Part 15 (2/2)

He tried to undo the snap b.u.t.tons at one corner, but his fingers weren't cooperating and she finally had to pull it open for him. The three aluminum bars, zigzagging end over end, reminded him of the security grille they used at night to close the post office. He wondered what he was supposed to do with a mangled cane. But then she quickly extended the three parts and the handle into a full cane. ”See if you like it.”

”And if it comes apart?”

”I tried it in the store.”

”For you, a young girl, but just imagine a grown man.” He leaned the cane against the table. ”I try it, I fall, I break my hip, my leg, my head, something, and from there I go back to that place.”

”You're not going to fall,” Don Celestino said.

”Then let me see you who knows so much. Try it, see if it doesn't give out on you.”

”I don't need to try it.”

”Only because you're afraid,” Don Fidencio said. ”That, I can see from here.”

”If I can walk without a cane, why would I be afraid of falling?”

”Not afraid of falling, afraid that people will see you with a cane, like a little old man.”

Don Celestino flicked his wrist at this idea. ”Believe me, I'll use a cane if that day ever comes, and I'll use it without so many protests, like somebody I know.”

The old man took a sip of his beer. ”Then don't expect me to be the first one to try that thing.”

Don Celestino turned to Socorro, but she was already looking at him, waiting. Finally he stood up and tossed his napkin on the chair; he didn't know how it was he let himself get talked into so much. He jiggled the cane in front of him as if it were a divining rod. As he took his first steps, he tried to remember if he had ever needed any help walking. With the exception of the diabetes, he had been healthy all his life, which made using the cane all the more ridiculous to him. What would they want him to do next? Go to the restroom every hour?

”You walk like it was a rake and not like a cane in your hand,” his brother called out, loud enough to be heard across the room. ”At least put some weight on it.”

Don Celestino spread his legs now, so his stance would be similar to his brother's. Then he leaned forward some, like a man looking for his keys in the gra.s.s. He tightened his grip to make sure his hand didn't slip when he leaned on the handle. The lights had been dimmed around the other half of the restaurant, so he took his time maneuvering around the table and chairs in his way. The waiter had left a tray stand in the narrow aisle, and Don Celestino considered taking another route but then managed to get through the narrow gap. With the tip of the cane, he flicked away a cigarette b.u.t.t. He imagined that if someday he did have to use a cane, he would walk as normally as he had without it, using it more as a precaution than anything else. His brother liked to exaggerate things. The walker probably wasn't as bad as he had made it out to be.

When he reached the far end of the restaurant, near the doors to the kitchen, he turned around. Socorro waved to him while his brother only motioned for him to come back.

”I knew he would try to make it look so easy,” Don Fidencio said. ”What does he know about needing it to go everywhere?”

”He was just trying to help,” she said.

”To make it look like there was no reason for me to be worried and that anybody could do it. Watch him, how he pretends to know how.”

He was walking back in the same crouched manner and paused when one of the kitchen doors swung open. A different waiter walked out carrying a broom and dustpan but stopped and held the door when he noticed someone nearby. Then he rushed over to a.s.sist the older gentleman with the cane, obviously lost to be off in this dark corner of the restaurant.

When Don Fidencio had finished off the last bit of his enchiladas verdes, the waiter removed all the plates from the table.

”Can I offer the travelers a dessert?”

”Nothing for me,” Socorro answered.

”Coffees for the gentlemen?”

Don Celestino shook his head. ”Just the check, please.”

”And for me, another Carta Blanca,” the old man said, ignoring his brother's gaze. ”I want to make a toast.”

”We don't need to be making toasts, Fidencio.”

”Me, not you,” he replied.

The waiter returned with the beer, poured it with the same flair as earlier, and left again. Don Fidencio raised his gla.s.s and waited for his brother and the girl to do the same. ”To Celestino,” he said, ”the brave one who kept his word about the trip and this morning rescued his brother.”

His brother and the girl raised their gla.s.ses and drank.

”There's more.” He kept his gla.s.s in the air. ”May he live a long and happy life with such a lovely companion by his side.”

Socorro reached for Don Celestino's hand.

”And at last, I raise my gla.s.s to my little brother for finally believing our grandfather's story and for helping me to keep my promise to him.” Then he leaned back and swilled the drink.

”Because I said I would take you there doesn't mean I believed it,” his brother responded.

”Then what?”

”That I would take you, that was all. Why does it always have to be more with you?”

”It sounds like you're taking a child, only to amuse him.”

”What does it matter why I said yes?”

”It matters,” the old man said. ”I was going to tell you what else I remembered today on the bus.”

”Tell us tomorrow on the way to the station,” Don Celestino argued. ”I want to get some rest.”

”At seven o'clock?”

”I woke up early to go get you, and I wasn't the one who slept most of the way on the bus.”

”Bah, now you want to blame me for being able to sleep. If tonight is like most nights, I'll be lucky to sleep a few hours.”

”Go on and tell us, and after that we can go rest for tomorrow,” Socorro said.

The old man looked at his brother and then over at the girl.

”I'm only telling it for you,” he said. ”Whoever else can listen if he wants.”

He took another swig of his beer and then poured the rest of the bottle into his gla.s.s. ”Papa Grande had only ever been on an old mule that belonged to his uncle. La Chueca, they called it, because it walked with a limp. You can imagine how slow the poor animal must have walked?” He jounced about on his wooden chair to demonstrate to her how it might have been to ride the gimpy mule. ”And now here he was, this little boy on a real horse, being taken by the one who had killed his father.”

”With the arrow?” she said.

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