Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe (24 page)

“I don’t understand the question,” I said.

He bit his lip. “How well do you know my son?”

“He’s my best friend.”

“I know that, Ari. But how well do you know him?”

He sounded impatient. I was playing dumb. I knew exactly what he was asking. I felt my heart beating against my chest. “Did he tell you?”

Mr. Quintana shook his head.

“So you know,” I said.

He didn’t say anything.

I knew I had to say something. He looked lost and afraid and sad and tired and I hated that, because he was such a kind and good man. I knew I had to say something to him. But I didn’t know what. “Okay,” I said.

“Okay? What, Ari?”

“When you left for Chicago, Dante told me that someday he
wanted to marry another boy.” I looked around the room. “Or at least kiss another boy. Well, actually, I think he said that in a letter. Or maybe he said some of that after he got back.”

He nodded. He stared into his cup of coffee.

“I think I knew,” he said.

“How?”

“The way he looks at you sometimes.”

“Oh.” I looked down at the floor.

“But why didn’t he tell me, Ari?”

“He didn’t want to disappoint you. He said—” I stopped and then looked away from him. But then I made myself stare back into his black, hopeful eyes. And even though I felt I was betraying Dante, I knew I had to talk him. I had to tell him. “Mr. Quintana—”

“Call me Sam.”

I looked at him. “Sam,” I said.

He nodded.

“He’s crazy about you. I guess you know that.”

“If he’s so crazy about me, then why didn’t he tell me?”

“Talking to dads isn’t that easy. Even you, Sam.”

He sipped on his coffee nervously.

“He was so happy that you were going to have another baby. And not just because he was going to be a big brother. And he said, ‘He has to be a boy and he has to like girls.’ That’s what he said. So that you could have grandchildren. So that you could be happy.”

“I don’t care about grandchildren. I care about Dante.”

I hated watching the tears falling down Sam’s face.

“I love Dante,” he whispered. “I love that kid.”

“He’s lucky,” I said.

He smiled at me. “They beat him,” he whispered. “They beat my Dante all to hell. They cracked some ribs, they punched his face. He has bruises everywhere. They did that to my son.”

It was a strange thing to want to hold an adult man in your arms. But that’s what I wanted to do.

We finished our coffee.

I didn’t ask any more questions.

I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO TELL MY MOM AND DAD. NOT
that I knew anything. I knew that someone, maybe several someones, had beat Dante so badly that he’d wound up in a hospital. I knew that it had something to do with another boy. I knew that Dante was at Providence Memorial Hospital. That’s all I knew.

I came home with Legs, who went berserk when I brought her home. Dogs didn’t censor themselves. Maybe animals were smarter than people. The dog was so happy. My mom and dad too. It felt good to know that they loved the dog, that they let themselves do that. And somehow it seemed that the dog helped us be a better family.

Maybe dogs were one of the secrets of the universe.

“Dante’s in the hospital,” I said.

My mother was studying me. So was my father. They both wore a question mark on their faces.

“Someone jumped him. He’s hurt. He’s in the hospital.”

“No,” she said. “Our Dante?” I wondered why she’d said, “Our Dante.”

“Was it a gang thing?” my father whispered.

“No.”

“It happened in some alley,” I said.

“In the neighborhood?”

“Yes. I think so.”

They were waiting for me to tell them more. But I couldn’t. “I think I’ll go,” I said.

I didn’t remember leaving the house.

I didn’t remember driving to the hospital.

Next thing I knew I was standing in front of Dante, looking at his puffed up, punished face. He was unrecognizable. I couldn’t even see the color of his eyes. I remember taking his hand and whispering his name. He could hardly talk. He could hardly see, his eyes nearly swollen shut.

“Dante.”

“Ari?”

“I’m here,” I said.

“Ari?” he whispered.

“I should have been here,” I said. “I hate them. I hate them.” I
did
hate them. I hated them for what they’d done to his face, for what they’d done to his parents.
I should have been here. I should have been here.

I felt his mother’s hand on my shoulder.

I sat with his mother and father. Just sat. “He’ll be okay, won’t he?”

Mrs. Quintana nodded. “Yes. But—” She looked at me. “Will you always be his friend?”

“Always.”

“No matter what?”

“No matter what.”

“He needs a friend. Everybody needs a friend.”

“I need a friend too,” I said. I had never said that before.

There was nothing to do at the hospital. Just sit and look at each other. None of us seemed like we were in the mood to talk.

As I was leaving, his parents walked out with me. We stood outside the hospital. Mrs. Quintana looked at me. “You should know what happened.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“I think I do,” she said. “There was an old woman. She saw what happened. She told the police.” I knew she wasn’t going to cry. “Dante and another boy were kissing in an alley. Some boys were walking by and saw them. And—” She tried to smile. “Well, you saw what they did to him.”

“I hate them,” I said.

“Sam told me you know about Dante.”

“There are worse things in the world than a boy who likes to kiss other boys.”

“Yes, there are,” she said. “Much worse. Do you mind if I say something?’

I smiled at her and shrugged.

“I think Dante’s in love with you.”

Dante was right about her. She
did
know everything. “Yes,” I said. “Well, maybe not. I think he likes that other guy.”

Sam looked at right me. “Maybe the other guy’s just a stand in.”

“For me, you mean?”

He smiled awkwardly. “I mean, sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s okay,” I said.

“This is hard,” he said. “I’m—hell, I’m just feeling a little lost right now.”

I smiled at him. “You know what the worst thing about adults is?”

“No.”

“They’re not always adults. But that’s what I like about them.”

He took me in his arms and held me. Then let me go.

Mrs. Quintana watched us. “Do you know who he is?”

“Who?”

“The other boy?”

“I have an idea.”

“And you don’t care?”

“What am I supposed to do?” I knew my voice was cracking. But I refused to cry. What was there to cry about? “I don’t know what to do.” I looked at Mrs. Quintana and I looked at Sam. “Dante’s my friend.” I wanted to tell them that I’d never had a friend, not ever, not a real one. Until Dante. I wanted to tell them that I never knew that people like Dante existed in the world, people who looked at the stars, and knew the mysteries of water, and knew enough to know that birds belonged to the heavens and weren’t meant to be shot down from their graceful flights by mean and stupid boys. I wanted to tell them that he had changed my life and that I would never be the same, not ever. And that somehow it felt like it was Dante who had saved my life and not the other way around. I wanted to tell them that he was the first human being aside from my mother who had ever made me want to talk about the things that scared me. I
wanted to tell them so many things and yet I didn’t have the words. So I just stupidly repeated myself. “Dante’s my friend.”

She looked at me, almost smiling. But she was too sad to smile. “Sam and I were right about you. You
are
the sweetest boy in the world.”

“Next to Dante,” I said.

“Next to Dante,” she said.

They walked me to my truck. And then a thought entered into my head. “What happened to the other guy?”

“He ran,” Sam said.

“And Dante didn’t.”

“No.”

That’s when Mrs. Quintana broke down and cried. “Why didn’t he run, Ari? Why didn’t he just run?”

“Because he’s Dante,” I said.

I DIDN’T KNOW THAT I WAS GOING TO DO THE THINGS
I did. It wasn’t like I had a plan. It wasn’t like I was really thinking. Sometimes, you do things and you do them not because you’re thinking but because you’re feeling. Because you’re feeling too much. And you can’t always control the things you do when you’re feeling too much. Maybe the difference between being a boy and being a man is that boys couldn’t control the awful things they sometimes felt. And men could. That afternoon, I was just a boy. Not even close to being a man.

I was a boy. A boy who went crazy. Crazy, crazy.

I got in my truck and drove straight to the drugstore where Dante worked. I ran through the conversation we’d had. I remembered the guy’s name. Daniel. I walked into the drugstore and he was there. Daniel. I saw his name tag.
Daniel G
. The guy Dante said he wanted to kiss. He was at the counter. “I’m Ari,” I said.

He looked at me, a look of panic on his face.

“I’m Dante’s friend,” I said.

“I know,” he said.

“I think you should take a break.”

“I don’t—”

I didn’t wait for his lame excuses. “I’m going to go outside and wait for you. I’m going to wait for exactly five minutes. And if you’re not out there in five minutes, then I’m going to walk back inside this drugstore and kick your fucking ass in front of the whole world. And if you don’t think I’ll do it, you better look into my eyes and study them.”

I walked out the front door. And waited. It didn’t take five minutes before he was standing there.

“Let’s walk,” I said.

“I can’t be gone long,” he said.

He followed me.

We walked.

“Dante’s in the hospital.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“You haven’t gone to visit.” He didn’t say anything. I wanted to beat the holy shit out him right then and there. “Don’t you have anything to say, you asshole?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“You bastard. Don’t you feel anything?”

I could see he was trembling. Not that I cared. “Who were they?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t screw with me, asshole.”

“You’re not going to tell anyone.”

I grabbed him by the collar and then let him go. “Dante’s lying in a hospital and the only thing you’re worried about is who I’m going
to tell. Who am I going to tell, asshole? Just tell me who they were.”

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit.
You tell me now
and I won’t kick your ass from here to the South Pole.”

“I didn’t know all of them.”

“How many?”

“Four guys.”

“All I need is one name.
Just one
.”

“Julian. He was one of them.”

“Julian Enriquez?”

“Him.”

“Who else?”

“Joe Moncada.”

“Who else?”

“I didn’t know the other two.”

“And you just left Dante there?”

“He wouldn’t run.”

“And you didn’t stay with him?”

“No. I mean, what good would it have done?”

“So you didn’t care?”

“I do care.”

“But you didn’t go back, did you? You didn’t go back to see if he was all right, did you?”

“No.” He looked scared.

I shoved him against the wall of a building. And walked away.

I KNEW WHERE JULIAN ENRIQUEZ LIVED. I’D PLAYED
baseball with him and his brothers when I was in grade school. We’d never really liked each other. Not that we were enemies or anything like that. I drove around for a little while, then found myself parking my truck in front of his house. I walked up to his front door and knocked. His little sister answered the door. “Hi, Ari,” she said.

I smiled at her. She was pretty. “Hi, Lulu,” I said. My voice was calm and almost friendly. “Where’s Julian?”

“He’s at work.”

“Where does he work?”

“Benny’s Body Shop.”

“What time does he get off?” I said.

“He usually gets home after five sometime.”

“Thanks,” I said.

She smiled at me. “Should I tell him you came by?”

“Sure,” I said.

Benny’s Body Shop. Mr. Rodriguez, one of my dad’s friends, owned it. They’d gone to school together. I knew exactly where it
was. I went driving around all afternoon, just waiting for five o’clock to come around. When it was almost time, I parked around the corner from the body shop. I didn’t want Mr. Rodriguez to see me. He’d ask questions. He’d tell my dad. I didn’t want questions.

I got out of my truck and walked across the street from the body shop. I wanted to make sure I’d see Julian when he walked out of the garage. When I spotted him, I waved him over.

He walked across the street.

“What’s up, Ari?”

“Not much,” I said. I pointed to my truck. “Just driving around.”

“That your truck?”

“Yup.”

“Nice wheels,
vato
.”

“Want to get a good look?”

We walked up to my truck and he ran his hand over the chrome fenders. He knelt down and studied the chrome rims. I pictured him kicking Dante as he lay on the ground. I pictured me beating the crap out of him right then and there.

“Want to take a ride?”

“Got some stuff going on. Maybe you can come by later and we can take a spin.”

I grabbed him by the neck and pulled him up. “Get in,” I said

“What the hell crawled up your ass, Ari?”

“Get in,” I said. I threw him against the truck.

“
Chingao, ese.
What the shit’s wrong with you, man?”

He took a swing at me. That was all I needed. I just went to it. His nose was bleeding. That didn’t stop me. It didn’t take long before
he was on the ground. I was saying things to him, cussing at him. Everything was a blur and I just kept going at him.

Then I heard a voice and a pair of arms grabbing me and holding me back. The voice was yelling at me and the arms were strong and I couldn’t swing anymore.