He had a choice to make. The choice would have to be his.
And yet, I knew and he knew that it wasn’t that simple. Every-
thing seemed so complicated because it was so complicated. We
were not afforded the elegance of simplicity.
I think he told himself he was confused. But I don’t think he
was confused at all. I think he knew all along what he was going to do.
He just didn’t know how painful it would be. That pain. That
ache. I was prepared for that. But he was eighteen. He was only eighteen.
It was the right thing to do, to let him drive home from the
cemetery.
xo ch i l . jack . g us t avo.
She didn’t smile as she saw him walking toward her house on
the sidewalk, didn’t wave at him, didn’t say Hi Jack, didn’t betray any signs that she was glad to see him. But she was more
than glad. She was happy. Why was she happy? But her eyes
remained hard, steady, impenetrable stones as he slowly trudged up the sidewalk toward her, she sitting on the steps of the front porch wearing a dress the color of a gray cloud about to let loose thunder, lightning, hail. And he, he was carrying flowers and a frightened smile, flowers for her parents, she thought, for her family, maybe for her too, carrying flowers because he’d somehow found out that her grandmother had died. Pretty flowers to go
with his pretty face and his pretty eyes and she wanted to shake her head and go somewhere, anywhere, but she stayed still, immutable. And then there he was, standing at the foot of the stairs, offering flowers, staring at her, waiting for her to say something, but she refused to move her lips.
312 l a n d t h e w o r l d d i d n o t s t o p For a moment, there was nothing but waiting.
Finally, the part of her that was her mother’s daughter felt
pity for him. “That’s my sidewalk you’re standing on,” she said softly.
“It’s a nice sidewalk.”
“I don’t want to see you.”
“I thought I should come.”
“Why?”
“I thought it was the right thing to do.”
“You’re always so sure about what’s right.”
“Not always.” He held out the flowers. “I brought these for
your family. I’m sorry. I am. Really.”
“It’s not your fault. She was old.”
“You loved her.”
“Love doesn’t keep anybody from dying.”
“Guess not.” He blew out a breath—like it was cold outside
and he wanted to see the fog of it in front of him. “Don’t be angry with me, Xochil.”
She got up, walked down the stairs, took the flowers. “I don’t think anger’s the word.” She smelled the flowers. “They don’t smell like anything.” She almost smiled. “You can come in.”
Jack followed her up the stairs. When they entered the living
room, Charlie and Gustavo were talking to each other, telling stories about their uncles, though they were speaking barely above a whisper and Charlie was doing most of the talking. Octavio was in his chair, reading a book, Prescott’s History of the Conquest of Mexico, a book he admired and loathed, a book his mother had given to him. Lourdes was placing a basket full of bread on the dining room table.
All the eyes in the room turned toward Jack and Xochil.
“Jack brought flowers,” Xochil said. “They’re nice. Not like
him.”
Gustavo laughed at her joke.
xo ch i l . jack . g us t avo. l 313
Octavio shook his head. “Be polite.”
She smiled at her father. “It was just a joke.”
Octavio shook his head again.
Lourdes smiled at him. “That’s very sweet of you, Jack.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, awkward, uncomfortable. He offered
Lourdes the flowers. “For your loss,” he whispered.
Lourdes took the flowers from him and looked around the
room, looking for a place to put them, flowers everywhere in the living room, the dining room—even in the bedrooms. She found
a space on the coffee table. She walked toward Jack and hugged him, her movements graceful and sure. “Very sweet,” she repeated, trying to help him feel less awkward. She was always moved by the expressions of shy and awkward boys.
Octavio put down his book. “Yes, that’s a thoughtful gesture.”
Jack nodded.
Gustavo rolled his eyes, then caught himself. “Sweet.” That was a word. A Lourdes word. “Gesture.” There was another word. An Octavio word.
Xochil looked over at him. Yeah, a Lourdes word, an Octavio word.
Charlie knew they were thinking the same thing. Only he
didn’t know what that same thing was.
Lourdes looked at the table full of food: “Would you like a
piece of cake?”
“Yes, he would.”
Jack turned toward Gustavo, who smiled at him. Jack shrugged.
“Sure. I mean, yes, ma’am, thank you.”
“Here, let me get it for you.” Gustavo walked toward the table and cut a healthy piece of the cake his aunt had brought over.
“Really good cake,” he said, “My aunt Utilia brought it over.”
He carefully placed the piece on a small plate and handed it to Jack—then served a piece for himself. “Why don’t we eat this on the porch?”
314 l a n d t h e w o r l d d i d n o t s t o p
• • •
Jack finished his cake, the silence between him and Gustavo
making the chocolate cake in his stomach feel like lead. “Good cake,” he said.
“Excellent. Now, I think you should get the fuck out of here.
You brought the flowers, you had some cake. We’re all fucking
grateful as hell that you came.”
“Your sister told me the same thing.”
“I bet she was a lot nicer about it, though.”
“Yeah. A lot nicer.”
“Well, she’s nicer. And she’s smarter—except when it comes
to you.”
“Look— I— Well, you know it’s the decent thing to do, you
know, when someone dies. To visit them, I mean. I mean, I can’t pretend I don’t know you.”
“Why not? I mean, you don’t know me, do you?”
“Well, we’re friends.”
“Are we, Jack?”
“Friendships don’t just stop. I mean, it’s not that simple.”
“Maybe it is that simple.”
“Listen, Gustavo, well, see, we were friends. Were should count for something.”
“I don’t know what were counts for. Anyway, Jack, I’m not in the mood for bullshit. You’re here for Xochil not for me.”
“Gustavo— Look— I, well, look— I said some pretty hard
things.”
Gustavo took out a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket.
He held the pack out toward Jack, offering him one. Jack took
one, then handed the pack back to Gustavo. They lit up, smok-
ing their cigarettes in silence. “The thing is, Jack. We meant the things we said, didn’t we?”
xo ch i l . jack . g us t avo. l 315
Jack nodded. “Yeah, guess so. But, you know, I don’t hate you
Gustavo.”
“Maybe I don’t hate you either, but look, you know, some-
times people talk about living in different worlds. I used to wonder what people meant by that. Mrs. Blake said when people said things like that it was just a way of speaking, just a metaphor.
‘Don’t be literal about things,’ that’s what she used to say. She said we all lived in the same world. She was wrong. She was
fucking wrong as they come. Jack, me and you, we don’t live in the same world.”
“That doesn’t mean we should kill each other.”
“You app
ly that rule to me—why not apply it to someone in
North Vietnam?” Gustavo smiled, nothing soft or kind in that
smile. “And, anyway, who said anything about killing, Jack? I’m not the one who’s going to war.”
“You’ll go. You’ll go to Nam same as me.”
“Think so?”
“You’ll go because they’ll make you go.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Let me fucking tell you something. No one can make you do
anything that you really don’t want to do, Jack.”
“You think you matter as much as this country?”
“Nope. That’s for fucking sure.” He smiled, his smile grow-
ing harder. He took a drag off his cigarette. “You come here to start another fight? I’ll finish it this time. I swear to God, I’ll finish it.”
“Didn’t know you believed in God.”
“It’s just an expression.”
“Yeah.” Jack shrugged. “I mean, I wish—” he stopped, not
even really knowing what he wished, just wanting to say some-
thing to make everything better.
316 l a n d t h e w o r l d d i d n o t s t o p Gustavo, he understood Jack in that instant—but not enough
to make him like the guy. “I wish too,” he said, “I fucking wish too.” He blew out a smoke ring, then winced. “You love her?”
“You wouldn’t be asking if you didn’t already know.”
“I wish you didn’t.”
“Well, if it helps any, I think I wish I didn’t love her either. But the thing is, I do.”
“She loves you too, I think.”
“Maybe.”
“Yeah, maybe. Anyway, I meant what I said. If you hurt her,
I’ll hurt you back. I swear I fucking will. You won’t get a chance to be a Marine. You won’t get a chance to point your fucking rifle at some Communist in Vietnam—not if you hurt her.” He looked
up and saw Xochil hovering above where they were sitting. He
smiled at her. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough.” Her eyes moved from her brother to Jack
back to her brother. “And will you stop calling the people in
Vietnam Communists? Can you do that, Gustavo? Vietnam is
full of a lot of poor people who work hard and want a little say over their lives. Kind of reminds you of the Mexican Revolution, doesn’t it?”
Gustavo shrugged. “Sure. Without Pancho Villa.” He put out
his cigarette in one of his mother’s flowerpots, Bad for the plants, her voice always popping up in his head. He got up from where
he was sitting and walked past his sister. She grabbed his arm, then kissed him on the cheek. “And stop threatening Jack, crazy boy,” she whispered.
“I can take it.”
“Didn’t know you smoked, Jack.”
“Just picked it up recently.”
She shook her head, then slapped Gustavo gently on the
cheek. “Crazy boy,” she repeated.
xo ch i l . jack . g us t avo. l 317
“Yeah, yeah, crazy boy. The world is full of them. Full of crazy girls too.” He turned and gave Jack a look—then walked back
inside the house.
“I’ve been thinking.”
“People do that. Some of them.”
“You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?”
“I’m not that kind of girl.”
“Look, I’m crazy about you, Xochil.”
“Maybe you’re just plain crazy.”
“Maybe I am. I can’t even sleep.”
“And that’s my fault?”
“It’s not a matter of fault.”
“Well, I hear war’s a good cure for insomnia.”
“I don’t think that’s funny.”
“I don’t say things to be funny. Not ever.”
“Stop it, Xochil. I love you. I love you so much it hurts. Can’t you see that?”
She hated the desperate sound in his voice. “I’m glad it hurts, Jack. And, something else, maybe you can tell me what that
means.”
“I love you means I love you.”
“I get that part. But I love you means you want something from me.”
“I don’t want anything.”
“Liar.”
“It’s true. I don’t want anything.”
“Bastard. Liar.”
“Okay.”
“So what do you want?”
“You. I want you, Xochil.”
“All you want is me. You want me whole? Or do you want
318 l a n d t h e w o r l d d i d n o t s t o p me in pieces?” She took a deep breath. “Sometimes, I wished
I smoked. You know, Jack, a girl isn’t a car—you can’t own
her, you can’t paint her any color you want, you can’t just sit in her seat anytime you want, drive her anywhere you damn
well please.”
“I know that, Xochil.”
“No you don’t. You think you can just say crap like I love you and then I’m supposed to belong to you. You love me. You want
me. You get me. My body, my arms, my legs, my heart, my tits,
every other part of me. And me? What do I get, Jack?”
“You get me. That’s what you get.”
“What? A penis?”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“I want more.”
“I don’t understand that.”
“I know you don’t. How many times do you want me to say
this? A Marine isn’t my idea of a hero. Do you get that? Doesn’t that matter to a boy like you?”
“Stop calling me a boy, goddamn it!”
“ You are a boy.”
“Then make me a man.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“He’s a nice boy.”
Xochil eyed her mother, then walked up to her father and
took the book out of his hands. He looked at up her, not quite stunned, that same blank look on his face. Xochil dropped her
father’s book on the floor. “You should look at people when
you talk to them. And yes, he’s a nice boy. He’s joined the
Marines.”
Octavio nodded. “A man has to do his duty.”
xo ch i l . jack . g us t avo. l 319
Xochil shook her head. “There are so many things I want to
say to you Dad.” She picked up the book and handed it back to
him. “But I don’t think I’ll say anything at all.” She kissed him on the cheek, a habit she’d acquired when she was a little girl. “Yes, Dad, he’s a nice boy. He’s joined the Marines.”
xo ch i l . g us t avo.
You’re going out with him again, aren’t you?”
“That’s not a question, Gustavo, that’s an accusation.”
“Can’t it be both a question and an accusation?”
“Guess so, smart-ass. Anyway he’s leaving, so what difference
does it make if I see him or not?”
“If it doesn’t make any difference then why bother?”
She was wearing that look, the one that said his voice was
nothing more than a noise in the room that annoyed her.
“Do you love him?”
“I might.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know why.”
“I don’t get it.”
“I can’t explain it.”
“You with your giant fucking mind, you can’t explain it?”
“No.”
xo ch i l . g us t avo. l 321
“What you mean is that you don’t want to explain it.”
“Okay, I don’t want to explain it.”
“You’re being intellectually lazy.”
“What?”
“Isn’t that what you’re always telling me about everything?
Isn’t it
?”
“This is different.”
“Because it’s you and not me?”
“Don’t yell at me. I hate that, Gustavo.”
“Me and him, we’re not friends. Not anymore.”
“I know.”
“Don’t love him. Please don’t love him, Xochil.”
“Whatever I feel for Jack Evans, Gustavo, it will pass.” She
put her hand on his cheek. “You. What I feel for you will never pass.”
“You make it sound as if I’m a possessive brother. I’m not.
It’s just that he’s not for you. That’s all I’m saying. You deserve better.”
“You’ve always said that about every boy.”
“Not true.”
“Joey Fernandez.”
“He was an asshole.”
“He’s going to Berkeley.”
“Oh, and that means he’s not an asshole?”
She slapped him gently on the side of the head. “Felix Un -
germeyer.”
“No comment. I mean, just the name.”
“He’s sweet.”
“You’re starting to talk like Lourdes.” He laughed. “Sweet,
huh? That just means you agree with me.”
She shook her head. “Okay, then what about Enrique More-
no? He wants to be an attorney. And he’s going to Harvard.”
“That’s no reason to dislike him.”
322 l a n d t h e w o r l d d i d n o t s t o p
“Too skinny.”
“Everyone is too something.”
“Well, everyone is too fucking something.”
“What will I do without you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“When are you leaving?”
“What?”
“Charlie said you got a letter. I remember. Mr. Rede tried to
give it to me, but I wouldn’t take it.”
“You were crying.”
“Yes, that’s what I was doing. I was mad.”
“At Jack.”
“Because he was being an asshole.”
“Because he’s not good enough for you.”
“I know, Gustavo. I know what’s going on.” She was whisper-
ing. “Charlie said that you were pretending that it was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing. I saw the letter—the one they sent asking you to report for a physical. I saw it. I know you went to the base for your physical. Two plus two plus two equals six. You got drafted.”
“Everybody knows everything around here.”
“You’re not going, are you?”
“I’m not Conrad.”