2. Carlitos’ Wake

Machi ran ahead chasing David, through the crowd gathered outside the funeral parlor. Marina kept an eye on the boys and approached Ori just as he moved in to hug the tattooed, braided young man he had been talking with. “You gotta keep strong.” He turned to Marina. What had she been thinking when she moved out on this man? Now her life was a sawn off branch she careened on through space. The young man smiled at her and tipped the brim of his red cap. He was in full Santos Rebeldes colors, red and black. How many of these gang funerals had he been to? Ori took her by the elbow and helped her inside. He could tell funerals terrified her. He’d been around death all his life. Many of his childhood friends were dead or in prison. Politics had saved Ori and so he was forever trying to pump politics into the gangsters from the block.
Machi and David walked into a back room behind the casket where two other little boys were running, their arms spread wide, making airplane wings. Marina saw them lean on the walls close to the door eyeing the boys, nodding, then opening their arms like wings and joining the flock. Two older women knelt by the casket, and Marina and Ori stood on line behind them reading the inscriptions on the ribbons of the huge flower coronas lined up against the wall beside it. Tears ran down Marina’s face. Nobody else was crying.
After the two women were done praying two teenagers knelt, looked at Carlitos and crossed themselves. Marina read the red of their jackets and the black of their do rags. If they were an image her class was decoding, she could make up the story of their lives. She might ask them, “How many funerals like this one have these young men been to? Which was their first one?” Had they been running and playing in the back room as little boys? Why had she brought Machi? She wiped off her tears. She was ashamed of her tears in this room where nobody was showing pain.
Ori took her to meet Carlitos’ mother. She was small, brown, plump. Marina wondered why she had agreed to let her son be buried in his gang colors, with a Santos Rebeldes banner hanging over the casket? When she offered her hand for shaking, but not her cheek for kissing, Marina looked into her eyes. Instead of the grief Marina expected they showed harsh bitterness. The woman was not afraid to let the world know she was fine with the gang. It was the best gig her son ever found.
Ori said paying respects meant sitting at the wake for awhile. The longer Marina sat there watching Ori’s young men stop by to chat, watching the women clustered to one side, the boys running in the back, the more she thought she had to get Machi out of there, out of the barrio, before it caught. Some young men like Carlitos were smart enough to save just themselves but refused to. She felt a sudden terror that Machi would be that way.
David’s mother Julia swooped down and kissed Marina on the cheek. Julia squeezed herself past Marina and sat on the empty chair on the other side. “Too young for these boys to start seeing bodies.” She shook her head and pointed her chin at Carlitos’ mother sitting on the first row, two rows in front. She leaned over so her lips were close to Marina’s ear. “I shudder to even think what it must be to get that phone call. Or open the door and see that face and hear the words, your son is dead. Your son’s been stabbed and stomped dead on the avenue, a few yards from where he used to play, a few doors from where he went to school as long as he managed to stay in school.” Marina could barely take in that Julia had spoken to her, had kissed her cheek. This was maybe the first time in the year since they lost the boys on the train, that Julia had even acknowledged her when they crossed paths on the block, let alone kissed her cheek. Julia squeezed Marina’s hand. “Mira.”
Machi and David stood on the kneeling bench, bent over, their faces inches from Carlitos’, their hands touching the waxy hands, the huge forearms. Marina tapped Ori. He looked and nodded. “We’ve got to get him out of here.” They walked to the casket just as Machi was pushing up the sleeve of Carlitos’ jacket. Ori cupped Machi’s hand with his own. Machi turned and looked up. “We wanted to see his tattoos.”
Outside the funeral parlor the boys ran toward the bitter cold wind blowing from the river, making the most of this unexpected opportunity to play together. The sun was almost down and the sky was snow gray. Marina, Ori and Julia let the boys lead them down the hill all the way to the park. Marina stopped trying to understand why Julia was taking a break from her feud. Sometimes death put things into perspective. Marina didn't dare hope the feud was permanently over. But for now, Julia was with her. They stood at the main entrance to Moon Park and watched the boys run up and down the steps, up and down the hill. When the boys had run themselves to near collapse all of them walked back to the block. Without saying goodbye, and with the distant mask she'd worn all year back in place, Julia took David's arm and they left for their home across the street.
Ori got down on his knees, put his arms around Machi and stood with him chest to chest. For the briefest moment Machi let himself collapse, hang from his Father's neck, all weight. Ori could barely hold him. Then he pushed his Father away and they walked together up the stoop of their family home, the home Marina had left a year ago, the home into which Machi had said Ori was going to move in his girlfriend Liuba. They sat together in their old living room, in the dark, none of them able to turn on a lamp, Ori beside Machi who had fallen asleep with his head against his chest, Marina sunk in a chair across from them in paralyzed grief or rage.
“Do you ever regret it?” Ori said. She knew he meant her leaving.
Marina watched herself, her body, go into sobs, convulse, snot running down her face. “Every minute of every day.”