Hector, Page 2

  Chapter 2

  Streaks of burning hot sun cut through the shades of the small family room and made a show of the smoke from the father’s cigar that sat on an old plate in the middle of the table. Jose, father, man of the village, father of two sons and no daughters, sat and watched the changing scenes on the small black and white television set which rested on the far end of the table in front of the couch. The table had one leg that was too short—shorter than the others, and the father had often said that it was the other legs that were too long and that they should be cut to the proper length. There was an old carpet that looked to everyone to have been made around the same time as the table: brown from dirt and thin from being swept, it lay on the floor too long for the room and tucked under by the wall between the family room and the kitchen. The smoke from the cigar of the father whose name was Jose was heavy and hot, but not as hot as the air which took it and held it in a cloud by the ceiling where there was no fan. In Tablones, when there was no breeze coming off the ocean and there was no breeze coming off the mountains, it was July in Puerto Rico, and when there was no shade that could make a difference, it was too hot to think of anything. Hector looked, but could not think even of how he hated his father's cigar smoke.

  The small town of Tablones saw little of the action that spilled sometimes into the smaller towns around San Juan. There were some gringos, but they were not frequent. They looked at the people of Tablones. They looked from their cars. Hector stood in the doorway of his home and looked at his father. He watched Jose who watched the television. He watched the smoke rise from the cigar. He looked at his father’s bare feet and thought how rough the toes looked—how they looked like they were carved from dark wood to look like toes that had walked a million miles over rough roads and hot sand. The heel looked like it had not been sanded as well as it might have. The feet as a whole looked like they were part of the table on which they rested. The two, the table and the pair of feet, looked like they were made by the same hands, by the same uneven craftsman in the same crooked workshop that rested, uneven, on a slanted slope. Hector looked at his father's feet as they appeared on that day in that light in that room. He remembered what his father had told him about feet when he was a boy.

  "Hector, you have those feet to carry you from place to place. Do not choke them by wearing fancy shoes. Try not to wear shoes. Let your feet be feet."

  Those were the years when Hector had worked hard with his father on the farm. Day after day they had gone together to the fields by the road that did not have to be too smooth because it was only for walking. There were no cars coming down that road in that time and there was no need for them to ever come down that road. The windswept that road enough for the carts to pass smooth enough. There was enough of everything as he walked with his father to the fields that would produce for everybody in Tablones what they needed. What they did not need, they did not care about. That is why they did not care about the cars that did not need to ever come down that road even though they eventually did. There was not a person, in Hector's mind, in Tablones who cared what was going on in San Juan or what it was like to ride in a car. Life was what it was. There were the fields, there were the homes to take the food to, and there were other things to think about. But then, when Hector would listen to the simple wisdom of his father when he talked about feet or hands or what was enough, then when they walked together to the fields in the morning on the road that was not wider than two oxcarts full of food, there was not much need to worry or think about what was down that road and up and over that great mountain. It was enough to see that mountain. It was enough to feel the cool breeze that came down from the top and cooled the town at night when the breeze did not come off the ocean. And it was enough to hear a few words about what feet were for and what you were not supposed to do to them. There were no shoes as good as good feet in Tablones when the sun was going down and the cool breeze was blowing soft dust along the road. You could walk slowly then.

  Hector stood in the door of the family room and saw the haze of smoke lift from his father's cigar and rise into smooth blanket up by the ceiling where a stream of light bolted through where the ceiling had not been joined to the front wall well enough. It was a joint that would keep out the rain, but it was not enough of a joint to keep out the sun. He stood and thought about how his father had offered him a cigar once when he had turned sixteen and how he had said no.

  "Here, you are old enough now to enjoy this."

  "No. No thank you."

  "Then you know that you cannot ever smoke a cigar because you would not accept your first one from your father." They had stopped working in the field and had finished lunch and were squatting under a tree at the edge of the field by the road. The air was still. The sun was high and bright and Jose had taken off his pava and then put it back on many times since they had moved to that place under the tree for lunch. Hector never felt well after lunch and he had not liked the taste of the bread and chicken. He drank half his jug of water and stripped off the skin of a piece of sugar cane and was sucking the juice out when his father had offered him his first cigar. With lunch over, he did not want to work the rest of the day with the taste of cigar in his mouth. Later, he thought, maybe I will ask him for a cigar so he does not feel as though I disrespect him or that I do not approve of something my father enjoys. Maybe I will ask him for a cigar and I will smoke it and it will not taste as bad as it smells when it is lit or when it is not lit and it is just held up to my nose. He does this before he smokes one and he smiles. Maybe that is what you have to do to make it taste good like you have to peel away the skin of a piece of sugar cane before you can enjoy sucking the sweet juice out of it. Hector held the piece of sugar cane to his nose and smiled as he looked out over the road toward the mountain.

  From the edge of the field where Hector and his father worked you could see the peaks of El Toro and El Yunque. Hector would often stare at these peaks and wonder how high they were or how long it would take to climb them. His father had told him that the El Yunque saw a great deal of rain all year. The rain would not come as it did in the valley, but it would fall with a steadiness and only stop for a short time before beginning again. The rain sounded good to Hector when it was very hot in the fields. He looked at the mountain as a giver of refreshment. As his father smoked he would look at the mountain and suck on his sugar cane and think about cool rain.

  As Hector stood in the door of his father's house he looked at his father's shirt and he saw the button he had watched his mother sew on when he was a child and he had to go with him to the fields every day. The button was at the top of the shirt and it looked too large. Jose had told his wife that he wanted a big button so that it would be strong and it would never fall off again. He had told her to sew it as tight to the fabric as she could. She had sewn it tight, but it was too tight and was never used to close the shirt front. This had made Hector a little embarrassed of his father. He would wear the shirt for work or for social events and people would see a big red button sewn on a faded white shirt that hung down because of the weight of the button. Hector saw the button as he looked at his father who sat watching television. He smiled to see it.

  There had been a good, steady rain the night before and Hector had helped his father repair the corner of the biggest chicken coup that had threatened to fall over when the water had washed away the dirt from the corner brace. They were walking back to the house when they heard the dog, Paco barking at something by the road. They turned to see Hector's brother, Jesus walking toward them with Paco leading the way. Jesus had been away at school for most of the year and was not expected home for two weeks. He walked carrying his bags and he wore the clothes of a gringo.

  "Look, Hector," Jose said. "It is your gringo brother returning from heaven."

  Hector knew that there would be an argument. He had hoped that his father would not start this when he saw his brother walking toward them
.

  "Ola, Hector. Ola,Papa," Jesus said as he waved and smiled. "Yes I have returned from heaven to tell you the good news."

  "You have come home to work like a good Puerto Rican," Jose said.

  "Yes, Papa,” Jesus said, "I have come to slave in the fields with you and Hector so we can someday buy another big button for your favorite shirt."

  Jesus knew that his insult would not affect his father, but he felt obligated to give a response as sarcastic as the one about returning from heaven. They did not get along as well as Hector and the father did. Jesus was too headstrong, Jose had said, and he would get himself in trouble if he thought he could take on San Juan and the gringos with something as simple as an education. Jesus had argued that he did not want to take anything or anybody on. All he wanted, he said, was to get an education and see what it would get him so he would not have to work in the fields like a dog the rest of his life. Hector took the bags from his brother and brought them in the house. He felt ashamed of his father and he knew that it was wrong to feel this. Why can't he just throw the shirt away, he thought. Why can't he just throw it away and forget about it?

  Hector could smell the chicken his mother was cooking as he stood in the door and looked at his father. She was cooking on the grill, and there was also the smell of peppers being roasted with onions and garlic. The smell of garlic filled the air and swirled with the smoke from the cigar and the comfortable fumes of the peppers. Hector continued to stare at his father's feet as he thought about Jesus and his coming home after he had been away for so long in a place that was not so far by bus, but would be very far if you walked.

  Jesus had sat with the family for dinner when he had returned two weeks early from school. The sun was going down on the house where they sat to eat. It was the time of day Hector enjoyed the most: he could feel the day changing to night as the air became cooler and the breeze seemed to bring the ocean to the door and let the magic of the waves lift and float his young mind out to sea and into a dream land where every day was not work, was not choked with heat, was not hard on the feet, was not disturbed by tense arguments and the smell of rum on the breath of Jose and the smell of cigar smoke everywhere even though there was a breeze. Hector closed his eyes at the table for only a moment and let his mind be out there where he felt the breeze would take him. Jesus and Jose talked on intense, little remarks and arguments. The bowl of rice in front of Hector and between him and the cabinet was being used by the father as a ashtray. Hector opened his eyes and looked at his brother. A breeze came in and waved his mother's skirt like an old flag of an old country where everything moves in slow, dreamy motion. The purple moved to the white and the green moved to the blue and they all seemed to fade a little more when the motion caught his eye.

  "But you do not see," Jesus said to his father, "there are other things in life that do not depend on where you live or what you do to stay alive. There are thought and ideas that you have never even thought of and probably never will."

  "So I am a fool?" Jose asked.

  "Not so much a fool, but you should at least try to understand that I am not in school to learn how to work the land. I go because I want to expand my horizons."

  "What horizons?"

  "That is what I mean, father. You do not see that there is a lot more to life than working in the fields and drinking rum and playing cards or dominoes."

  "Yes, Jesus, there is more. Perhaps you will tell us what is worth seeking and what is not so when your mother and me and your brother go to school with you will not waste our time looking in the wrong books, or asking the wrong people the wrong questions. Who knows, we may run across some fool who tells us that the way to understanding leads you back to the farm for a few free meals and a roof to sleep under."

  "I do not have to come back if you do not want me."

  "Who tells you you have to come back? Not me. If you are so smart, why don't you stay with some of your smart friends and see if they will cook dinner for you? Why don't you? You left us. If it were not for Hector, I do not think we would be doing as well as we are. Thank him too if you intend to thank anyone before you leave again. He understands what you never have — he stays with his father and leads a simple life and he is happy."

  "How do you know he is happy?"

  "Because he smiles when he has the simple things." "Don't you think he should have more? How do you know that he doesn't want to go to school with me?"

  "Because I know. God has given me one good son. Look at him, he is four years younger than you and he is at least twice as strong. Look at his skin, it is brown and healthy like mine, not pale as a ghost like yours. You should ride in a car when you come home. You should look out the windows at us like a gringo. That is what you mean by understanding, I think. You want to be like people who drive cars to see what real people look like. Then, once you have seen, you can take your understanding back to the school and tell them about it. 'I saw these brown people working in the field in the hot sun with their hats that they call pavas.' Then you can all laugh.”

  "I would not laugh, father. No one would laugh with me. The others I go to school with are from the island too. We don't think it is funny the way you live. We think it is sad."

  "Sad?" Jose asked as he rose from his chair. "You think I am a sad sight? You had better find a place to hide for a while, or I will give you something to be very sad about." Jose started for Jesus, but the son was up and out the door before the father had finished his sentence. Hector sat still and stared at the bowl of rice and cigar ashes in front of him and he felt something in his throat as though he had swallowed the cigar his father was smoking and now it was caught behind his Adam's apple hot and dry.

  Hector stood in the door looking at his father for a long time. He knew that he may not see him for a very long time; maybe, he would not see him ever again. He thought about the night Jesus had come home early from school. It was in July.

  Jesus said many things to him when they were alone, and these things had made Hector think that he may want to find what is out in the world. Soon his brother's words were reaching deeper inside and Hector agreed to go one day to the ocean with him. It was not far to the beach at Playa do Naguabo, so they decided to walk. Jose was in town that Sunday, as he was every Sunday, and they knew that they would not be missed. Walking, they talked as two brothers will, and the older brother told of many places in the world and many people. Hector listened, but he also felt the effect of this temporary freedom on the road that wound gracefully off the high plain of Tablones toward the ocean he had felt and dreamt of but never seen. He became excited at the thought and Jesus could not resist catching his brother's contagious smile as they walked together. But before they reached the beach, Jesus told Hector the good news he had mentioned when he had first gotten home.

  "Remember how I said that I had good news when I came back?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  "Well, how would you feel if your brother had gotten accepted to a good college in the U.S.?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I got into a very good school for the fall, and I am going there to get my degree."

  "But I thought you were already in school in San Juan."

  "Yes, but this school is better than the one I go to now. Besides, don't you think it is exciting that I will be going to school in the U.S.? Think of it, Hector. Think of all the beautiful women I will meet. Think of all the money I will make when I graduate."

  Jesus was very excited as he told Hector the good news. At one point, he stopped walking to face his younger brother and make his point more clear.

  "Think of it, Hector. I will have money and knowledge, and beautiful women too. And, to top it off, I will be in the most exciting country in the world!"

  "But don't we have such schools here? And aren't there beautiful women in San Juan?"

  "Yes, but there are more beautiful women in the U.S. And as for schools, yes we have th
em here, but I do not want to spend the rest of my life on this small island.'

  They walked the rest of the way to the beach as Jesus told of the many great things he had heard about the U.S. and its beautiful women. Hector had not given much thought to women until he turned sixteen, and even then, he had only the girls in Tablones to think about, and none of them excited him. They walked through the tunnel that went under the highway, and at the other side, Hector saw the ocean for the first time in his life. But his attention was soon turned away when a young girl, about his age and a little shorter, walked past him wearing less clothing than he had ever seen a woman wear in his life. Jesus saw his brother follow her with his eyes, and he could not resist making a remark: "See? You should have gone to the beach a long time ago. If girls like her are here, imagine the ones in the U.S.!" She had not heard Jesus' remark, but the girl turned her head as she walked and looked at Hector. He could see her eyes flash in the sun as she spun toward the water in a full run.

  Hector knew that his father was aware of his presence in the doorway, so he did not have to say anything to get his father's attention. He had heard all the arguments. All he wanted now was for his father to say something, or even to motion with his hand, and then he would leave. He looked at his father's feet and saw his left big toe twitch. That will have to be enough of a goodbye, he thought. I will take that as him wishing me well on my journey.