The Five Acts of Diego Leon by Alex Espinoza Page B

disintegrate it, turning the fibers to dust.
    “Land deeds. Old. Very old,” his grandfather said, sighing. “Sometimes I fear. What will be left when all these traditional things vanish?” He placed the document inside a slim folio with a leather cover and a buckle. His grandfather then noticed the leaflet in Diego’s hand. “Where did you get that?” he asked.
    “Esteban Rosales was handing them out,” Diego said, removing his hat and sitting at his desk.
    “It would be better if you avoided the likes of that boy and his family. How could someone not believe in God?” he asked, shaking his head. “They claim the church is evil. They’re the evil ones.”
    “I shouldn’t have stopped,” Diego said.
    “Those people,” Doroteo said, “the whole lot of them are dangerous. They have wild ideas. And that boy gives me the strangest feeling.”
    “Don’t worry, Grandfather. I’ll make sure not to befriend him.”
    “Good,” the old man said. “No bad influences, no distractions. You must stay focused. Just like when I told you to quit your lessons with Carolina. Remember?”
    “Yes, Grandfather.”
    “And look how that turned out for you. You and Paloma are engaged now and about to be married. You’ll have a home and a family soon. I’ll be a great-grandfather.” He clapped his hands and went back to work.
    Even though their lessons had officially ended just after his sixteenth birthday, after that talk, Diego had continued seeing Carolina and continued, though informally, with their afternoon meetings. “I’m seeing Javier. Studying with him,” he would tell the old man. “I’ll go to the office with you next week. Once we pass these exams.” The excuses stopped working, though, once he completed the preparatoria; then he gave in and stopped seeing Carolina, assuming his rightful role as his grandfather’s heir. Still, there were times he caught himself humming a melody, daydreaming about performing a soliloquy to a theater full of people, reciting lines from a play he memorized years before. Diego had worked so hard to change, to mold and shape himself into a new man, the person his father and mother and his grandparents had wanted him to be. He had workedso hard to reject those things that distracted him. But why was their pull so strong? Why couldn’t he forget? Why did the musical notes, the melodies, the words, the feeling of performing, haunt him so?
    Despite his grandfather’s warnings, he couldn’t resist going to meet Javier and Esteban the next day. Diego was surprised to see that, like Esteban, Javier wore a beret emblazoned with a red star. Javier’s arms were crossed, his pose relaxed. He leaned up against the iron bars, talking to Esteban. He was smiling and nodding his head. Esteban stood very close to him with his left arm extended out, gripping one of the gate’s metal slats.
    “Javier,” Diego said, approaching them. He glanced at Esteban, who let go of the fence and composed himself, adjusting his jacket, and straightening his posture. What had Diego interrupted? “Hello.”
    Javier turned to him and smiled. “Hermano. So glad to hear you’ll be joining us.”
    “We should go,” Esteban said.
    “Very well,” said Diego, following them.
    They led him through the city, then down a series of alleyways and empty lots until they were standing in front of a large brick building crowned with a single smokestack that jutted from its roof like a slim gray finger. No smoke billowed out, but a heavy layer of soot and ash covered its sides. A row of tall windows adorned the front of the building, and they were very dirty and some of the glass panes had been shattered, leaving black squares. Diego thought of his grandfather’s chessboard.
    Inside, the place was cavernous and drafty. Toward the back of the single vast room, there was no light, and the dark corners and splintered doors appeared menacing and sinister. Thick cobwebs clung to the columns and posts. There were