There are some things — people, ideals, institutions — you have to support even though there are pieces that don't make sense. You support them because you believe in them; what they are; what they represent. I believe what the United States represents. As a soldier, I trusted that what I was doing was right. I served my country with pride. And I wouldn't change that. But there were some places I should have never stepped foot.
- Alberto Reyes
BEFORE...
Alberto resisted the urge to slam the door. Luis was asleep across the back seat, a shallow snore sounding from his gaping mouth. Even over the smell of grease and gas the stench of cheap liquor wafted off Luis's clothes.
Alberto shook his head. Late and drunk. He took a deep breath and returned to the black 1971 GTO. She was a beauty. 455 high output engine with 8.4 compression and 335 horses under that hood. Alberto ran his hand along the front fender and leaned over the engine.
Poor baby didn't want to start up. And she wasn't saying why. "Dime el problema, querida," he coaxed the car. After a few brief tests, he had a pretty good idea of what was wrong. He checked the oil and hissed out a breath. Shame.
He was rooting around a cabinet for his compression tester when the phone rang.
"Reyes Auto," Alberto answered. At hearing the response in Spanish, Alberto switched to the language as well. "Hello, José."
"I'm calling about my bike. Again," José said clipped.
Alberto glanced over at the 1999 Harley Night Train. The headers were on the seat, right where he had left them for Luis. "Of course. She'll be ready by tomorrow."
"You said that three days ago."
Alberto rubbed at his eyes and tried to do damage control. "I understand you're upset-"
"Upset? Try fed up. I'll be there in ten minutes to get my bike."
"She won't be ready in ten minutes. I told you I'll have her ready by tomorrow-"
"And I'm telling you I'm not waiting until tomorrow. I'll take her somewhere else."
"José, please. Give me until tomorrow. I'll give you a twenty percent discount for your trouble."
"No. I want my bike."
"Thirty percent. I'll even throw in an oil change on the house." Alberto gripped the phone as he listened to José huff over the line. José was a long time customer and always referenced the shop to his friends. Losing him was losing business, something Alberto couldn't risk. Especially right now.
"I want her by noon," José said.
"She'll be ready by then," Alberto promised. He hung up, breathing out a ragged breath.
"Everything okay?" a voice asked.
Alberto turned to see Jaime. He'd just come from school but was already dressed in his mechanic's jumpsuit ready to work. Alberto was pleased to see that niño Paco wasn't with him.
"Tranquila," Alberto said. "You got another thing coming if you think you're working," he said switching back to English. Jaime moved to the Harley, unwrapping the header pipes from the plastic. "Jaime," Alberto warned. "Homework done?"
"Mostly," his hijo said not looking up.
"Books," he said, finger thrusting to the exit.
"I can get José off your back. I helped you with this before. Let me instal it." With a glance at the snoring man in the back of the GTO he added, "Not like Luis is going to."
"Tell you what, you diagnose the problem with this baby," he patted the roof of the GTO, "you can work on the Harley."
A smile pulled at his hijo's mouth. "Really?" Alberto gestured to the Pontiac. Jaime opened the driver door. He swung into the car and turned the key. The engine sputtered but refused to turn over, skipping like a child with a cough. He let it go a few seconds, then stepped back out. Jaime rolled his eyes, thinking the solution obvious. "Fácil. Ignition problem."
"Spark plugs are sparking."
"Then ... the fuel injectors."
"How about you take a look instead of guessing."
Jaime circled to the front of the car, checked the spark plugs to make sure they were secure. Alberto kept his arms crossed while Jaime probed here, peered there. His hijo grabbed a spare cloth and pulled out the dipstick to check the oil. Alberto smiled. The oil came out thick and discolored.
Jaime made a face. "Why's it gray?"
"You tell me."
Jaime's face contorted. He tested the oil with his finger, then sniffed it. "Smells like ... coolant?" he said confused. "The engine's overheating somehow?"
"Close. Why is coolant mixing with the oil?"
"Because ..." Jaime shrugged. "I don't know. The guy put coolant in on accident?"
Alberto slapped him on the shoulder. "Back to those books."
Jaime let out a groan. "Come on, papi."
"Livros."
Jaime reinserted the dipstick and wiped his hands on his front. "At least tell me what's wrong."
"Blown gasket," Alberto answered as he disconnected the spark plugs. "Engine can't keep the oil and coolant separated so the coolant ends up in the oil pan."
"How was I supposed to know that?"
"Now you do." Alberto threaded the compression tester. "Now get to that homework."
"I can do it after. Let me help you with this."
"Out of the question. Luis, levántate!" Alberto blared the horn. The man in the back seat snorted and jerked.
"But papi-"
"There is no after this or after that, Jaime. Study ahora."
"You don't think I can do this but I can. You never let me-"
"What did I say?" He stared his hijo down. For a moment he saw Jaime's indignation flare up.
Jaime whipped away, unzipping his jumpsuit with a jerk. "Whatever." The phrase was almost snarled. The word was trying to cut Alberto, make him bleed.
"Watch your tone. Hey!" Alberto grabbed Jaime's arm and forced him to turn. Jaime's jaw was set. Alberto tried to keep his voice level and in control. Even so the waiver of anger was present. "You don't speak to me that way. Entiendes? You don't speak to anyone like that." His grip tightened. "Entiendes?"
"Yeah," was the clipped answer.
Oh, was he asking for it. "Yes, sir," Alberto corrected.
Jaime's jaw worked. For a moment Alberto feared his hijo would challenge him again. What should he do then, hit him? Back down? Scream? Laugh it off? Ground him? Alberto tried to slow his thrashing heart.
At last, Jaime's chin lowered. The response came out low. "Yes, sir."
Alberto released him and before he could say anything else, Jaime stomped to the back. Alberto kicked Luis in the leg. "Up front. Crank her up."
Alberto made note of each cylinder's PSI, mind smoldering as he worked. Teenagers. Moody wasn't the word. Erratic, maybe. Manic.
He's just trying to find his place, Alberto tried to reason with himself. But he was pretty sure he never talked to his padre like that. Alberto frowned. Was it wrong of him to keep Jaime from the shop? Every push towards his education, felt like a push away from Alberto. There seemed to be such a chasm between them now.
Half of him wanted to give Jaime the chance to try a hand at the Harley. It's not that Alberto didn't think Jaime had the skill. He had skill. But he also had a better chance in life if he studied. Why should Jaime be fixing cars when he could design them? No niño of his would be plastered with the stereotype of a lazy, ignorant Mexican. For every person who didn't judge, there were five others hardened by prejudice, certain that their looks ment no English, no brains, and no worth.
Two blown gaskets. Alberto closed the hood, struggling to cheer his sinking heart. Jaime deserved better. Alberto would make sure he got better. So let his hijo be mad. Jaime didn't understand how cruel the world could be, but he would. Alberto would make sure Jaime was ready. And his hijo would thank him. Algún día.
loose Spanish translation as taken in context:
ahora - now
algún día - someday
Buenas tardes - good afternoon
dime el problema, querida - tell me the problem, baby
entiendes - understand
fácil - easy
hijo - son
levántate - get up
livros - books
niño - boy / child
padre - father
papi - dad
tranquila - fine