Ice Cream
In which Gustavo desperately tries to apologize to Héctor, and Héctor decides he has to do him a favor to earn his forgiveness.
AN: As per a request left by a guest reviewer. But please log in to leave reviews. I can't respond to you otherwise.
Gustavo felt horrible. He honestly, truly did. After all the mocking he'd given poor Héctor, to find out the awful truth about the ragged skeleton's demise at the hands of Mexico's most beloved singer had left the violinist feeling like he'd been punched in the gut. He was a cad.
He wasn't alone in his remorse. His band mates, who had been at the rehearsal that night when Héctor and some random kid (who they found out later was alive) showed up asking about de la Cruz's exclusive party, also felt like the heels they were. It was considered inappropriate for the living to speak ill of the dead, especially on Dia de los Muertos, but Gustavo was starting to believe there were notable consequences for the dead who spoke ill of one another as well.
Well, when a man's honor has been impugned, it is only right that the offending party offer recompense, lest his own honor be called into question. Gustavo had learned this at a young age, and he knew what he had to do.
So one evening, after the hype from the shocking reveal at the Sunrise Spectacular died down, Gustavo gathered his band mates at the rehearsal hall and gave his speech.
"Friends and fellow musicians, we have wronged someone, and we need to make it up to him somehow. We must find Héctor and apologize to him for all the times we mocked him about his death."
The response was silence. The musicians glanced at one another awkwardly. Gustavo grunted in frustration. "Oh, come on, guys, I know I'm terrible at speeches, but you can at leas humor me! I'm serious! I can't be the only one who feels all guilty about making fun of a murder victim."
"It's not that, Gusto," one of the other violinists said. "It's just...we won't be able to apologize."
"Ah, come on! It's not that hard! We just find out where he lives, and..."
"Rumor is he's already been forgotten," the trombone player interrupted. "I guess he was having spasms that we didn't see while the camera was rolling. People are saying he was forgotten by the living before they could send the boy home."
Gustavo's figurative heart fell. "Oh..." he mumbled.
Well. So much for that.
It was a number of weeks before Gustavo tried to follow up on the rumors that Héctor had faded into oblivion. And if the violinist were honest, they were the worst several weeks of his afterlife.
It wasn't as if he hadn't also died a similarly ignoble death to the one he'd believed Héctor had suffered either. He had only been in his 50s, and had been in a drunken bar accident that involved dancing with a far too friendly, broad shouldered man of questionable sexuality atop an unsteady table near the stone mantle of the fireplace. He could never quite recall exactly what had happened, but he knew from the stories that had followed that he likely would've been mortified at his state the next morning, had he lived to regret it. Teasing Héctor about "choking on chorizo" was an effective way to deflect the embarrassment away from himself and onto someone else.
The guilt that gnawed at him for his gross hypocrisy kept him awake most nights, and severely affected his music. While skeletons couldn't exhaust themselves the way the living could, they still felt the effects of sleep deprivation. Nightmares were common in the Land of the Dead, especially for those who had died violent deaths. Gustavo could only imagine what kinds of night terrors had plagued Ernesto de la Cruz when he first arrived. And he wondered ruefully if those same nightmares had returned to him recently, having suffered a repeat of his death at the Sunrise Spectacular. Gustavo had mercifully been spared recurring dreams of his tumble from the table top with a 200 pound dance partner, but lately he'd had to endure dreams of Héctor's death instead. How had de la Cruz done it? The living boy hadn't said; only that de la Cruz had murdered Héctor for his songs. Gustavo's subconscious supplied a number of suggestions, from a gunshot to poison to...other, more grotesque and violent means. And each and every dream would end with Gustavo standing over Héctor's lifeless body, laughing at him as he turned to shimmering orange dust and drifted away on the breeze.
It was all getting to be too much. Gustavo had to do something, anything, to make it right.
So he set out to try and find out what had become of Héctor, and where his family might be found.
The first place he looked was Shantytown, which sent shivers up and down his spine as he contemplated his own future demise when the living forgot him—though he prayed it was far off. He had descendants, including a few in de la Cruz's hometown, who could remember him for a while yet. He wondered if they had ever met that living boy, or if they would have learned the truth of de la Cruz by now.
The residents of Shantytown were of little help. All they could tell him was that none of them ever expected anyone to return to the ramshackle huts on the river, and that they weren't surprised that Héctor hadn't. They did, however, provide one useful clue: Héctor used to rave day in and day out about his wife and daughter, whom he described as a goddess and a princess. Some of the residents had been there since said goddess had arrived in the Land of the Dead, and had aided Héctor through his depression and the drunken stupor that followed her harsh rejection of him. The woman was a shoemaker, they said, well known in Santa Cecilia, where Héctor had lived.
From there, it was off to the Department of Family Reunions, the Santa Cecilia branch. It took some pleading and arm twisting to get them to release information about Héctor's family, but soon Gustavo was on his way to the Rivera zapatería, feeling very aprehensive.
As he approached the shop, he rehearsed over and over in his head the apology he was planning to give Héctor's widow. He figured that she must not be quite so angry with him anymore, as she had sung at the concert to his guitar accompaniment. He reached the door of the shop and, noting that the sign read "Open," invited himself in.
A small bell rang, and a female voice called out, "Someone will be with you momentarily!"
Gustavo called back, "Perdoname, but I am looking for the family of a man named..." He stopped mid-sentence as a man stepped into the hallway to greet him. The skeleton wore a half-torn, purple jacket and threadbare pants, and his identity was unmistakable.
Gustavo's eyes widened, and he didn't know whether to smile or duck his head in shame. "Héctor!"
Of all the people Héctor would've expected to greet in the foyer of the Rivera zapatería, Gustavo was pretty close to the bottom of his list. Not absolute bottom, but close enough to shock the former mariachi when he recognized the other man. Nor was he particularly in the mood to deal with someone who had looked for every opportunity to make fun of him from the moment he first told the story of his death (as he'd remembered it, anyway). Nonetheless, greeting customers and taking orders were among the few tasks he could actually do to make himself useful in the shop, and he was determined to do a satisfactory job. He didn't want to disappoint Imelda. Ever again.
So he screwed on the most plastic smile he possessed and said, "Gustavo! What brings you to the Rivera zapatería today? In need of new shoes?"
Gustavo gaped at him for a moment, looking as though he was entirely uncertain how to respond to Héctor's greeting. Finally, his wits seemed to return to him, and he replied, "Ah...no, actually. I was looking for you. Well, for your family, anyway. I didn't expect to find you here."
Héctor's face fell. He didn't recall revealing anything about his familial struggles to Gustavo or any of his band mates. "Well, the family and I have kind of made up, and they're letting me hang around, so..."
"No, I mean..." Gustavo interrupted. "I mean we had heard you'd been...forgotten."
"Oh," said Héctor. Realization dawned on him and his eyes widened. "Oh!" he repeated. "Oh, no no no, I'm fine. Really!" He gave Gustavo his best smile. "I have to say, I'm honestly surprised that you came to check up on me, though. Or at least my family."
Gustavo sighed and removed his fedora, fiddling with it in his hands. "Actually, the reason I came was...I wanted to apologize."
Héctor's brow ridges shot up. This was a new approach.
"The way my band mates and I treated you was shameful," Gustavo continued. "And hypocritical. Some of us...we have embarrassing stories of our own deaths. We really had no place to make fun of you. And when we found out you were actually murdered, we all felt just terrible. I thought that if I couldn't apologize to you directly, I could at least speak to your wife. I could apologize to her and give her my condolences."
Héctor stood staring in shock at the short skeleton. He decided he would just have to get used to being surprised from now on, as completely unexpected, out-of-the-blue events seemed to be happening quite a lot lately.
"I hope you can find it in your heart—figuratively speaking, of course—to forgive me one day," Gustavo concluded, glancing up at Héctor hopefully.
Héctor wasn't sure at all what to make of this situation. He was never known to be a petty or vengeful man in life, but 96 years of being rejected at every turn, then finding out his best friend was also his murderer, had certainly left an impression on him. He didn't trust so easily now. He wasn't altruistic to the point of almost willful ignorance; not when that's what had, if he were honest, actually gotten him killed. And he wasn't so ready to forgive, either. If Imelda didn't have to forgive easily, Héctor didn't either.
But at the same time, he couldn't not acknowledge the sincerity of Gustavo's apology. The man had literally no reason to feign regret. Something had driven him to seek out the family of a man he was sure had been forgotten, just so he could alleviate himself of an apparent burden on his conscience.
Héctor thought back to his own gradual acceptance back into his family that had followed in the weeks after his brush with the final death. Each family member had tested his sincerity, and one or two still had their reservations about him. After Imelda had agreed to allow Héctor to stay with them on a probationary basis, he'd worked to win back the favor of his brothers-in-law. And had they ever made him work for it!
Which gave Héctor a deliciously evil idea. He gave Gustavo a disarming grin.
"Why, amigo, I'm touched! Moved to tears, even." He feigned wiping a tear from his eye and chuckled inwardly at the flicker of hope and relief that crossed Gustavo's face. Then he put on his most grave, serious look. "But I can't so easily overlook all those times you mocked and embarrassed me."
Gustavo's face fell. He should've known this wouldn't be so easy.
"But..." Héctor continued, holding up a finger in an authoritative manner. "I would also be a hypocrite if I did not at least offer you a second chance. I can be convinced of the sincerity of your apology if you're willing to follow it up by doing me a tremendous favor."
Gustavo placed his fedora back on his head. "Sí, anything you ask!" he said, a little too enthusiastically.
Héctor held out a hand to usher Gustavo into the workshop. "Come this way, if you please, señor. We have many chores to complete in order to keep our business and home running smoothly. And there are some tasks that may seem small, but are just as important as the big jobs."
As Héctor led Gustavo through the shop and toward the courtyard of the hacienda, drawing confused stares from his relatives, he winked at Óscar and Felipe. The two glanced at one another, intrigued, and got up to follow.
"You see, Gustavo, amigo, my lovely wife is out running very important errands for the shop today, and in the time that she's gone, she'd like me to do a chore that I don't particularly enjoy doing."
Gustavo began to feel apprehensive. "And what chore is that?" he asked.
"Clean Pepita's litter box. Pepita being Imelda's alebrije. I'm told she was the loveliest silver tabby in life, though as you can imagine, she's much more colorful now."
By this point, they had stopped walking and stood by a shed, overlooking most of the courtyard. Gustavo was a bit incredulous.
"Clean out a litter box! No sweat, amigo! We had cats in life too. That's seriously all you need me to do?"
Gustavo, unfortunately, missed the snickering that passed between the twins standing behind him. Héctor gleefully placed a pitchfork and shovel in each of Gustavo's hands.
"Good man," he said. "Pepita's litter box is right this way." He gestured to an enormous sandbox that covered nearly half the courtyard. A sandbox that looked like it was well past due for a cleaning and refilling.
Gustavo's jaw dropped.
"Oh, did I mention that Pepita's alebrije form is the size of a house?" Héctor said. "Yet she still uses the box. You can take the jaguar out of the house cat, but you can't take the house cat out of the jaguar. Or...I'm sure the saying goes something like that."
Gustavo swallowed and steeled himself for the arduous task ahead. He had promised any favor to Héctor, and he wasn't about to back down. This time he heard the laughter of the twins, but chose to ignore it. He marched up to the sandbox and pushed his shovel into the first clump of caquita-filled earth.
No sooner had he done so than he heard an ominous roar somewhere in the distance. He glanced up nervously.
"That's Pepita, out stretching her wings," Héctor called. "We always make sure she's away from the hacienda before we start this job."
Oh, wonderful. Not only was the "cat" actually a jaguar, but it could apparently fly as well. Gustavo muttered to himself, wondering how he had gotten himself into this literal mess.
It took a grueling half hour just to get the clumps of jaguar poop scooped out of the box and into a wagon Héctor had pointed out. While Gustavo worked, Héctor and the twins sat on a nearby bench, conversing leisurely at a volume that prevented Gustavo from making out what they were saying. They shared laughs, and Gustavo hoped that they were about family memories rather than jokes at his expense. Not that he didn't deserve it.
The smelly task of removing the clumps of excrement completed, Gustavo turned his attention to topping off the remaining clean litter. He was about to dump his second shovel full when he heard Pepita roar again, this time much closer.
"Oh, it sounds like Pepita's back a bit early," Héctor called.
Sure enough, an enormous winged jaguar sailed over the house and alighted in front of Gustavo, causing the terrified musician to drop his shovel as her piercing yellow eyes scrutinized him.
Héctor tisked. "Pepita doesn't much like strangers, or people she doesn't know well cleaning her litter box."
"You're just telling me this now?" Gustavo squeaked as Pepita's breath blew his fedora right off his head. "N-nice kitty," he said, carefully patting the alebrije on the nose.
Pepita let out a roar, and Gustavo turned and tried to scramble away. Pepita easily caught him in her mouth, tossed him in the air, let him land between her paws, and began swatting him back and forth, her tail flickering as she toyed with her prey.
Héctor watched with sadistic glee as Gustavo tried to get away, screaming the whole time. Eventually Pepita decided to pull the poor musician's skull right off his neck, flinging it into the litter box, where it became half-buried in the sand in an inverted position. She watched in amusement as Gustavo's body stumbled around between her paws, feeling desperately for the rest of itself.
Héctor laughed until he was doubled over and breathless. "You were right, cuñados, it really is funnier when it's happening to someone else!"
Óscar and Felipe joined his laughter.
"At this point, though, it's almost become an initiation," Óscar said, gasping for breath.
"A ritual to join the Rivera inner circle," Felipe added, wiping a tear from his eye.
"Well, I suppose we should go rescue him now," Héctor conceded.
With that, the three men tried to shoo Pepita off of Gustavo's body, while his head still lay in the sand, moaning and cursing. But Pepita was not finished with her toy and was not interested in giving it up. She pulled Gustavo's body away and yowled at the intruders.
"Come on, Pepita, play nice," Felipe pleaded.
"Give us back Héctor's friend and we'll give you some nice catnip," Óscar tried to bribe her.
Héctor rescued Gustavo's head. "Sorry, amigo, but Pepita can be a bit stubborn sometimes. We'll have your body back before you know it!"
Gustavo glowered at him. It was all he could do to keep from cursing out the man.
"What is going on here?!" a voice shouted from across the compound.
Everyone turned to see Imelda, arms crossed and looking as stern as ever.
"Diosa!" Héctor greeted. "We're, uh...we're having trouble getting Pepita to release an old acquaintance of mine."
Pepita was now holding Gustavo's flailing body in her mouth. Imelda marched right up to the jaguar and looked her in the eye.
"Pepita, drop!" she commanded.
Pepita obediently spit out the skeleton, which scrambled toward Héctor, who reconnected Gustavo's head to his cervical vertebrae.
Gustavo shook his arms in disgust. He was soaked in cat drool.
"I thought I told you to clean Pepita's litter box, querido," Imelda said, her voice edged with irritation. "Not pawn the job off on someone else."
Behind her, Óscar and Felipe snickered. She turned her ire on them. "I blame you tontos for this! You put the idea in his head the last time you pulled this! No more! From now on, each person does the task assigned to him! No trades, no tricks!"
"You have my word, mi amor," Héctor said. "Never again."
"We promise too," the twins chimed in unison.
Imelda grunted in response and turned to head back inside. "Come, Pepita, it's time for your supper."
The big cat eagerly followed.
Héctor turned to Gustavo. "Now we're even," he said with a smile.
Gustavo muttered something that Héctor couldn't quite catch before replying, "I suppose we are."
"You know what all this has me in the mood for?" Héctor said, throwing his arms around his brothers-in-law. "Helado!"
"Are you offering to buy, cuñado?" Óscar asked.
"Because we're short on cash," Felipe added.
"Oh, you know, I spent my last peso getting my jacket patched up," Héctor said. "Gee, if only we had a friend around who has money and still wants to make up for his past wrongdoings by hanging out with a trio of dorks at the local ice cream parlor." He looked pointedly at Gustavo.
The violinist sighed, walked over to retrieve his hat, then said, "Let's go, then. My treat."
As they made their way into town, Gustavo had to admit that as far as revenge plots go, he had gotten off surprisingly easy. And he'd maybe made a few worthwhile friends in the process.
AN: If cake is a lie, ice cream is revenge.
