Part 22 (2/2)
The old man began to say something, but then stopped and only nodded. ”Yes, maybe you will.”
Isidro had come around to open the taxi door, and without turning Don Celestino stepped in, forcing himself to not look back at the others waving from under the tree.
”Go on,” he said.
”To the station?”
”Tell me something,” he said, leaning forward. ”How long would it take if you were to drive me to Ciudad Victoria?”
Isidro turned to look back. ”That's a long way, maybe an hour and a half, maybe a little more.”
”But still faster than the bus?”
”Much faster.”
The taxi began to coast away, moving slowly in order to make room for the dogs that were barking at the tires. They had traveled only to the end of the road when Don Celestino noticed his brother's plastic shopping bag on the floor, and he said, ”Wait, stop the car.”
Isidro slammed on the brakes in the middle of the road, sending up a haze of gravel and dust. But when Don Celestino looked inside the bag, the pill dispenser was still packed and the extra vials hadn't been opened. Everything was the same as it was when they left the pharmacy five days earlier.
”Then what?” the driver turned to ask. ”I go back or not?”
Don Fidencio and the two women were standing beneath the tree, gazing at the idling car. ”Maybe he forgot something,” the granddaughter said.
”Who forgot?” The old woman tugged on her granddaughter's shoulder. ”Tell me what you see, what did he forget?”
But just then the brake lights faded and the taxi continued down the road.
”n.o.body,” Don Fidencio said, and then he waved. ”n.o.body forgot anything.”
Acknowledgments.
I am grateful to so many of you. To Becky, for making room in our lives for this novel. To my family, immediate and extended, for always being there for me. To Armando Leal Rios, Jose Skinner, Dr. Victor M. Gonzalez Jr., Dr. Carlos Pestana, Mando Hinojos, and John ”TJ” Gonzales, as well as the staffs of the Hays Nursing Center, Spanish Meadows Nursing and Re hab, and Ebony Lake Healthcare Center, for all their expertise, and graciousness in sharing it. To Tony Zavaleta, Jim Priest, and Shawn Isbell, for providing shelter and a place to write. To Jose Limon, Jim Garrison, and Richard Flores, for their support at a crucial time. To Richard Abate, for his vigilance and friends.h.i.+p. To Reagan Arthur, for her patience and wisdom. And to tio Nico, for remembering.
About the Author.
Oscar Casares was born in the border town of Brownsville, Texas, the setting for his critically acclaimed story collection. The recipient of a 2006 National Endowment for the Arts Literature Fellows.h.i.+p, Casares is a graduate of the Iowa Writers' Workshop and now teaches creative writing at the University of Texas in Austin, where he lives with his wife and young son. This is his first novel.
ALSO BY O OSCAR C CASARES.
Brownsville
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