Chapter 4
Resolving
Disclaimer: No le tengo El y Sands.
Rating: R for language.
Summary: El makes a resolution.
Thank you to everyone who has written to me about this story. You guys keep me going. And to Melody, my beta, a huge cyber-hug.
****
The days passed, each one slipping by much like the others that had come before it. El went about his daily routine, just as he had before all the confusion had started. He did not get up in the middle of the night and prowl the house anymore. He kept his eyes on what he was doing, and he did not demand that Sands trust him.
Because now every day seemed just like the one that had come before it, El had no idea how much time had really passed until one day he answered a knock on the door and saw the priest standing there.
The priest had a favor to ask the great mariachi who always donated so generously during the Sunday services. Christmas was just a few days away. The children wanted to go caroling through the village. Would the mariachi accompany them on his guitar?
El stared at the priest for a long moment. It was nearly Christmas, and he had not even noticed. He went into town almost every day, and walked past shops with decorations in the windows, and he had seen none of them. Now that he was reminded of what time of year it was, he remembered hearing Chiclet telling Sands all the things he wanted for Christmas, things he supposed he wouldn't be getting, because of his family's poverty.
Christmas, he thought. Merry Christmas.
Feliz Navidad, Carolina.
"No, Padre," he said. "I cannot."
"Please," said the priest. "It would mean so much to the children."
Children, El thought. He had had a daughter once. A bright little girl with her mother's smile and her father's love of music. But an uncaring world had allowed her to be gunned down in the middle of the street, and now that daughter was gone.
There are no children for me, Padre. You are asking the wrong man.
And then he looked up, over the priest's shoulder, to the small figure on the bike just turning into the driveway.
Chiclet. The boy had an uncanny knack for showing up when he was needed most.
It occurred to him that he did have a child in his life. In a way, Chiclet had come to replace the daughter he had lost, a daughter who would be only a few years younger than Chiclet, had she lived.
If she had lived, you would not be here today, said the drawling voice in his head, the one that always made him justify his actions.
El sighed. He gave the priest what he hoped was a friendly smile. "All right," he said. "I will do it."
****
Now that he had been reminded of his responsibilities, he wasted no time. The day the priest visited him, he went out and got a tree. He bought candy and ice cream, and he managed to smile at the shopkeepers as they chattered about inconsequential things while wrapping up his purchases. He tried to remember some of the things Chiclet had wanted for Christmas, and bought the ones he could find; and he made a mental note to ask Sands about the rest of the list.
Chiclet was ecstatic over the sudden holiday preparations. That evening they decorated the tree, while Sands sat in the corner making remarks like, "You missed a spot," and, "That looks terrible, move it to another branch." Chiclet giggled at each of these comments, and Sands dutifully continued offering them up, but El saw the toll they took on the agent – Sands often made sarcastic asides about his blindness, but lately the subject had been a sore one, and talking about it was not doing him any good.
Several times El tried to speak up and find a tactful way to tell Chiclet to stop laughing, but he could not think of the right words. And even if he could, Sands would know he had spoken only out of pity, and would be pissed. So he stayed silent.
Sometimes it was better to leave well enough alone.
When they were finished, El plugged in the lights, and the whole tree came to life. Chiclet clapped his hands and jumped with delight. Sands gave him an obliging smile, and even El had to admit that they had done a good job.
"Señor?" El looked down at a small tap on his arm. "Can I show you something?"
He followed Chiclet out of the room. He had rarely seen such a serious expression on the boy's face, and he could not help feeling a pang of worry. He could not imagine what would make Chiclet look so. "What is it?"
Chiclet led him outside, to the bike propped against the porch wall. The boy reached into his shapeless knapsack and came out with a small rectangular object. He held it up for El to see, his face very solemn.
It looked like a wallet. The black leather looked abused, as though it had been kicked, often and hard, or else thrown against walls by furious hands.
El opened it up, and gasped in shock.
It was Sands' CIA badge.
"Where did you get this?" he demanded.
Chiclet swallowed hard. "That day," he said. "Señor Ramirez sent me to get his things. My parents sold what they could, for the money, but I kept this. I didn't tell them I had it." He glanced at the house, perhaps expecting to see Sands standing in the doorway, glaring hatred at him for daring to keep this reminder of the past. "I kept it, to remember him. I didn't know if I should give it back. But I thought...maybe...for Christmas?" His voice trailed off uncertainly.
El stared down at the badge. The seal of the Central Intelligence Agency was on one side of the billfold, and a photo ID was on the other. The man in the photo was young, and he was staring intensely at the camera, without a trace of humor in his expression. His eyes were dark and pitiless.
They were the eyes of a killer.
El shivered. Staring down at the picture, it seemed incredible to think that he had come so close to forgetting Sands' eyes, and how they had looked right through him.
Chiclet touched the clear laminate over the photo. "I never saw his eyes," he said.
El looked up at him, surprised. He had been under the impression that Sands had met the boy before the Day of the Dead.
"He wore sunglasses when I first met him," Chiclet said. He smiled, a rather wistful smile. "He told me to fuck off then, too."
El snapped the badge shut. He gave it back to Chiclet. "Here."
"Should I give it to him?" the boy asked. He thrust it back into his knapsack.
"I don't know," El said truthfully. He had no idea what to tell the boy. Part of him thought it might be interesting to see Sands' reaction. The rest of him thought it would be a very bad idea.
He opened the screen door. "Come on. Let's go back in."
****
Sands was just settling himself back in the armchair when El returned to the room. The agent had a fresh beer in one hand. If El had counted right, that made his sixth of the night. "What the hell were you doing out there?"
"Nothing that concerns you," El said.
"We were talking about Christmas," Chiclet said. El cast him a grateful look. Since the day Chiclet had caught him spying on Sands, he had felt as though the boy was an unwilling partner in their conspiracy. Now he was not so sure. Perhaps Chiclet really did want to help him.
"Christmas," Sands scoffed. "It can't be Christmas without snow. Jingle bells and all that crap, you know?" He drained half his beer.
"Snow!" Chiclet's eyes lit up. "I have never seen snow before. What's it like?"
El looked at Sands expectantly. This too was something he had always wondered.
"It's cold," Sands said. "It's heavy, it's messy, and within a few hours it turns brown and nasty. It's a pain in the ass and you're not missing anything by not having it down here. Trust me.
"And you shouldn't even be happy about Christmas, kid," Sands continued. "It's just one day out of the year when everybody fools themselves into thinking they're nice people, and everyone talks about things like peace on earth, and goodwill to man. Then they wake up the next day, look at the crap they got as presents, and bitch and moan about how they didn't get what they really wanted, and they take it all back and exchange it for something they did want. Then they go out to parties and make New Year's Resolutions they don't intend to keep. They get really drunk and throw up in the hostess' planters, and they go home and kick the dog, and life starts all over again. Yeah, kid, the holidays are a great time of year."
Chiclet looked like he was going to cry. El entertained a brief fantasy of picking Sands up by the hair and tossing him out into the backyard.
Then Chiclet gave himself a shake. "What's New Year's Resolutions?"
Sands heaved a sigh. "What, don't they do that down here in Mexico?"
El shrugged. He knew what the custom was.
"Here," Sands said. "A New Year's Resolution is when you take a good long look at yourself, and you see all the crap that's wrong with you, and you decide to change those things. You resolve to do it. So in your case, you would resolve to be a better soccer player. Or not to whine so much. That kind of thing."
"That's enough," El snapped. He could tolerate almost any abuse for himself, but he hated to see Sands take his anger out on the boy, even if Chiclet himself swore he didn't mind.
"You, El my dear friend, would do well to resolve to stop being such a fucking prick." Sands gave him a humorless smile, and finished his beer.
"And you?" El asked coldly. "What will you resolve?"
"Well, the same thing I resolve every year. To keep the balance. To stay in control. Very simple. The best resolutions are the ones you can actually keep, you know."
"That is not changing anything about yourself," El said.
Sands chuckled. "Haven't you figured it out yet, El? People like me don't change. We never change." He stood up, a bit unsteady on his feet, but still a long way from being drunk. "Go home, Chiclet. It's getting late." He left the living room, heading for his bedroom.
El turned to the boy, intending to apologize on Sands' behalf. One look at Chiclet, however, showed him that there was no need.
"We need to help him faster," Chiclet said, very quietly.
****
El had never made a New Year's Resolution before. He didn't know how. He didn't like the idea of self-examination. He had been doing that too often lately, and he was not eager to start anew.
A resolution was supposed to change something about yourself. He did not want to look at himself and change anything. And Chiclet was just fine as he was.
Which left only Sands.
How could you make a man like that change? El knew it could be done – for proof, he had only to look at the way things were now, and then remember the way Sands had tried to kill him when they had met again for the first time at Ramirez's house, the day after the coup. So Sands was capable of change, but the question was, how far could he go? How far was he willing to go?
He thought of the bitterness that had laced Sands' voice as he described the holidays to Chiclet, the way he had said things like, "Don't put that ornament there, Chiclet, I can't see the first one on the branch if you do that." And he remembered the soccer game he had interrupted, the way the man and the boy had lain on the grass, laughing.
That's it, El thought. That is what I would change for him. I would hear him laugh again.
I would make him happy.
****
In the following days, El found that making a New Year's Resolution was easy.
Keeping it, however, could be next to impossible.
He had no idea how to make Sands happy. He suspected that the things the agent would find pleasing were things that would send the rest of the world screaming in horror. He remembered the way Sands had tortured the soldier in Villa de Cos, how delighted Sands had been for the chance to hurt another person, and he shuddered. Perhaps he had made the wrong resolution.
But he did not give up completely. As he walked home after accompanying the children on their caroling, his guitar slung across his back, he pondered his next course of action. How did a man achieve the impossible?
"Señor!" A bell rang out. He looked up as Chiclet rode past on his bike, one hand waving merrily.
It was Christmas Eve. El smiled and raised his hand in return, even though the boy was already past him, facing forward again, and could not see him.
He gazed after the boy, watching the bike and its figure grow smaller in his vision.
How did a man achieve the impossible?
And suddenly he knew.
****
When dinner was eaten, El cleared the dishes and told Chiclet to go home. "You should be with your family tonight. You can come by tomorrow, and we will exchange gifts then."
"Okay." The boy had not mentioned the CIA badge again, and El did not know if he had decided to give it to Sands or not.
When Chiclet had left, El grabbed his car keys. "Come. We are going."
Sands sat up a little, frowning. "Going where?"
"I spoke to the priest today," El said. "A man came to him and made confession. He spoke of drug dealings, and killing. He was asked to do these things by the cartel. I thought we would pay him a visit."
"On Christmas Eve?" Sands stood up, a delighted grin spreading across his face. "Why El, I think I've misjudged you all this time!"
They drove out of the village. The night was very dark, and the stars overhead looked chill and lonely. There was no traffic out here, and they had the road to themselves. Although it was the end of December, the night air was warm. El rolled down his window and turned on the radio.
Sands scowled and reached for the knob, but El stopped him. "Leave it on. Please?"
Sands sighed, but he left the radio on.
When the village was several miles behind them, El turned around, making a great arc across the road so they were pointed in the direction of the village again. He pulled the car over to the side of the road.
"Why are we stopping?" Sands asked. Earlier in the evening, during dinner, he had been silent to the point of withdrawal, but now he was very alert. One hand rested at his hip, and the gun hanging there.
El said nothing. He got out of the car and walked around the front, squinting as he crossed the path of the headlights. He went up to the passenger side and rapped on the lowered window. "Move over."
"What's going on?" Sands demanded, suspicion in his voice.
"We are going home," El said. He opened the door.
Sands did not move. He seemed utterly confused, an emotion that looked out of place on him. "El?"
El started to get into the car, forcing Sands to move over into the driver's seat. "You wish for control," he said. "I give it to you. Merry Christmas, Agent Sands."
For a long, long moment Sands just sat there. The DJ on the radio made a few announcements, then some commercials started to play. The night breeze blew into the car, stirring El's hair against his cheek.
At last Sands said, "I didn't know you had a deathwish, El."
"I do not," El said. "Nor do you, despite what you want me to think." He pulled on his seat belt. "I will guide you," he said. "Do you trust me?"
On the radio, the commercials ended. A song began, something with a pounding rhythm and no words. Sands gave El a hard grin. "I guess it's time we found out, isn't it?"
He slammed the car into drive and pulled onto the road.
Immediately El said, "Left a little."
Sands straightened the car out.
The road was fairly straight for miles, and little traveled. When El had conceived of the idea that afternoon, he had thought of this road right away. It was the only place for such a wild experiment, the only place where he might come out of this alive.
Sands stomped on the accelerator. The car shot forward, the needle on the speedometer rising steadily. Wind poured in through the windows, drowning out the radio, whipping their hair about wildly. El held onto the door handle, and felt the start of a wide grin on his face.
"Did you miss this?" he shouted.
"You have no idea!" Sands shouted back. He held the steering wheel tightly, but he kept the car straight, as El had known he would.
Ahead, the road made a small curve to the right. The kind of curve that required minimal correction on a driver's part. El sat up straighter. "Slow down!" he shouted. "There is a curve coming."
"Are you sure?" Sands asked.
"What?"
"How do I know I can trust you?" The crooked smile on Sands' face belied the seriousness of the question.
"Curve!" El shouted.
"Left or right?" Sands asked, obviously very amused.
"Right. A small one."
"Got it." The car slowed, although not as much as El would have liked. The roar of the wind died down a little, and the music on the radio became audible again.
"Now," he commanded. "Turn."
Sands let the steering wheel drift slightly to the right. The car made the turn riding in the left lane. El decided it didn't matter. "Straight now," he said.
The car regained its position in the right lane. They accelerated again. "Do I make you nervous?" Sands taunted. He was grinning.
"Always!" El shouted.
"Good!" Sands yelled back.
The next curve went to the left, and it was sharper than the first. It was the only place on the road that El worried about. "Slow down!" he cried. "Another curve. Left. Sharp."
"Got it," Sands said. The car did not slow.
"Slow down!" El shouted. He redoubled his grip on the door handle.
The curve was approaching. Fast. Too fast. And there was no time for anything, but a single cry. "Turn! Now!"
Sands yanked the wheel left. El was flung against the door. "Not so much!" he shouted.
The car slewed through the curve, heading rapidly for the scrub grass on the side of the road. "Straighten out!" El shouted. Sands let the wheel turn back to its normal position, which put the car solidly in the wrong lane.
Headlights approached them. Someone else was out on this road. "Right, right!" El cried, his heart in his throat.
Sands was laughing. He made no move to return the car to its proper lane.
"A car is coming!" El cried. He knew he should reach out and take the wheel, but he could not move. He felt pinned under the weight of those oncoming headlights.
They came at each other, the only two cars on this lonely road, Christmas Eve night in Culiacan, Mexico.
Sands continued laughing.
At the last moment, the other car swerved into the right lane. It passed them with a blare of horn and a jeering yell from the passengers inside. El became aware that he was shouting, a warning, "Whoaaaa!" noise he was powerless to stop.
Sands never stopped laughing. He held up his right hand, middle finger extended. "Fuck you!" he shouted deliriously.
He gave the steering wheel a twitch to the right, and the car found its own lane again.
El slumped against the door. "You almost got us killed," he panted.
"What's the matter?" Sands grinned. "Don't you trust me, El?"
Suddenly remembering why he had embarked on this crazy outing in the first place, El forgot to be mad. He forgot everything but that smile on Sands' face.
They were still rocketing along the road, far too fast for the darkness of the night, or the darkness of its driver, for that matter. El no longer cared. He laughed. "Merry Christmas, you crazy bastard!"
"I'm crazy? You're the one who let me behind the wheel," Sands laughed.
El just stared at him, grinning like an idiot. He felt stupidly pleased with himself. If I do nothing else of value in my life, he thought, I will always have this. The night I made a desperately unhappy man happy again, for a short time.
Right then, at that moment, it was enough.
And El Mariachi was a happy man.
****
Author's Note: The music Sands drives to is "Pistolero," from the OUATIM soundtrack.
I actually studied for this chapter. I drove part of my usual route to work with my eyes closed. Only for very very short stretches, and when there was no oncoming traffic. I wanted to see what it was like. And readers, don't try this one at home. It was incredibly freaky. I do not recommend it. Maybe if I had someone like El in the front seat with me, to guide me...but then again, if I was alone in a car with El, we'd end up in the back seat, and there would be precious little driving going on...