the morning.
Most of the kids danced the last dance. But we didn’t. Jeannie wasn’t finished talking.
She said, “Aunt Octavia, that’s what I call her, told me a bunch of kids beat Aurelio up.”
“What for?”
“For being Mexican,” she said. “Said they called him names, you know, greaser, spick.”
“That’s lousy,” I said.
“Mr. Lopez says he finds out who did it, he’s gonna kill him.”
“You know Mr. Lopez?” I said.
“A little,” Jeannie said. “He works all the time. Aunt Octavia says he’s crazy mad. And she says a lot of Mexican kids are getting beat up like Aurelio.”
“For being Mexican?” I said.
“Yes.”
“Lopez seems like a nice enough kid,” I said.
“He is. He’s not a jock or a tough guy or anything like you. But he’s sweet. He’s teaching me to play chess.”
“How’s he feel about all this?” I said.
“He’s afraid to come to school.”
I nodded.
“And where do I come in?” I said. “Or are we just making conversation?”
“I told him you’d help him,” Jeannie said.
Chapter 34
Jeannie and I sat with Aurelio Lopez on a bench outside a bodega in the Mexican neighborhood that everyone called Chihuahua. He was a smallish kid, slim, with longish black hair and big dark eyes. One eye was bruised and swollen half shut.
“I don’t even think of myself as a Mexican,” he said. “I don’t wake up in the morning and think, you are Mexican, you dog. My father came up here before I was born to work in the mine. I never even been to Mexico.”
I
“Us?”
“You know, I work with my father and my uncles in the summer,” I said. “And a lot of weekends during school. One summer they weren’t building anything, so I worked a couple months with a landscaping company run by Mr. Felice. Roberto Felice. All the workers but me were Mexican.”
“So you don’t hate Mexicans,” Jeannie said.
“Like everybody else,” I said. “Like some, don’t like others.”
“My father hated all Mexicans,” she said.
“Your father probably hated all everything,” I said.
We bumped and stumbled our way around the dance floor again.
“Why you asking me about Mexicans?” I said.
The music stopped, so we got some doughnuts and some cider and went and sat on a couple of folding chairs.
“We never had any money,” Jeannie said. “We always lived in poor neighborhoods.”
“Your old man never worked,” I said.
“That’s right,” Jeannie said. “So my mom had to work. She was a cocktail waitress at the country club, and it meant she had to work nights.”
“So who took care of you?”
“Mrs. Lopez,” Jeannie said.
I nodded.
“She lived next door,” Jeannie said. “And she had a little boy, about my age. Aurelio.”
“Aurelio Lopez,” I said.
“You know him?”
“I see him around school,” I said.
“Mrs. Lopez’s husband is a busboy at the club, and he had to work nights too, so I would stay with Mrs. Lopez every night.”
“How was that?”
“She was great. She is great. She’s like . . .”
Jeannie stopped and took a little breath.
“I love her,” she said.
“That’s nice,” I said.
“She’s like my other mom,” Jeannie said.
“Maybe that’s why you turned out so good,” I said.
Jeannie nodded.
“You don’t like my mom,” she said.
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you don’t,” Jeannie said. “I know. Lotta people don’t like her. She drinks a lot . . . and she’s man crazy. I bet your father doesn’t like her. Or your uncles.”
I shrugged.
“She’s had a hard life,” Jeannie said. “But she’s my mom and I love her too.”
“Good,” I said.
One of the teachers announced over the sound system that this was the last dance. And to be sure when we left to take all of our stuff with us. No one would be permitted back in the school. And anyone who left anything would have to reclaim it at the principal’s office in the morning.
Most of the kids danced the last dance. But we didn’t. Jeannie wasn’t finished talking.
She said, “Aunt Octavia, that’s what I call her, told me a bunch of kids beat Aurelio up.”
“What for?”
“For being Mexican,” she said. “Said they called him names, you know, greaser, spick.”
“That’s lousy,” I said.
“Mr. Lopez says he finds out who did it, he’s gonna kill him.”
“You know Mr. Lopez?” I said.
“A little,” Jeannie said. “He works all the time. Aunt Octavia says he’s crazy mad. And she says a lot of Mexican kids are getting beat up like Aurelio.”
“For being Mexican?” I said.
“Yes.”
“Lopez seems like a nice enough kid,” I said.
“He is. He’s not a jock or a tough guy or anything like you. But he’s sweet. He’s teaching me to play chess.”
“How’s he feel about all this?” I said.
“He’s afraid to come to school.”
I nodded.
“And where do I come in?” I said. “Or are we just making conversation?”
“I told him you’d help him,” Jeannie said.
Chapter 34
Jeannie and I sat with Aurelio Lopez on a bench outside a bodega in the Mexican neighborhood that everyone called Chihuahua. He was a smallish kid, slim, with longish black hair and big dark eyes. One eye was bruised and swollen half shut.
“I don’t even think of myself as a Mexican,” he said. “I don’t wake up in the morning and think, you are Mexican, you dog. My father came up here before I was born to work in the mine. I never even been to Mexico.”
I
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