Chapter 31: Splintered

Barto was dead.

Inquiries had been made in Jalisco just to be sure, with faint hope that it was not the case. Maybe he had missed the ship the day it set off, after all it wouldn't have been the first time it had happened. Whether he had slept in, been too sick or too hungover to work that day, any reason would have brought such joy and relief to his family and to Matty as well. But no, his name had been written into the sign-in register for the ship the day it set off, and he did not stay behind in Florida to rest. Bartolomeo Rosales had perished along with the other fifteen crewman of the Doncella Feliz, and his body was now lost in the vast Gulf of Mexico.

The Riveras hurried back to Santa Cecilia to pay their respects to the grieving family, save for Coco. Theresa would not let her out of her commitments to her movie and to her adoring fans. In the end Coco, Julio and Victoria had parted ways yet again, and from the way Victoria had fussed and cried and the way Julio sulked while looking out of the train window it had not had been on the most pleasant terms.

Barto's family was not as well-known as the Riveras, nor anywhere near as wealthy. The traditional vigil for their son was small and humble, a simple picture of his grinning face in place of a body surrounded by flowers and candles. Rosita and Julio talked amongst Barto's many little sisters, Imelda and Héctor spoke quietly to his grieving mother, and Matty slowly made his way over to his distraught father. Señor Rosales sat slumped into a chair as he stared at the floor, his whole face and mustache drooping in sadness. He looked so much like his son that Matty was sure Barto would have grown up to be indistinguishable to him, white hair and all. Now, however, that would never come to pass.

"Señor Rosales?" Matty asked quietly as not to startle the man.

He looked up and smiled weakly at Matty. "Ah, Mateo! Come, sit." He gestured for the young man to take a seat next to him. Once he had done that Señor Morales patted him heartily on the knee. "I'm so glad you were able to come pay your respects, chico. And thank you for offering to pay for Bartolomeo's headstone for the cemetery. He might night be buried here, but it will be nice to have something grand to put his offerings on when he comes to visit."

"I'm glad I could help in some way." Matty said.

"I'm sorry you had to cut your vacation short, though. I know you must not get much time off from school."

Matty shook his head vehemently. "No, I don't care about that! Barto was my best friend, I'd do anything for him!"

Señor Rosales' mouth drew into a quivering line and his eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Your friend… Sí …" Wiping a rough hand across his face he coughed loudly before he continued.

"I must be honest with you chico, I… Didn't care much for Barto when he was a boy. Not that I didn't love him, no, he was my only and beloved son! But… I did not approve his attitude and of some of his decisions. He got caught up with that mocoso Sergio and acted in a way that shamed both his Mamá and myself. His grades were poor, he was disrespectful towards his family and was always getting into trouble… I was certain that he would end up in jail or worse…"

"And then you became his friend and turned him around. Gracias a Dios that you did! You turned him into a good-hearted, hard-working, honorable man that I was proud to call my son. When he got the job in Jalisco he was so thrilled, chico, and he was so excited to tell you first! Because you inspired him to be better than he ever thought he was."

"But now he's dead." Matty said stiffly as his fingers dug into his knees. "Killed by those damn Germans… If it wasn't for me he wouldn't have been on that boat."

"Don't think that Mateo!" Señor Rasales said as he tried to calm down the boy's ire. "He was a good man and proud to have gotten such a good job. I shudder to think what he would have become if he was still with that Sergio-"

"Aww, did someone mention my name?"

Both looked up to see the man in question lazily leaning against the wall as he smirked. Sergio was only twenty-two, but the last few years of excess drinking and other vices had aged him an extra ten years. His hair had thinned on top, he had put on extra weight over the years, and he was missing some teeth that Matty was sure he had punched out himself in the past. With their attention now on him he sauntered over and picked up Barto's picture.

"What are you doing here, cabrón?" Señor Rosales growled, his eyes never leaving the picture in case Sergio decided to do something malicious to it. "You weren't invited."

"I thought the whole town always comes to funerals? Though with no body I guess you could just call this a depressing dinner party." He turned the picture around to face them. "Besides, why wouldn't I come to mourn the loss of an old friend?"

"You were never his friend, Sergio." Matty said as he stood up. "He was just a lackey to you. You didn't give a damn about him, or anyone except yourself."

"Oh sí sí, I know you both became real tight amigos." Sergio placed the photo back down between the candles, Matty and Señor Rosales sighing a little in relief. "You know that's probably what killed him, don't you? Everyone close to you ends up a corpse, don't they? You're cursed."

Matty slowly inhaled and exhaled the flash of anger away. "How many times do I have to knock you on your ass before you realize that you shouldn't mess with me?" At this point it seemed unfair for Matty to punch Sergio, being a good foot taller than the bully who seemed to have stopped growing all those years ago from their first fight.

Sergio ignored the question. "What are you going to do now, though? Now that you know who killed Barto? You gonna go kill some Nazis? I'd really like to see you with a gun, do you even know how to fire one? Maybe you should just go over there and befriend them, that'll be a sure-fire way to drop them like flies."

His fists and jaw clenching, Matty hissed. "Why don't you go back to the cantina, Sergio? Your seat is getting cold and lonesome."

"Ha, I knew it!" Sergio let out a wheezy laugh and pointed at Matty. By now everyone had crowded around the two, wondering if another brawl would occur between the town drunk and the prestigious Rivera boy. "You talk like you care about Barto, but you won't even try to avenge his death! Coward! Go back to your snotty little school house in America with all your rich friends! Puto! Pinche puto!"

"Callate!" Matty screamed and bore down on Sergio. "I loved Barto! And I will avenge him! I'm going to Africa next week for training and I will be fighting while you sit here wasting away and doing nothing for your old friend, puto!"

"You're what?!"

With that sudden sharp question Matty suddenly realized he had an audience surrounding him, including his parents. Imelda held her hand over her mouth in horror as she and Héctor both stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief. Matty sighed as he felt an immense weight lift from his chest, but he didn't feel any better. He just looked at his parents sadly and nodded. "I enlisted in the war effort." Then he closed his eyes in shame as Imelda started to glare at him, only to open them when he heard a snicker.

Sergio smiled a nasty, gap-toothed grin at him. "Well well, I guess that the cat's out of the ba-"

Sergio's head whipped around as Matty's fist crashed into his jaw and he crumpled like tissue paper to the floor. The audience gasped in shock, but Matty paid no mind to them as he shook his knuckles loose and gazed towards his dumbfounded parents.

"Mierda…"

Miguel sat on the edge of the bed as he watched his older brother pack up his suitcase in silence. Dante laid his head across his lap and he softly petted it, the old dog's eyes distantly watching his master move around. The soft cloudiness across the pupils showed the beginnings of cataracts, and the skin had grown even more wrinkled than a paper bag. Still the dog was beloved and cared for by the family, and at nearly twelve years old had lived much longer than all the other dogs out on the streets. He still whimpered when Matty placed another folded shirt into the suitcase: Another piece of him going. Going to a place where he couldn't follow him. To a place where he might never return from.

"Are you gonna fly a plane in the war?" Miguel asked with a hushed tone of wonder. Wars and battles were only stuff he had heard about in bible lessons and tales from old veterans of the Revolution. Now his brother was going to fight in one too!

Matty laughed a little. "Maybe but probably not, I'm pretty sure they want someone with good eyesight to fly a plane." He said as he tapped the edge of his glasses.

"Oh…" Miguel sagged a little in disappointment before perking up. "Well, are you going to shoot a gun?"

This caused Matty to pause with a shirt still in hands. He looked over at his baby brother, looking up at him with a dimpled grin and wide, shining eyes. A little brother that he loved very much yet barely got to see because of school. The flights across the United States and the long train rides towards Santa Cecilia were long, draining and a real pain in the neck. But he had been determined to come see his family every chance he got, and quite frankly it wasn't like they couldn't afford it. He wanted to leave a good impression on Miguel in his early years and be a good brother. Would this be the last memory of himself he would impact on the him? A barely grown man off towards his uncertain fate, with a little boy's awe and admiration clouding what was otherwise a very reckless choice of action on his part?

He placed the shirt in the suitcase with a cough. "Sí gordito, I know for a fact that I will."

"Whoa…"

A light knock drew their attention to the open doorway to see their father standing there with grim determination on his face. Héctor stared hard at his eldest son before turning towards his youngest. "Miguel, I need you to go so your brother and I can talk. Why don't you go play with Victoria?"

"Aww, but Papá-"

"Now Miguel."

The little boy stiffened at the sudden sternness in his father's otherwise playful voice. Feeling the sudden tension in the room Miguel hopped off the bed and walked out of the room with old Dante trailing next to him. With one last look at the two of them he sprinted across the courtyard in search for his supposed sobrina but his definite prima.

Matty stared at his father for a few long seconds before turning back to his suitcase. "So… I guess you drew the short straw."

Héctor shook his head. "No, your Mamá… didn't want to say or do something that she might… regret."

The conversation between him and Imelda had been rushed and in harsh, frantic whispers as they argued back and forth about what to say to their son. Imelda had been willing to go in there and hogtie Matty to the bed or try to beat some sense into him. When Héctor tried to calm her, her ire turned towards him.

"Then you go talk to him if you know what to say! I'm tired of being the disciplinarian in this family! It's your turn! Try acting like an actual father rather than an amigo!"

That had hurt. He knew he was always the more easy-going parent out of the two of them, but did she really think that less of him? He stood there for a few shocked moments to calm himself and maybe, just maybe, let her realize what she had just said and try to apologize. When she just continued to glare at him he nodded sadly and had made his way over to Matty's room.

"Well there's nothing to say, Papá. Mexico has declared war on Germany. I am a young, strong and able-bodied citizen. It is my duty to fight for my country in order to prevent more death from reaching here."

"You don't have to do this mijo." Héctor said softly. "There are other ways you can help with the war. I could send money, supplies even, to help support the troops. Rivera Shoes will make the best combat boots for the soldiers. You can go back to school, continue on with your dream. No one would think less of you for not going out to fight."

Matty scoffed. "What, you expect me to hide away from the fight in the church attic like you did?"

Héctor's eyes widened and again he was shocked into silence. Slowly the icy hurt began to thaw and a slowly simmering rage started to boil in his chest. "I… I-I-I was twelve years old, Mateo… They were ripping children away from their homes to fight in war that they should have had no part in! I told you all that story to warn you kids about the dangers that your Mamá and I faced when we were young, and all this time you thought of me as a coward?!"

Matty closed the suitcase with a sigh. "No, Papá. But I'm not a child anymore. I'm a grown man. I'm going of my own volition. Nothing you can say will stop that."

"What about your studies?!"

"They'll be waiting for me when I get back. You think I'm the only student to go off fighting?"

"When you get back? If you get back, you mean!"

"Papá…"

"Can't we at least wait on it for a while?" Héctor pleaded. "Think this through? This is a very sudden decision and you're not thinking straight-"

"I enlisted two months ago Papá."

Héctor reeled back at what his son had just told him. Shaking his head in disbelief he tried to rack his brain over what he was just told. "Two… Two months ago?... And you never told us?! What, you were just going to sneak off to Europe and make us think that you were still safe in New Haven? Why didn't you tell us?!"

"I'm telling you now, aren't I?"

"But…" Héctor shook his head again. "Wait a minute! Mexico just declared war! How could you have already enlisted?!"

Matty sighed as he rummaged through his bedside drawer. "The United States is letting any Hispanics staying in the country enlist. They need the men."

Héctor laughed bitterly and started to pace across the room. "Of course they do! And you know why? Because they are putting all of their boys through a meat grinder and are running out of them. So of course they would try to snatch up any kid they can find! Mexicans, Cubans, Puerto Ricans! I bet they're also taking in Africans and Asians! All the people that they have exploited, abused and cast out in the past! Remember all those years ago when they kicked all of the Mexicans out of their country? And now they want us back?!"

Héctor stepped forward and grabbed his son by the shoulders and shook him hard. "Don't you see?! They are going to use you as fodder! They think of you as expendable! But… You are not to me. Not to our family. You are priceless! Por favor, Matty… Por favor…"

Matty looked at his father, his lips a thin line that Héctor saw tremble a little bit. They stared at each other for a few long moments before Matty finally broke eye contact and looked down. When Héctor looked as well he saw what his son had been looking for in his bedside drawer: A white linen handkerchief cradling a golden, jewel-encrusted pocket-watch. A gift from his godfather all those years ago. When they had all been so happy and carefree. And across the watch Ernesto's immortal words were etched: Seize your Moment. Héctor's heart clenched at the sight and then dropped in despair when Matty's fingers clenched around it and shoved it into his pocket.

"I have to do this Papá." Matty said with resolve. "I'm not changing my mind. You don't know what it was like back in America. How shaken everyone was when they bombed Pearl Harbor. I saw families ripped apart, grown men sobbing hysterically over their lost loved ones. They've only sunk a few oil tankers here. What happens when they come for the major cities? Mexico City. What about Coco and Tio Nesto?... No, I've got to do this. I've got to seize-"

"Don't!" Héctor hissed, his anger returning. "Don't you dare finish that phrase! I've always hated it and it doesn't suit you! You talk about families ripping apart. What do you think you're doing just now?!"

Matty growled and shoved his father's hands away. "I'm going Papá!"

"I forbid you to go!"

"You can't do that! I'm a grown man! I don't have to do what you tell me to do anymore!"

"I will not just sit here and let you die!"

"Why not?! You let Leti die-"

Matty instantly regretted the words as soon as they had left his mouth. Just like Héctor had instantly regretted the moment his fist struck out and punched his son off of his feet and sent him to the ground. The air stood still as both men panted, one in pain and one in rage. Matty finally managed to look up at his father with watering eyes and a trail of spitty blood drooling out of his mouth from where his cheek had torn against his teeth. Several emotions raged through them: anger, sorrow, guilt, fear. They both glared at each other until Héctor finally broke the silence.

"There… See?... If you can't stand a punch from an old man… What makes you think you can take on Hitler's war dogs?"

Matty's glare deepened and his face flushed red as he wiped the spittle off of his face. Shakily he lifted himself off the ground, never breaking eye contact, and he finally shouted back with a voice crackling with emotions and unshed tears.

"I'm going Papá! Hate me if you want, but my mind is made up!"

…..

…..

…..

Time stopped.

Time reversed.

Héctor saw the past. His past. When he was a young man, not much older than his son standing before him, walking away from his best friend and their chance of success, their dreams of wealth and stardom. To go back to where he belonged. Back to his family. His heart had led him, not his common sense telling him he needed to make money for his family. Not his childish dream of cheering crowds, elaborate stages and beautiful music. Not his sense of loyalty towards Ernesto. No, he had followed his heart. And he had never regretted it. Not for a moment.

His son was doing the same right now. Héctor didn't know he would later achieve fame and success with Ernesto when he had left at the time. It had just happened. Just like Matty didn't know if he would triumph against the forces trying to claim their world, or that he would perish so far from home.

It wasn't the same. Not by a long shot. But his son had made up his mind about where he was going with his life, just like he had. Who was he to change it?

His deep thoughts were broken when Matty roughly pushed past his shoulder, suitcase in hand, and started his way out of the complex. With a gasp Héctor whipped around and chased after him, calling out.

"Mateo! Wait!... Stop!... Please wait!"

To his great relief Matty did stop with his back ramrod straight before turning to glare at him again. 'What could you possibly have to say now?' he seemed to say. Héctor panted a little, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat. A faint tickling sensation down his cheeks startled him. He was crying. Matty must have seen the tears too as his shoulders dropped a little and he seemed more willing to listen.

"I-" Héctor croaked out, sniffling. "I could never hate you… I couldn't… begin to fathom how I could even start to hate you… You're my son, Mateo… I love you more than life itself. But you have to understand that there is no going back from this. Do you?"

Matty stared at him a little longer before he sadly nodded. "I know the risks… But I have to do this…"

Héctor nodded back, rubbing his face harshly before stepping up towards his son. Matty eyed him wearily, obviously anticipating another strike from his father, and Héctor felt sick at the sight. Instead he held out a hand towards him, an offering of peace and love, and was immensely relieve when Matty put down his suitcase to clasp it back.

"Then I wish you luck." Héctor said with a watery smile. "And you have my blessing to go."

Matty's eyes widened in shock for a moment before he sighed deeply, a weight off of his chest. "Gracias, Papá."

"Your blessing?"

Both of them turned to see Imelda standing there, her fists clutching against her dress and her face a mixture of disbelief, sadness and anger. She marched up to her husband and glared daggers at him. "I told you to go talk him out of this nonsense and instead you give him your blessing to go?!"

Héctor cringed back from his wife's glare. "Imelda, I tried. But his mind is made up."

"What kind of a man sends his son off to his certain death with a blessing?! Estas loco?! Ay, Héctor how could you?!" Imelda hung her head with a dry sob and turned away from the both of them. "How could you?!"

Héctor reached out towards his wife. "Imelda, it might not-"

To his great surprise Imelda whipped back and slapped his hand away before he could even touch her. Héctor recoiled and held his stinging hand to himself as she let into him.

"Don't you dare touch me! Not after what you did! I feel like I could strangle you right now!" She pointed a finger into Héctor's face and growled, "Hear this now, Héctor Rivera: If our son dies in this stupid war, then his blood will be on your hands." As Héctor gaped at her words she turned her blistering ire towards Matty. "And you! Don't think that if you die that I will mourn you. You know that I don't suffer fools lightly, and right now you are perhaps the stupidest person I have ever come across!"

Matty sighed, "Mamá, please-"

Imelda continued to scream, tears running down her face. "No no, just get out! Get out of here! Go on your little crusade, go away from your family! Just leave! That's all this family does nowadays anyway! You too Héctor!"

Héctor shook his head fervently. "No, Imelda! I promised that I will never leave you!"

"I want you to leave!"

And at that moment all the years of tension, distance and loneliness turned into a sharp blade. A blade that swiftly and mercilessly struck down and sliced his heart into pieces. She wanted him gone. She didn't want him. Didn't love him anymore. This was what finally brought it all out in the open. He had finally lost her. Feeling the tears returning, he still had to ask. "Imelda… why?"

"Because I can't stand the sight of you! Of either if you!" Imelda screeched, her tears now turning into sobs. "So go inside and p-pack your things and say goodbye to Miguel! I want nothing to do with you, Héctor Rivera! So just go!"

And with that she ran back into the house, crying all the while, and slammed the door shut behind her, leaving two heartbroken men in her midst. And from the window on the other side of the complex Miguel watched in fear and anguish as his mother cast his father out from their home. If going to fight a war brought this much sadness to his family then maybe fighting wasn't so cool after all.

It was awkward.

Very awkward.

Matty sat on the train station bench in a defeated slouch, looking at his father out of the corner of his eye. Héctor's suitcase was bulging with haphazardly folded clothing, some of it sticking out of the case, and Héctor looked the picture of absolute misery. Wearing a wrinkled traveling coat and a hat smashed against his messy hair, Héctor simply leaned back over the bench to stare up at the sky in dejection, his throat bobbing up and down painfully.

Matty decided to break the silence. "I can't believe Mamá did that."

Héctor snorted. "I can't believe she took this long. This has been a long time coming…"

"Really? Why?"

"… I wish I knew."

Matty stared at the ground, his heart aching for his father. "I'm sorry Papá…"

Héctor groaned and leant forward, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes to ease the ever increasing tension headaches that he had been getting recently. "I know you're sorry. You're always sorry. When are you going to realize that simply saying sorry isn't going to cut it?!"

"Fine! I'm s-… Whatever…" The awkward silence continued for a little while longer before he had to ask. "Where will you go?"

"Back to Ernesto's." Héctor mumbled. "Promised Miguel I would do another movie for him, might as well pass the time doing exactly that. He wants it to have lots of music and animals. And Coco will be there too, so it'll be fine. I'll be fine. Juuust fine…"

Matty nodded. Coco being there would help, as well as Tio Nesto. His Papá wouldn't be deprived of all of his family. Not like himself. But no, he had made his decision. He would do his duty to protect his country and his family.

A sharp whistle caught both of their attention and they saw a billowing engine coming towards the station. Checking his pocket watch Matty sighed and cleared his throat. "That's my train… Heh, I-I am not looking forward to it!" he said as he cracked a weak smile. "I have to travel to Texas, then I have to fly to Florida. Three stops in between, by the way. Ugh, and I dread going over the ocean to Africa. It's going to be hell, I can tell already-AH!"

Matty was suddenly pulled from his seat into a standing position and enveloped into a crushing hug. Héctor held on tightly to him as he memorized his warmth, his smell, his sense of being, his son for what he knew could be the last time ever. He squeezed even tighter, burying his face into Matty's shoulder and shuddering in fear and sorrow.

"Papá!"

"Promise me mijo! Promise me that whatever happens that you return home. Whether that is alive and well, hurt, missing parts or d-… dead… that you will come back home to your family. Don't become a nameless face in a ditch. Come-back-home! Promise me! Please!... Promise me…"

Matty wilted into his father's embrace and returned it, tears running down his face as he nodded. "I promise Papá… I promise… I love you Papá…"

Héctor finally let out a sob. "I love you too, Mateo Rivera!... I love you so much!..." Both men clung to each other, their cries drowned out as the train pulled into the station with a loud screech and a piercing whistle.

The train soon left after that, carrying Mateo Rivera off to face his destiny. And across the town an old Xolo dog shook himself loose from an afternoon nap in the sun and trotted out of the Rivera complex. Down the winding roads he traveled, passing all the other citizens going about their daily lives towards his destination: Pantéon Santa Cecilia. Weaving between all of the headstones he finally reached the one belonging to one Leticia Rivera.

The aging dog went around to the backside of the tombstone and, with no one there to witness it, disappeared on the other side. Leaving behind only a flurry of orange flower petals.