Trino's Time by Diane Gonzales Bertrand

Author:Diane Gonzales Bertrand
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Arte Público Press
Published: 2001-01-26T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Give and Take

“I finished going through the vegetable bins,” Trino told Mr. Epifaño. “It’s after five. I need to go home now.”

The old man had been stacking packs of cigarettes in a high shelf behind the counter. “You smoke these?” he asked as he pushed the last few packs into place.

“No. They cost money I don’t have,” Trino answered. When he was in fifth grade, he had smoked to show off with Zipper and Rogelio. That night his mother had smelled the evidence on his clothes and whipped him with the belt. “Those cigarettes will kill you!” she had yelled as she strapped him hard. “They killed my mother, they killed my father. I got two sisters who can’t talk without coughing. You live in this house—you better not smoke. You hear me? Hear me?”

Now he connected cigarettes with Rosca and his gang—they had been smoking when the plans to rob the car wash had been discussed—and that brought up memories of Zipper’s dead body. No, cigarettes would be one thing Trino would never do again. Never.

“Here, boy. Pick up all these empty cartons on the floor, will you?” Mr. Epifaño kicked a carton with his foot, then hobbled over towards the counter. “Ay, I can’t bend over, can’t get my clothes on after I use the toilet—why didn’t those boys just finish the job and kill me?”

“Don’t say that!” Trino’s reaction was loud and fierce. “You shouldn’t want anyone to kill you! It was mean and ugly—what Rosca did. He beat you with a pipe! How could he do that to you? You never hurt him—never hurt anybody!”

With a sharp intake of breath, Trino realized what he had revealed.

Mr. Epifaño squinted. He rubbed his nose and said, “I got a lot of pain, boy. Sometimes, you just want to die when you feel this bad.”

Trino said nothing right away. He thought the old man would ask Trino how he knew so much about what had happened, but Mr. Epifaño seemed too sad to make any connection, to realize that Trino had been a witness to the crime. In his relief, Trino also felt a keen sense of pity for what Mr. Epifaño had lived through.

“I’ll pick up the boxes for you. And then I’ll come back tomorrow. Do you still want me manaña, Mr. Epifaño?” He walked around the counter and started to gather the empty cartons into his arms. Now that he was closer he noticed Mr. Epifaño’s pants drooped down near his bony hips and his shirt was unbuttoned at the bottom.

It must be tough to do things with only one good arm, he thought.

“Manaña está bien,” Mr. Epifaño said, hiking his pants up. “The trucks deliver about nine. Can you come a las nueve?”

“What will I do?” Trino felt it was only fair to ask.

“Stack the sodas, put the beer in the coolers—as that’s what I sell on weekends. Lots of cervezas—muchas cervezas. There’s a lot to do tomorrow.”

Still hugging the cigarette cartons in his arms, Trino approached Mr.

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