ETERNAL RETURN

Abstract

1 1 8 Y E T E R N A L R E T U R N S E R G I O T R O N C O S O Isidoro Acevedo has not been back to Olive Street in decades. The first thing he notices is that the tabby lingering by the front door of Apartment 1 floats in the air in the recessed alcove of a small patio. The patio is shrouded in shadows, and next to that rusted, wrought-iron chair where he used to sit as a child is Doña Lola’s ashtray with three mashed cigarette butts. Isidoro stares through the shadows. The cat’s paws step in midair, and its green eyes turn languidly at him, as if to say, ‘‘So, here you are again.’’ As Isidoro pushes open the black wrought-iron screen door and the hollow wooden door behind it, he sees Don José snoring on the rust-colored couch, unshaven, molacho, which gives more prominence to his tongue in a playful way, because who won’t smile back at a mischievous, toothless old man who always seems ready with another joke? ‘‘Isidoro, you need to leave the dead in peace, mi‘jo.’’ ‘‘I’m not disturbing him, Señora. I didn’t slam the door.’’ ‘‘All of us, I don’t just mean ese viejo apestoso! ’’ Doña Lola says a bit too loudly, which causes Don José to stir in his dreams. A silver sliver of drool dangles from one corner of the mouth to his leathery cheeks. ‘‘Come over here, next to the fireplace.’’ 1 1 9 R Isidoro glances outside the window to the left of the fireplace, and he notices that the willow outside is swaying to a gust of wind. This is strange since he doesn’t remember feeling any wind on Olive Street. Thick gray clouds fill the limited horizon to the Franklin Mountains. Why hasn’t he noticed the weather before? When he approached los departamentos in El Segundo Barrio, no weather came to mind, not even the sun, whether it was morning or afternoon or evening, but now ominous clouds flitter in the sky outside and a chill surrounds the tenements, as if time is of the essence, as if seconds plop onto the desert floor and evaporate as soon as they appear. Isidoro slumps into his favorite armchair. His abuelita Doña Lola shuΔes toward him, holding two steamy cups, but she places both cups on a small tray in front of her. ‘‘So I found this special Mexican hot chocolate at Ben’s Grocery. I want you to drink it because it will help answer your questions, mi‘jo.’’ She slides one cup toward Isidoro. ‘‘I haven’t asked anything, Abuelita. I miss you so much. How, how – ’’ ‘‘I know. It’s one of the perks I get from being on this side. I knew you were coming back, and that’s so sweet of you, of course. You are the only one who still thinks of me, even though I’m just bones in Mount Carmel Cemetery with that sleeping cabrón on top of me!’’ ‘‘At least you are together.’’ ‘‘Yes, at least that. He was a good man, even if he was lazy and drank too much.’’ ‘‘Te aguanto.’’ ‘‘Mira, mira! You’re just like me. As stubborn. As mean.’’ ‘‘Well, at least you’re honest about it now.’’ ‘‘We couldn’t have this conversation before. But now. That’s what matters. Let me tell you about this Mexican hot chocolate. You drink it, you go somewhere, but I don’t know exactly where. I’ll be right here when you get back.’’ ‘‘Like a drug, Abuelita? Really?’’ ‘‘It’s not a drug. It’s Mexican xocoatl. With special properties. Definitely not a drug, but it helps you push through, through . . .’’ ‘‘What?’’ ‘‘Through . . . limitations. I don’t know exactly. What it does for 1 2 0 T R O N C O S O Y me is di√erent from what it will do for you, on that side. I can only guess. We are not even together, you know that, right, mi‘jo...