walking down the street, or rain coming down in the morning, or just anything somebody might say that was odd to him, could bring him out.
I remember one time we were in that grocery, and they were all whooping it up—Carlos was grinning that nervous grin of his and the little kids were clamped onto his leg and he was patting the tops oi their heads. Then this man started talking to me. They never talked to me, and at first I couldn't even understand what he was saying, his English was so terrible. But he was saying, "I give you job."
It sort of freaked me a little.
"You want," he said, "I give you one. Like rh.it. You vet) fine boy for job."
"What's he talking about. 7 " I asked Carlos. 1 felt like 111st some other kid clamped around his leg tor protection.
"You want a job? He's offering you a job. They like you here."
"They don't know me."
"I'm sure that's why they like you SO much. Von could work here and live a regular life."
Carlos had never talked to me about getting a job. It always seemed like it was okay with him if I just hung around the apartment.
I hated the idea o( getting a job. How was I going to drink it I had a job? Though it was true, all those Cubans seemed to be drinking
□ PAULRUSSELL
beer all the time. But they made me nervous—I didn't want to work for a bunch of Cubans.
The man who'd asked me did I want a job just kept smiling. He was missing one of his front teeth, and he was wearing this T-shirt that said staying alive across the front, and also what looked like a blood stain, or maybe it was grape juice.
I had this sudden fright—Carlos was trying to unload me on these people.
"A job," I said. "Do I have to?"
"Gracias, no," Carlos told the man with the staying alive T* shirt. "Tony's got better things to do. He's a genius. He sits around all day and thinks."
I couldn't tell whether Carlos was criticizing me, and I guess he knew that.
"I'm serious," he told me. "You should just sit around all day and think. A boy your age."
Even if he was being straight with me I could never tell if he was also spoofing. I think he was probably doing both at the same time, all the time, and that's maybe one of the five hundred secrets about Carlos that made him tick.
He shook hands with all the men in the store, and pried the little kids loose from his waist, and this big fat woman kissed him on each cheek. He took the six-pack from them like it was made out of gold, and handed over the three dollars, which they took like it was three dollars they were going to frame instead ot ever spending. Then we were out of there, the street was full of trash, it was starting to spit snow and this wasn't Cuba anymore, it was New York.
I gueSS it was Carlos'S idea of a compliment, but We never stole
from the Cubans. I don't know why—we stole from just about ever)
other grocery in the East Village. In fact, we'd go .ill OVd Manhattan. The way we'd work it was this. Usually it was nu- and Carlofl and
Sammy and Verbena we'd make a regular Saturday afternoon outing of it. We'd go into sour- store, Samtn) would grab a basket, and the foui of us would wander up tnd down the aisles.
I remember flu first tunc we did thai I didn't know what was happening. I diced me around tl 1 >id I like to
up fruits and vegetables and ( ana oi thii But whethei I aid yes 01 no, ot I don't know, he just put it back on
imy was loading a feu things In the basl ;i loaf of whit< rt of pork and beans ()kay, ( arlos said aftet
B O Y S O F L I F E □
a little, we're through. "You go with Sammy," he told mc, "and we'll
wait tor you outside."
So I stood in the checkout line with Sammy, while Carlos and Verbena stood out on the sidewalk and made faces m ar us through the window. Verbena in this faded maroon winter coat she always wore, with about six pieces of costume jewelry pinned to it. And Carlos with his headband on, since we'd had a little too much to drink the night before, and this funky black leather jacket that had
I remember one time we were in that grocery, and they were all whooping it up—Carlos was grinning that nervous grin of his and the little kids were clamped onto his leg and he was patting the tops oi their heads. Then this man started talking to me. They never talked to me, and at first I couldn't even understand what he was saying, his English was so terrible. But he was saying, "I give you job."
It sort of freaked me a little.
"You want," he said, "I give you one. Like rh.it. You vet) fine boy for job."
"What's he talking about. 7 " I asked Carlos. 1 felt like 111st some other kid clamped around his leg tor protection.
"You want a job? He's offering you a job. They like you here."
"They don't know me."
"I'm sure that's why they like you SO much. Von could work here and live a regular life."
Carlos had never talked to me about getting a job. It always seemed like it was okay with him if I just hung around the apartment.
I hated the idea o( getting a job. How was I going to drink it I had a job? Though it was true, all those Cubans seemed to be drinking
□ PAULRUSSELL
beer all the time. But they made me nervous—I didn't want to work for a bunch of Cubans.
The man who'd asked me did I want a job just kept smiling. He was missing one of his front teeth, and he was wearing this T-shirt that said staying alive across the front, and also what looked like a blood stain, or maybe it was grape juice.
I had this sudden fright—Carlos was trying to unload me on these people.
"A job," I said. "Do I have to?"
"Gracias, no," Carlos told the man with the staying alive T* shirt. "Tony's got better things to do. He's a genius. He sits around all day and thinks."
I couldn't tell whether Carlos was criticizing me, and I guess he knew that.
"I'm serious," he told me. "You should just sit around all day and think. A boy your age."
Even if he was being straight with me I could never tell if he was also spoofing. I think he was probably doing both at the same time, all the time, and that's maybe one of the five hundred secrets about Carlos that made him tick.
He shook hands with all the men in the store, and pried the little kids loose from his waist, and this big fat woman kissed him on each cheek. He took the six-pack from them like it was made out of gold, and handed over the three dollars, which they took like it was three dollars they were going to frame instead ot ever spending. Then we were out of there, the street was full of trash, it was starting to spit snow and this wasn't Cuba anymore, it was New York.
I gueSS it was Carlos'S idea of a compliment, but We never stole
from the Cubans. I don't know why—we stole from just about ever)
other grocery in the East Village. In fact, we'd go .ill OVd Manhattan. The way we'd work it was this. Usually it was nu- and Carlofl and
Sammy and Verbena we'd make a regular Saturday afternoon outing of it. We'd go into sour- store, Samtn) would grab a basket, and the foui of us would wander up tnd down the aisles.
I remember flu first tunc we did thai I didn't know what was happening. I diced me around tl 1 >id I like to
up fruits and vegetables and ( ana oi thii But whethei I aid yes 01 no, ot I don't know, he just put it back on
imy was loading a feu things In the basl ;i loaf of whit< rt of pork and beans ()kay, ( arlos said aftet
B O Y S O F L I F E □
a little, we're through. "You go with Sammy," he told mc, "and we'll
wait tor you outside."
So I stood in the checkout line with Sammy, while Carlos and Verbena stood out on the sidewalk and made faces m ar us through the window. Verbena in this faded maroon winter coat she always wore, with about six pieces of costume jewelry pinned to it. And Carlos with his headband on, since we'd had a little too much to drink the night before, and this funky black leather jacket that had
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