Beisbol Libre (Our Cyber World Book 5) by Eduardo Suastegui

Author:Eduardo Suastegui [Suastegui, Eduardo]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Eduardo Suastegui
Published: 2014-12-26T05:00:00+00:00

On the way into the office, Camilo took a round-about detour to go visit his father’s house. When he got there, he found his father asleep on the front porch, the Granma newspaper draped over his belly like a shrunk blanket. Camilo didn’t go in the house. Instead, he walked around the side to make his way to the back yard. There, under the cool shade of two mango trees and enveloped by the sweet smell of their fallen fruit he found Orlando reading a book.

“Still not done with Mein Kampf, or reading it for the tenth time?”

Orlando closed the book and looked up at him. “Someday you will have a new joke, yes?

“You didn’t notice my minor update.”

“Yes, the tenth time. Very innovative.” Orlando gestured toward a rusted metal chair, and Camilo took it. “What brings you here?”

“You.”

“Should I be flattered?”

“You should be grateful.” Camilo froze his reply there even though he very much wanted to let his brother know how much he owed him.

“I would ask what that means,” Orlando said. “But I suspect you’ll either tell me we can’t talk about it here, or you’ll say something clever like, if I were grateful I wouldn’t have to ask the question.”

Camilo took a moment to digest those words. “I’m about to play the game all the way,” he said. “Maybe this God you keep reading about,” he added pointing at the book. “Maybe he put me here just for this. Isn’t that what Mom told you?”

Orlando didn’t reply. He looked away toward a row of bushes overgrowing one of the fences. A slight breeze kicked up and wove its way through the leaves above them. A piece of fruit fell to the ground with a thud and a few seconds later the sweet scent of its exploded innards reached them.

“You complain about people not having enough to eat, but you don’t have time to pick the fruit before it rots,” Camilo pointed out.

“We’re all our kind of hypocrite, no? Isn’t that what you told me?”

“No, I’m pretty sure you said that.”

“Oh, yeah. I did.” Orlando turned back to face him. In the shade, his brown eyes shone black. Maybe they were black with his own kind of hatred. “What’s this, Camilo? You come here to remind me how the world is complicated, how living on principle isn’t always so simple? Look at me, wearing the Cuban baseball national team uniform. Don’t you think I get that now?”

“But for you it’s OK because it’s just temporary. A cover until you can find the way out.”

“Whatever. Why are you here?”

“So no desire to argue about my wickedness today?”

“You came to pick a fight.”

“So what if I did?”

“Why are you here, Camilo?”

“Because I’m about to rise one notch in my wickedness. I’m going to do it for you. I just want to make sure you’re still set on the same course.”

Orlando dropped his head. “Yeah, I am.”

“That’s not very convincing, brother. I’m about to get really wicked, and I need more assurance than that.

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