mother-island. Hector hoped they spoke English well enough because he, Bimbo, and Lunkface didnât talk Spanishtoo well; theyâd been born here and knew better than to wear pegged pants.
âA bunch of Juanny-come-lately
miras,
â Hector whispered to his men. The
miras
were giving them the cold look because the Dominator uniforms were raggedy now because theyâd been through a hard battle. The
indigenos
gave them the stareâas if to say who were these rag-bag outsiders to come invading their turf without proper permits and parley. They faced each other up and down, but everyone was careful to keep his face grave; Bimbo watched Lunkface to see that he didnât make trouble, but even Lunkface knew enough not to show he had more heart than senseânot here, not now. The Other, on the breadline, didnât notice anything at all, sheeping into the waiting buses.
As they were looking each other over, a girl came out of the candy store and joined the two
miras.
She was wearing a white pleated skirt that hung only halfway between her knees and that promised land, dark stockings, brass-buckled, red-leather shoes, covering her ankles with spiky heels that muscled her calves. She was wearing a short-waisted, sleeveless paradise flowered blouse that left her trim brown waist bare. Her face was painted; her eyes big, rimmed with whorish black stuff, the lips smeared with shiny, white lipstick, eyebrows penciled high into arcs of perpetual amusement, and fluttering big eyelashes, probably fake, Hector thought, because there was make-up crusted on them. Though her skin was brown, her eyes were gray; the Family could feel, almost at once, that stirring, but they took care to keep their faces smooth. Her hair was up in big rollers and loosely covered with a white kerchief titled M EMORIES OF P UERTO R ICO .
Hector advanced alone to parley. The smaller of the
miras
pushed himself loose from the wooden newsstand as if it required great effort. A cigarillo dangled from his lips; his thumbs were hooked in his belt, shoulders hunched, elbows crooked alittle forward. He ambled up to meet Hector halfway between the Family and the candy store. They looked at each otherâs uniform and thought the other showed nothing, but they kept grave masks. Hector started to talk; he couldnât afford to play the waiting game to see who lost prestige by starting first. After all, they were in hostile country. Hector explained: they had been forced off the train by the construction; they were going
through
to Brooklyn; there was no matter of dispute here at all. Dominators were coming home from the Big Meetingâeveryone knew about Ismaelâs assembly. They asked permission to march through the turf to the next train, wherever that was, as a peace party. After all, there was a city-wide cool on, wasnât there? Hector didnât say that his men were unarmed.
The other puffed his cigarillo hard and gave Hector the narrow-eyed and steady look while he considered it, his face wise behind the rising smoke. Hector noticed he had long sideburns. The
mira
said, thick-accented, he knew nothing of a city truce; he knew nothing of any Big Meeting of the gangs. If such a thing had happened, why werenât his men, the Borinquen Blazers, invited? Didnât the leaders think that his men had enough
machissmo?
Hector realized he had made a mistake in talking about the meeting. He told the Borinqueno that everyone had heard of the Blazers, but such arrangements hadnât been up to them in the first place, and things turned out wrong in the second place. Behind the little leader, the girl was giving The Dominators the up and down, trying to decide how much men they were. Even though her face, those legs, that flash of bare middle excited Hector, he recognized the old trouble-making look: a bitch.
They parleyed back and forth a little about the safe passage. The little leader said he didnât know if he could let the
âA bunch of Juanny-come-lately
miras,
â Hector whispered to his men. The
miras
were giving them the cold look because the Dominator uniforms were raggedy now because theyâd been through a hard battle. The
indigenos
gave them the stareâas if to say who were these rag-bag outsiders to come invading their turf without proper permits and parley. They faced each other up and down, but everyone was careful to keep his face grave; Bimbo watched Lunkface to see that he didnât make trouble, but even Lunkface knew enough not to show he had more heart than senseânot here, not now. The Other, on the breadline, didnât notice anything at all, sheeping into the waiting buses.
As they were looking each other over, a girl came out of the candy store and joined the two
miras.
She was wearing a white pleated skirt that hung only halfway between her knees and that promised land, dark stockings, brass-buckled, red-leather shoes, covering her ankles with spiky heels that muscled her calves. She was wearing a short-waisted, sleeveless paradise flowered blouse that left her trim brown waist bare. Her face was painted; her eyes big, rimmed with whorish black stuff, the lips smeared with shiny, white lipstick, eyebrows penciled high into arcs of perpetual amusement, and fluttering big eyelashes, probably fake, Hector thought, because there was make-up crusted on them. Though her skin was brown, her eyes were gray; the Family could feel, almost at once, that stirring, but they took care to keep their faces smooth. Her hair was up in big rollers and loosely covered with a white kerchief titled M EMORIES OF P UERTO R ICO .
Hector advanced alone to parley. The smaller of the
miras
pushed himself loose from the wooden newsstand as if it required great effort. A cigarillo dangled from his lips; his thumbs were hooked in his belt, shoulders hunched, elbows crooked alittle forward. He ambled up to meet Hector halfway between the Family and the candy store. They looked at each otherâs uniform and thought the other showed nothing, but they kept grave masks. Hector started to talk; he couldnât afford to play the waiting game to see who lost prestige by starting first. After all, they were in hostile country. Hector explained: they had been forced off the train by the construction; they were going
through
to Brooklyn; there was no matter of dispute here at all. Dominators were coming home from the Big Meetingâeveryone knew about Ismaelâs assembly. They asked permission to march through the turf to the next train, wherever that was, as a peace party. After all, there was a city-wide cool on, wasnât there? Hector didnât say that his men were unarmed.
The other puffed his cigarillo hard and gave Hector the narrow-eyed and steady look while he considered it, his face wise behind the rising smoke. Hector noticed he had long sideburns. The
mira
said, thick-accented, he knew nothing of a city truce; he knew nothing of any Big Meeting of the gangs. If such a thing had happened, why werenât his men, the Borinquen Blazers, invited? Didnât the leaders think that his men had enough
machissmo?
Hector realized he had made a mistake in talking about the meeting. He told the Borinqueno that everyone had heard of the Blazers, but such arrangements hadnât been up to them in the first place, and things turned out wrong in the second place. Behind the little leader, the girl was giving The Dominators the up and down, trying to decide how much men they were. Even though her face, those legs, that flash of bare middle excited Hector, he recognized the old trouble-making look: a bitch.
They parleyed back and forth a little about the safe passage. The little leader said he didnât know if he could let the
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