Read The Best American Short Stories 2013 for Free Online Page B

something, some way to shift its course; and perhaps this was why, when we approached the table that had called us, he threw an arm over my shoulder, squeezed me tightly, and introduced me as his son, Nelson, home from abroad.
    “From California,” my father said. “Just back for a visit.”
    His announcement caught me by surprise. I hadn’t intended to reprise the role debuted in Juan’s office, but now there was no choice. I scarcely had a moment to glance in my old man’s direction, to catch sight of his playful smile, before a couple of strangers wrapped me in a welcoming embrace. Everything happened quite quickly. A few narrow wooden tables were pushed together; my father and I pressed into perversely straight-backed chairs. We were surrounded. Everyone wanted to say hello; everyone wanted to get a look at me. I shook a dozen hands, grinning the entire time like a politician. I felt very grateful to my old man for this opportunity. It was—how do I explain this?—the role I’d been preparing for my entire life.
     
Scene: A dim restaurant off the plaza, in a small town on the southern coast. Santos (fifteen or twenty years older than the others, whom they call Profe) and his protégé, Cochocho, do most of the talking; Erick and Jaime function as a chorus and spend most of their energy drinking. They’ve been at it all afternoon when an old friend, Manuel, arrives with his son, Nelson. It is perhaps two hours before dark. Manuel lives in the capital, and his son is visiting from the United States. The young man is charming but arrogant, just as they expect all Americans to be. As the night progresses, he begins to grate on them, something evident at first only in small gestures. Bottles of beer are brought to the table, the empties are taken away, a process as fluid and automatic as the waves along the beach. How they are drained so quickly is not entirely clear. It defies any law of physics. The waitress, Elena, is an old friend too, a heavyset woman in her late forties, dressed in sweatpants and a loose-fitting T-shirt; she observes these men with a kind of pity. Over the years, she has slept with all of them. A closely guarded secret; they are men of ordinary vanity, and each of the four locals thinks he is the only one. Elena’s brown-haired daughter, Celia, is a little younger than the American boy—he’s in his early twenties—and she lingers in the background, trying to catch a glimpse of the foreigner. Her curiosity is palpable. There are dusty soccer trophies above the bar, and a muted television, which no one watches. Occasionally the on-screen image lines up with the dialogue, but the actors are not aware of this
.
     
NELSON : That’s right. California. The Golden State.
ERICK : Hollywood. Sunset Boulevard.
COCHOCHO : Many Mexicans, no?
ERICK : Route 66. James Dean.
JAIME: I have a nephew in Las Vegas. Is that California?
COCHOCHO
(after opening a bottle of beer with his teeth):
Don’t answer him. He’s lying. He doesn’t even know where Las Vegas is. He doesn’t know where California is. Ignore him. Ignore the both of them. That’s what we do.
ERICK : Magic Johnson. The Olympics.
COCHOCHO
(to Erick):
Are you just saying words at random? Do you ever listen to yourself?
(to Nelson)
Forgive him. Forgive us. It’s Friday.
NELSON : I understand.
JAIME : Friday is an important day.
ERICK : The day before Saturday.
NELSON : Of course.
JAIME : And after Thursday.
COCHOCHO : As I said, forgive us.
     
As well as being the oldest of the group, Santos is also the most formal in speech and demeanor. Suit and tie. He’s been waiting for the right moment to speak. He imagines everyone else has been waiting for this too, for their opportunity to hear him
.
     
SANTOS : I’m appalled by all this. This . . . What is the phrase? This lack of discipline. We must be kind to our guest. Make a good impression. Is it very loud in here? Perhaps you don’t notice it. I’m sure things are different where