Rice & Beans

At the end of a long day, a day in which Edugar’s boss was too drunk to help service the high-end tenants of an apartment house in a fashionable neighborhood, Edugar goes searching for Guillermo. He needs to vent a little, to drink a beer and bask in the hungry, possessive eyes of his newfound friend. How else to forget the ungrateful people, mostly embassy staff, who reside in the building? They are mostly dismissive of him, though he’s changed their locks, squared their cabinets, and replaced failed window units to fight the heat and humidity stifling Guatemala City like a great wet coat.

         But as he nears the scooter shop, Edugar sees Guillermo wrap an arm around a blond woman in a black pleated skirt and sleeveless top. He lets go of the woman’s shoulder, and still they laugh and paw at each other in the way of new couples or serial flirts. She’s a little too cute and a little too chic for Edugar not to notice.

         Then Guillermo kisses her on both cheeks and holds the scooter as she mounts. A look of longing in the tilt of her face, she waves as she pulls away. It’s a feeling Edugar has come to know since meeting Guillermo.

        “Bye-bye, camionero!” Guillermo gestures and then purses his lips around an unfiltered cigarette as he digs for a lighter.

             “She’s a lesbian?” Edugar asks, looking from him to the woman, who’s already down the block.

Guillermo withdraws the unlit cigarette and points. “Look at her, riding away so macho and confident. She handles the bike like a man,” he jests, poking at Edugar, insinuating he should do as well. He puts the cigarette back to his mouth and lights it. “See, no reason to be afraid,” he says, exhaling. In the blue haze, his face takes on the look of a coyote.

         “Whatever.” Edugar dismisses the slight and steps to the side, relishing the warm afternoon light that catches the yard and large shed to the rear of Guillermo’s lot.

         When he first happened upon Guillermo a few weeks prior, Edugar had asked about the scooters, as if intending to rent one. It was an ice breaker, a way to initiate a conversation with the handsome man he caught standing midblock in an open shirt and white Panama hat slowly pumping a dumbbell. Like now, a line of light blue and lime green scooters flanked him, their handlebars angled toward the street like horns on a bull. A wry expression pulled on Guillermo’s narrow face as Edugar approached.

         Edugar’s being there was all a coincidence. From the panadería, where he’d stopped after work, he’d taken a different street to catch the bus, a bag in hand, gobbling a rellenito, its chocolate-like sweetness saturating his mouth. Up close, he noticed something else. Was that makeup outlining Guillermo’s eyes, highlighting his tapered brows?

         They’d been out a few times since then. Most recently, Guillermo had treated him to a light dinner before they hit the bars. Toward midnight they danced under twirling rainbow lights in a packed club with a smoke machine veiling the men crowding the floor around them. This queer side of the city was something Edugar, at age twenty, had never seen. The throbbing music, the many men in a manic dance to hook up, Guillermo’s attention as he bent close to speak, made him feel his night would end in Guillermo’s bed. When he returned from the bathroom, he found Guillermo smiling up at a too thin, too pale go-go boy, maybe eighteen or nineteen, who strutted atop a tall pedestal at the edge of the dance floor. Streaks of maroon and blond feathered his black hair. Such a queen!

         “So how’s your boyfriend?” Edugar asks, his jealousy showing like a massive blackhead.

         “Who?” Guillermo questions. “Ahh, the go-go boy!” He dismisses the idea with a wave of his hand. “You know. People come, people go.” He chuckles. Then he places both hands on the seat of a scooter. “So, you came to ride?”

         “Sure,” Edugar says, failing to sound enthusiastic. So far he’s refused Guillermo’s offers but feels the need to step up his game. He doesn’t want to be relegated to the background, as he was at the club. Fact is, he’s uncomfortable atop anything with just two wheels. Bicycles, motorcycles, scooters — motored or not.

          “It’s easy. You drive a car?”

           Edugar nods.

         “Come on.” Guillermo pats the seat. Edugar obediently swings a leg over the scooter and tries hiding the tremors in his arms. Guillermo explains the hand brakes, accelerator, and other controls whose purpose Edugar struggles to understand. None of it is intuitive. Edugar is still fretting when Guillermo abruptly steps aside. “Now you try it.”

         Edugar feels the choke of stress rising through him, but he acts as if this is as easy as nailing trim to a doorframe. He hunches, checks the angle of his leg and where his shoe meets the platform. Guillermo’s palm settles gently on his lower back. It’s warm, and Edugar wants to edge gently into it, to forget about the scooter, perhaps go to Guillermo’s apartment above the shop where they can drink and talk uninterrupted. What he can’t tell Guillermo, however, is that he crashed his father’s car the first time out. And he hasn’t driven since.

He looks into Guillermo’s eyes and smiles.

          “So, go on.” Guillermo impatiently motions him forward.

         Saying a quick prayer to Sant Cristòfol, Edugar rolls the accelerator. The scooter jerks forward and he wobbles, already feeling as if he’s lost control. Panicked, he clutches the brake in one hand and accelerates with the other. He’s not gone five meters, and the scooter lurches and quits. The weight of it shifts under him. Before he can stabilize it with his foot, the bike pitches slowly sideways, the pavement rising to meet him.

           “My lord, maricón! Are you okay?” Guillermo drops immediately to his side.

        “Don’t call me that!” Edugar lies flat, one leg under the scooter. He’s not hurt, but his back doesn’t feel right. Or maybe it’s just his embarrassment at crashing the bike.

Guillermo chuckles and gently lifts it off him.

         “It’s not funny!” From his prone position, legs splayed, Edugar gazes at a jet, a silver streak etching contrails high across the blue sky. He’s never been on a plane, but how much better to be aboard one than lying here, helpless on the ground.

         “C’mon. Get up and try again.” Guillermo squats in front of him, his forearms on his knees, concern in both his voice and face, his body lightly bouncing. His brown eyes are deep, intense, a heat to them like the coals of a hot grill. He is so beautiful! Perhaps I’’ll lie here until he scoops me into his arms.

Instead, Guillermo’s reaches out to Edugar. “C’mon. Get up.”

         Edugar coughs weakly. “Help me,” he says, taking the offered hand. “Careful. My back.”

         Guillermo puts a firm hand under his arm and carefully pulls him to his feet.

         Edugar smiles meekly and brushes himself off. He examines the scrapes to his arm and legs as Guillermo watches expectantly. He’d like to please Guillermo, but he’s come to a decision. “That’s enough.”

         “What? You give up so easily.”

         “I had a bad day.” Edugar points to the scooter. “This makes it worse.”

         “Everyone has a bad day.”

         Edugar shakes his head. “They’re all bad. Bad and the same.” He doesn’t want to talk about the apartment house, his manager, the ungrateful tenants. Not now. He stands there helpless, not sure where to go or what more to say.

         Hands on his hips, Guillermo watches Edugar. And then he gestures as if he knows just what to do. “Come with me,” he commands and turns away, expecting Edugar to follow.

         Edugar squeezes between the scooters and follows him into the open shed at the rear. Guillermo pulls up a stool for him and reaches into a cabinet above a work bench strewn with tools and scooter parts. When Guillermo pivots around, he has a wood pipe. “Try this.” He hands it to Edugar.

         “Mota?”

         Guillermo flicks the lighter and holds it close to Edugar’s face. “Smoke,” he instructs.

         Edugar doesn’t like to be told anything, but he inhales because it’s Guillermo. It’s one in a series of things that he wouldn’t normally do. Like go to clubs or mount a scooter. And now smoking dope. It’s as if some long-delayed phase of his life has begun, a transition toward the next level of adulthood. Edugar inhales and passes the pipe back. He has little experience with marijuana. As a matter of fact, he doesn’t like it. It’s the tool of drug dealers and criminals; all the villains his mother has warned him against. He squints and coughs as smoke circles his head.

         “How do you feel?”

         Edugar wonders what he’s supposed to feel. Pot only makes him tired, listless. He hits the pipe again. What he remembers is that the one time he smoked, he and friends could not find their car. He winces. He doesn’t like losing control, or feeling vulnerable, though that’s exactly how Guillermo makes him feel. Shaking off a creeping lethargy, he examines his arms and legs. Surprisingly, his hands move, his knee lifts.

         Guillermo’s lips quiver as he brings the pipe to them and draws deeply. His eyes are glassy, nearly teary, and a drop of spittle collects at a corner of his mouth. Then, Guillermo exhales and stares over the scooters to the street like a rooster guarding his hens.

         “Why do you smoke, Guillermo?” Edugar asks while the smell of marijuana haunts his nose, its ashen taste permeating his mouth. For a second he wonders if the scooters can sense it.

         Guillermo shakes off his reverie. “Why do I smoke?” He sniggers as if the answer is obvious. “To forget how shitty life is.” He turns and spits. “This city, the people, boyfriends.” He pauses. “Everyone’s out for themself. Everyone wants to be boss.” His eyebrows squeeze. “There’s nothing good in the world.”

         But then he laughs manically, as if to dismiss everything he’s just said.

         “When high, I hear music. I am dancing.” His fists pump rhythmically along the side of his gyrating hips. “The sun shines. I’m smiling.” He laughs. “How else to forget everything? Here, have one more.”

         “No, I’m good.” Edugar waves the pipe away.

         “Fine.” Guillermo brings the pipe to his mouth one last time. He holds the smoke for what seems like forever, then exhales. “So what do you do to forget the shit that’s life?”

         The question catches Edugar by surprise. “Me? Ha.” He’s high and so says the first thing that comes to mind. “Watch planes take off.” He catches a breath. “I go to the airport. Lie on the grass outside the fence and wait.” His eyes shift skyward. “They are so beautiful and strong. I imagine they go places where everything is better. Off they go, and people go with them.”

         “That’s it?”

         “That’s one thing,” Edugar says defensively. “What do you want me to say? It’d be nice to go somewhere. Be a different person in a different country.” He apes a frown. “Eat more than rice and beans every day.”

         Guillermo snorts a laugh that beads his upper lip. “Wake up, maricón. If you want something more, you make it happen.” He gets up and stretches. Then he walks toward the street and grabs a scooter. “C’mon, help me roll these into the shed.”

         Edugar stares. “I can’t move.” He holds onto the stool, afraid he might fall off. “I’m high.”

         Guillermo nods. “Stay there. I can do it myself.”

         One by one Guillermo wheels the scooters into the open shed. He hums and dances, swings his hips, rocks his elbows. Edugar watches, not understanding how Guillermo can move when all he can do is sit. There must be a dozen scooters. When done, Guillermo pulls the gate closed and padlocks it.

Edugar is now locked in with Guillermo, and the idea of it excites him.

         “You have a nice place here, Guillermo.” Edugar manages some muscle control and raises his hand. “Everything,” he says, waving his palm across the scooters, the garage, and what he guesses is an apartment above an office. “How can you afford it?”

         Guillermo shrugs and paces past Edugar to his work bench. “Some old man.”

         “You have a lover?”

         “No, but he thought he did.” Guillermo sneers. “He’s lucky I didn’t take all his money.”

Edugar nods. This is a story that he feels has a bad ending, and he hasn’t the energy to explore it. Not now.

         Guillermo grabs two beers from a small, rusty fridge under the counter. Beside it are a crude set of weights and a bench. Holding the cans under one spidery hand, he clears a space among the tools and sets them down to open.

         “So, you repair scooters, too?” Edugar asks.

         “Repair. Maintain. Rent them. Everything.” Guillermo hands Edugar a cold beer, humidity misting its sides. A dimple flecks his cheek as he tilts his head back and swallows. “This is all I am good at.” He points the can at the scooters. “I’m shit at everything else.” He picks a rag off the bench. “Painting. Roofing. Tilework. All of it. But scooters, I get.”

         Guillermo stands over one and carefully wipes the gas tank. Edugar appreciates the satisfaction Guillermo takes in his work. They are both men with a trade.

         “Are you hungry?” Guillermo asks after finishing a second scooter. “I can cook us up something.”

Edugar’s not eaten since lunch and the suggestion of food awakens his motor skills. He checks that his feet make contact with the floor and, slowly rising, follows Guillermo up the metal steps to his apartment, where he inserts a key into the splintered wood door.

         “I can change out the door if you like.” Edugar runs his fingers along a crack.

         “That’d be nice.” An appreciative smile draws a smooth line across Guillermo’s face.

         Inside is one large room, divided by a curtain. A two-burner stove rests on cracked tiles beside a gas cylinder. A sofa with only two good legs has the other end propped up by bricks. Two chairs fit against a small table next to the curtain.

                It’s a relief of sorts, to see that Guillermo lives much like him.

                Guillermo removes his outer shirt and, in an athletic tee, starts to sear a piece of pork.

         Edugar asks, and Guillermo motions to a floral cloth behind which are two shelves of mismatched plates and glasses, pots and pans, a bag of rice. In setting the table, Edugar gets a peek of a mattress lying on the floor behind the curtain. He steps to the one window in the kitchen while Guillermo hums over the stove. The last light of the day is like a ring of fire on the roofs and trees across the street.

         Guillermo has turned up the radio. “Time for another drink!” Guillermo says over the rapid salsa beat. Edugar offers to go buy, but Guillermo directs him to a white fridge against a water-stained wall. Inside are milk, a half stick of butter, guisquil, and carrots. Edugar removes a tall bottle and pours them each a beer.

         Over dinner, Edugar complains about the traffic and the hours spent riding the bus each day. Guillermo tells him about the handsome Argentinian couple who rented scooters that morning. Eating slowly, Guillermo describes his childhood. Perhaps because he’s drinking and still a bit high, he talks about fending for himself, hustling the streets with a female prostitute, searching for Johns. There’s a bitterness in Guillermo’s recounting of his jail time without the self-pity. Edugar suppresses his surprise. Guillermo has secreted so much of himself that Edugar feels as if he’s viewing a sliver of a brilliant moon that only hints at its dimension.

         The topic morphs to attractions and first loves. They each laugh and strive to outdo each other, sharing details of late-night hook ups and bathroom rendezvous with workplace colleagues. Though Edgar’s tales are no match for Guillermo’s, it’s clear that neither of them has had a long-term relationship. Before Edugar can verbalize what he’s thinking, Guillermo puts a hand to his neck and pulls him in for a kiss.

         Edugar whimpers and tries tugging him closer. But Guillermo remains fast in his seat, his torso bridging the gap between them, his mouth gnawing on Edugar’s. Their hands fumble with each other’s shirts and zippers until Edugar’s fingers work their way to Guillermo’s groin.

         Then Guillermo stands and opens the curtain to his bedroom, an expectant look settling on his face. Edugar pushes his chair back and follows.

​

The rest of this story is available in Volume 8, Issue 1 of Night Picnic.