Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe (11 page)

He checked the feeling in my toes, had me breathe, had me follow his fingers with my left eye, then my right eye. “You know,” he said, “that’s a helluva thing you did for your friend, Dante.”

“Look, I wish people would stop talking about that.”

He looked at me. He had this look on his face. “You could have wound up a paraplegic. Or worse.”

“Worse?”

“Young man, you could have been killed.”

Killed. Okay. “People keep saying that. Look, Doc, I’m alive.”

“You don’t much like being a hero, do you?”

“I told Dante I didn’t do it on purpose. Everyone thought that was funny. It wasn’t a joke. I don’t even remember diving toward him. It wasn’t as if I said to myself,
I’m going to save my friend, Dante.
It wasn’t like that. It was just a reflex, you know, like when someone hits your funny bone below the knee. Your leg just jerks. That’s how it was. It just happened.”

“Just a reflex? It just happened?”

“Exactly.”

“And you’re responsible for none of it?”

“It was just one of those things.”

“Just one of those things?”

“Yeah.”

“I have a different theory.”

“Of course you do—you’re an adult.”

He laughed. “What do you have against adults?”

“They too have many ideas about who we are. Or who we should be.”

“That’s our job.”

“Nice,” I said.

“Nice,” he said. “Listen, son, I know you don’t think of yourself as being brave or courageous or any of those things. Of course you don’t.”

“I’m just a regular guy.”

“Yeah, that’s how you see yourself. But, you pushed your friend out of the way of an oncoming car. You did that, Ari, and you didn’t think about yourself or what would happen to you. You did that because that’s who you are. I’d think about that if I were you.”

“What for?”

“Just think about it.”

“I’m not sure I want to do all that thinking.”

“Okay. Just so you know, Ari, I think you’re a very rare young man. That’s what I think.”

“I told you, Doc, it was just a reflex.”

He grinned at me and put his hand on my shoulder. “I know your kind, Ari. I’m on to you.” I don’t know exactly what he meant by that. But he was smiling.

Right after that conversation with Dr. Charles, Dante’s mom and dad came to visit. Mr. Quintana came right up to me and kissed me on the cheek. Just like it was this normal thing to do. I guess for him it
was
normal. And really, I thought that the gesture was kind of nice, you know, sweet, but it made me a little bit uncomfortable. It was something I wasn’t used to. And he kept thanking me over and over and over. I wanted to tell him to knock it off. But, I just let him go on and on because I knew how much he loved his Dante and he was so happy and I was happy that he was happy. So it was okay.

I wanted to change the subject. I mean, I didn’t have a lot to talk about. I felt like crap. But they were there to see me and I could talk and, you know, I could process things even though my mind was still a little foggy. So I said, “So you’ll be in Chicago for a year?”

“Yes,” he said. “Dante hasn’t forgiven me yet.”

I sort of just looked at him.

“He’s still mad. He says he wasn’t consulted.”

That made me smile.

“He doesn’t want to miss swimming for a year. He told me he could live with you for a year.”

That surprised me. Dante kept more secrets than I thought. I closed my eyes.

“Are you okay, Ari?”

“The itching makes me crazy sometimes. So I just close my eyes.”

He had this really kind look on his face.

I didn’t tell him that my new thing was trying to imagine what my brother looked like every time I couldn’t stand the sensation in my legs. “Anyway, it’s good to talk,” I said. “It keeps my mind off things.” I opened my eyes. “So Dante’s mad at you.”

“Well, I told him there was no way I was going to leave him behind for a year.”

I pictured Dante giving his father a look. “Dante’s stubborn.”

I heard Mrs. Quintana’s voice. “He takes after me.”

That made me smile. I knew it was true.

“You know what I think?” she said. “I think Dante’s going to miss you. I think that’s the real reason he doesn’t want to leave.”

“I’ll miss him too,” I said. I was sorry I’d said that. It was true, okay, but I didn’t have to say it.

His father looked at me. “Dante doesn’t have a lot of friends.”

“I always thought everybody liked him.”

“That’s true. Everybody likes Dante. But he’s always been something of a loner. He doesn’t seem to go along with the crowd. He’s always been like that.” He smiled at me. “Like you.”

“Maybe so,” I said.

“You’re the best friend he’s ever had. I think you should know that.”

I didn’t want to know that. I didn’t know
why
I didn’t want to know that. I smiled at him. He was a good man. And he was talking to me. To me. To Ari. And even though I didn’t particularly want to have this conversation, I knew I just had to go with it. There weren’t that many good people in the world.

“You know, I’m kind of a boring guy when you think about it. Don’t know what Dante sees.” I couldn’t believe I’d said that to them.

Mrs. Quintana had been standing further away. But she came up and stood right next to her husband. “Why do you think that, Ari?”

“What?”

“Why do you think you’re boring?”

God
, I thought,
the therapist has shown up
. I just shrugged. I closed my eyes. Okay, I knew when I opened my eyes, they would still be there. Dante and I were cursed with parents who cared. Why couldn’t they just leave us alone? What ever happened to parents who were too busy or too selfish or just didn’t give a shit about what their sons did?

I decided to open my eyes again.

I knew Mr. Quintana was going to say something else. I could just feel it. But maybe he sensed something about me. I don’t know. He didn’t say anything else.

We started talking about Chicago. I was glad we weren’t talking about me or Dante or what happened. Mr. Quintana said the university had found them a small place. Mrs. Quintana was taking an eight-month leave from her practice. So really they wouldn’t be gone a whole year. Just a school year. Not such a long time.

I don’t remember everything that the Quintanas talked about. They were trying so hard, and a part of me was happy they were there but another part of me just didn’t give a damn. And, of course, the conversation changed back to me and Dante. Mrs. Quintana said she was going to take Dante to a counselor. “He feels so bad,” she said. She said maybe it would be a good idea if I went to see a
counselor too. Yeah, the therapist thing to say. “I’m worried about the both of you,” she said.

“You should have coffee with my mother,” I said. “You can worry together.”

Mr. Quintana thought that was funny, but really I didn’t say it to be funny.

Mrs. Quintana grinned at me. “Aristotle Mendoza, you’re not the least bit boring.”

After a while, I was just really tired and stopped concentrating.

I don’t know why I couldn’t stand the gratitude in Mr. Quintana’s eyes when he said good-bye. But it was Mrs. Quintana who really got to me. Unlike her husband, she wasn’t the kind of woman who let people see what she really felt. Not that she wasn’t nice and decent and all of that. Of course she was. It was just that when Dante said that his mother was inscrutable, I knew exactly what he was saying.

Before she left, Mrs. Quintana took my face between her two hands, looked right into my eyes, and whispered, “Aristotle Mendoza, I will love you forever.” Her voice was soft and sure and fierce and there weren’t any tears in her eyes. Her words were serene and sober and she looked right at me because she wanted me to know that she meant every word of what she’d said to me.

This is what I understood: a woman like Mrs. Quintana didn’t use the word “love” very often. When she said that word, she meant it. And one more thing I understood: Dante’s mother loved him more than he would ever know. I didn’t know what to do with that piece of information. So I just kept it inside. That’s what I did with everything. Kept it inside.

I GOT A PHONE CALL FROM DANTE. “SORRY, I HAVEN’T
gone to see you,” he said.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m not really in the mood to talk to people.”

“Me neither,” he said. “Did my mom and dad tire you out?”

“No. They’re nice.”

“My mom says I have to go to a counselor.”

“Yeah, she said something like that.”

“Are you gonna go?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Your mom and my mom, they talked.”

“Bet they did. So are you gonna go?”

“When Mom thinks something is a good idea, there’s no escape. It’s best to go along quietly.”

That made me laugh. I wanted to ask him what he’d tell the counselor. But I don’t think I really wanted to know. “How’s your face?” I said.

“I like staring at it.”

“You’re really weird. Maybe it is a good idea for you to see a counselor.”

I liked hearing him laugh. It made things seem normal. A part of me thought things would never be normal again.

“Does it still hurt a lot, Ari?”

“I don’t know. It’s as if my legs own me. I can’t think about anything else. I just want to yank the casts off and, shit, I don’t know.”

“It’s all my fault.” I hated that thing in his voice.

“Listen,” I said. “Can we have some rules here?”

“Rules? More rules. You mean like the no-crying rule?”

“Exactly.”

“Did they take you off the morphine?”

“Yes.”

“You’re just in a bad mood.”

“This isn’t about my mood. It’s about rules. I don’t know what the big deal is—you love rules.”

“I hate rules. I like to break them mostly.”

“No, Dante, you like to make your own rules. So long as the rules are yours, you like them.”

“Oh, so now you’re analyzing me?”

“See, you don’t have to go to a counselor. You have me.”

“I’ll tell my mom.”

“Let me know what she says.” I think we were both smiling. “Look, Dante, I just want to say that we have to have some rules here.”

“Post-op rules?”

“You can call them that if you want.”

“Okay, so what are the rules?

“Rule number one: We won’t talk about the accident. Not ever.
Rule number two: Stop saying thank you. Rule number three: This whole thing is not your fault. Rule number four: Let’s just move on.”

“I’m not sure I like the rules, Ari.”

“Take it up with your counselor. But those are the rules.”

“You sound like you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

I could tell Dante was thinking. He knew I was serious. “Okay,” he said. “We won’t ever talk about the accident. It’s a stupid rule, but okay. And can I just say ‘I’m sorry’ one more time? And can I say ‘thank you’ one more time?”

“You just did. No more, okay?”

“Are you rolling your eyes?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, no more.”

That afternoon, he took the bus and came to visit me. He looked, well, not so good. He tried to pretend it didn’t hurt him to look at me but he could never hide anything that he felt. “Don’t feel sorry for me,” I said. “The doctor said I was going to heal very nicely.”

“Very nicely?”

“That’s exactly what he said. So give me eight to ten or twelve weeks, and I’m going to be myself again. Not that being myself is such a great thing.”

Dante laughed. Then he looked at me. “Are you going to initiate a no-laughing rule?”

“Laughing is always good. Laughing works.”

“Good,” he said. He sat down and took out some books from his
backpack. “I brought you reading material.
The Grapes of Wrath
and
War and Peace
.”

“Great,” I said.

He gave me a look. “I could have brought you more flowers.”

“I hate flowers.”

“Somehow I guessed that.” He grinned at me.

I stared at the books. “They’re fucking long,” I said.

“That’s the point.”

“Guess I have time.”

“Exactly.”

“You’ve read them?”

“’Course I have.”

“’Course you have.”

He slid the books onto the stand next to my bed.

I shook my head. Yeah. Time. Shit.

He took out his sketch pad.

“You going to sketch me in my casts?”

“Nope. I just thought that maybe you’d want to look at some of my sketches.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Don’t get too excited.”

“It’s not that. The pain comes and goes.”

“Does it hurt right now?”

“Yes.”

“Are you taking anything?’

“I’m trying not to. I hate the way whatever the hell they give me makes me feel.” I pushed the button on the bed, so I could sit up. I
wanted to say “I hate this” but I didn’t. I wanted to scream.

Dante handed me the sketch pad.

I started to open it.

“You can look at it after I leave.”

I guess I was holding a question on my face.

“You have rules. I have rules too.”

It was good to laugh. I wanted to laugh and laugh and laugh until I laughed myself into becoming someone else. The really great thing about laughing was that it made me forget about the strange and awful feeling in my legs. Even if it was only for a minute.

“Tell me about the people on the bus,” I said.

He smiled. “There was a man on the bus who told me about the aliens in Roswell. He said that . . .” I don’t know that I really listened to the story. I guess it was enough just to hear the sound of Dante’s voice. It was like listening to a song. I kept thinking about the bird with the broken wing. Nobody told me what happened to the bird. And I couldn’t even ask because I would be breaking my own rule about not talking about the accident. Dante kept telling the story about the man on the bus and the aliens in Roswell and how some had escaped to El Paso and were planning on taking over the transportation system.

As I watched him, the thought came into my head that I hated him.

He read me some poems. They were nice I guess. I wasn’t in the mood.