Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Sáenz
Authors: Benjamin Alire Sáenz
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Mendoza, you’re not the least bit boring.”
After a while, I was just really tired and stopped concentrating.
I don’t know why I couldn’t stand the gratitude in Mr. Quintana’s eyes when he said good-bye. But it was Mrs. Quintana who really got to me. Unlike her husband, she wasn’t the kind of woman who let people see what she really felt. Not that she wasn’t nice and decent and all of that. Of course she was. It was just that when Dante said that his mother was inscrutable, I knew exactly what he was saying.
Before she left, Mrs. Quintana took my face between her two hands, looked right into my eyes, and whispered, “Aristotle Mendoza, I will love you forever.” Her voice was soft and sure and fierce and there weren’t any tears in her eyes. Her words were serene and sober and she looked right at me because she wanted me to know that she meant every word of what she’d said to me.
This is what I understood: a woman like Mrs. Quintana didn’t use the word “love” very often. When she said that word, she meant it. And one more thing I understood: Dante’s mother loved him more than he would ever know. I didn’t know what to do with that piece of information. So I just kept it inside. That’s what I did with everything. Kept it inside.
Three
I GOT A PHONE CALL FROM DANTE. “SORRY, I HAVEN’T gone to see you,” he said.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m not really in the mood to talk to people.”
“Me neither,” he said. “Did my mom and dad tire you out?”
“No. They’re nice.”
“My mom says I have to go to a counselor.”
“Yeah, she said something like that.”
“Are you gonna go?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Your mom and my mom, they talked.”
“Bet they did. So are you gonna go?”
“When Mom thinks something is a good idea, there’s no escape. It’s best to go along quietly.”
That made me laugh. I wanted to ask him what he’d tell the counselor. But I don’t think I really wanted to know. “How’s your face?” I said.
“I like staring at it.”
“You’re really weird. Maybe it is a good idea for you to see a counselor.”
I liked hearing him laugh. It made things seem normal. A part of me thought things would never be normal again.
“Does it still hurt a lot, Ari?”
“I don’t know. It’s as if my legs own me. I can’t think about anything else. I just want to yank the casts off and, shit, I don’t know.”
“It’s all my fault.” I hated that thing in his voice.
“Listen,” I said. “Can we have some rules here?”
“Rules? More rules. You mean like the no-crying rule?”
“Exactly.”
“Did they take you off the morphine?”
“Yes.”
“You’re just in a bad mood.”
“This isn’t about my mood. It’s about rules. I don’t know what the big deal is—you love rules.”
“I hate rules. I like to break them mostly.”
“No, Dante, you like to make your own rules. So long as the rules are yours, you like them.”
“Oh, so now you’re analyzing me?”
“See, you don’t have to go to a counselor. You have me.”
“I’ll tell my mom.”
“Let me know what she says.” I think we were both smiling. “Look, Dante, I just want to say that we have to have some rules here.”
“Post-op rules?”
“You can call them that if you want.”
“Okay, so what are the rules?
“Rule number one: We won’t talk about the accident. Not ever.Rule number two: Stop saying thank you. Rule number three: This whole thing is not your fault. Rule number four: Let’s just move on.”
“I’m not sure I like the rules, Ari.”
“Take it up with your counselor. But those are the rules.”
“You sound like you’re mad.”
“I’m not mad.”
I could tell Dante was thinking. He knew I was serious. “Okay,” he said. “We won’t ever talk about the accident. It’s a stupid rule, but okay. And can I just say ‘I’m sorry’ one more time? And can I say ‘thank you’ one more time?”
“You just did.
After a while, I was just really tired and stopped concentrating.
I don’t know why I couldn’t stand the gratitude in Mr. Quintana’s eyes when he said good-bye. But it was Mrs. Quintana who really got to me. Unlike her husband, she wasn’t the kind of woman who let people see what she really felt. Not that she wasn’t nice and decent and all of that. Of course she was. It was just that when Dante said that his mother was inscrutable, I knew exactly what he was saying.
Before she left, Mrs. Quintana took my face between her two hands, looked right into my eyes, and whispered, “Aristotle Mendoza, I will love you forever.” Her voice was soft and sure and fierce and there weren’t any tears in her eyes. Her words were serene and sober and she looked right at me because she wanted me to know that she meant every word of what she’d said to me.
This is what I understood: a woman like Mrs. Quintana didn’t use the word “love” very often. When she said that word, she meant it. And one more thing I understood: Dante’s mother loved him more than he would ever know. I didn’t know what to do with that piece of information. So I just kept it inside. That’s what I did with everything. Kept it inside.
Three
I GOT A PHONE CALL FROM DANTE. “SORRY, I HAVEN’T gone to see you,” he said.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m not really in the mood to talk to people.”
“Me neither,” he said. “Did my mom and dad tire you out?”
“No. They’re nice.”
“My mom says I have to go to a counselor.”
“Yeah, she said something like that.”
“Are you gonna go?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Your mom and my mom, they talked.”
“Bet they did. So are you gonna go?”
“When Mom thinks something is a good idea, there’s no escape. It’s best to go along quietly.”
That made me laugh. I wanted to ask him what he’d tell the counselor. But I don’t think I really wanted to know. “How’s your face?” I said.
“I like staring at it.”
“You’re really weird. Maybe it is a good idea for you to see a counselor.”
I liked hearing him laugh. It made things seem normal. A part of me thought things would never be normal again.
“Does it still hurt a lot, Ari?”
“I don’t know. It’s as if my legs own me. I can’t think about anything else. I just want to yank the casts off and, shit, I don’t know.”
“It’s all my fault.” I hated that thing in his voice.
“Listen,” I said. “Can we have some rules here?”
“Rules? More rules. You mean like the no-crying rule?”
“Exactly.”
“Did they take you off the morphine?”
“Yes.”
“You’re just in a bad mood.”
“This isn’t about my mood. It’s about rules. I don’t know what the big deal is—you love rules.”
“I hate rules. I like to break them mostly.”
“No, Dante, you like to make your own rules. So long as the rules are yours, you like them.”
“Oh, so now you’re analyzing me?”
“See, you don’t have to go to a counselor. You have me.”
“I’ll tell my mom.”
“Let me know what she says.” I think we were both smiling. “Look, Dante, I just want to say that we have to have some rules here.”
“Post-op rules?”
“You can call them that if you want.”
“Okay, so what are the rules?
“Rule number one: We won’t talk about the accident. Not ever.Rule number two: Stop saying thank you. Rule number three: This whole thing is not your fault. Rule number four: Let’s just move on.”
“I’m not sure I like the rules, Ari.”
“Take it up with your counselor. But those are the rules.”
“You sound like you’re mad.”
“I’m not mad.”
I could tell Dante was thinking. He knew I was serious. “Okay,” he said. “We won’t ever talk about the accident. It’s a stupid rule, but okay. And can I just say ‘I’m sorry’ one more time? And can I say ‘thank you’ one more time?”
“You just did.
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