Free A So-Called Vacation by Genaro González

Dad’s fault.”
    â€œWhat’s Dad have to do with those Anglos?”
    â€œWell, if he’d kept his mouth shut …”
    â€œHe was just there to buy stuff, Gus! If they didn’t want him there, how come they took his money?”
    â€œDon’t worry about it. The whole thing went over his head.”
    Gabriel did not reply, but instead recalled the times his father had talked about his own childhood, when whites had run things back home. At that moment, and despite all the times he had locked horns with his father, he felt a sad, inexplicable bond between them.
    He paused at the door and asked, “By the way, where is he?”
    â€œHe was headed for that open field where the kids play kickball, by that old barn. He’s got his tools on display.”
    â€œYou mean he’s setting up shop?”
    â€œIt’s more like advertising. He wants to let the camp know he works on cars.”
    â€œLet’s hope it does the trick,” said Gabriel.
    â€œSounds like you have your own doubts.”
    â€œWell, it’s not going to be a cakewalk for Dad, that’s for sure. It’ll all be uphill.”
    â€œNow you’re starting to sound like me,” Gus sounded smug.
    â€œI’m just being realistic. There’s a lot of stuff we didn’t think through before we made the jump.”
    â€œI’ll say.” But Gus did not offer any points of his own. Instead he waited for his brother to explain.
    â€œDad was blinded by the thought of making money, just like we were blinded by a vacation at the end of the road. He heard about how much money a family could make each month here, but he didn’t realize it’s only for a few weeks. Most of these guys go back home and work on odd jobs the rest of the year or collect unemployment.”
    Gus nodded seriously yet said nothing.
    â€œBefore we left, Dad and I saw this migrant worker’s pickup out in a parking lot. It was pretty impressive, like some of the trucks we see here.” Gabriel regarded their surroundings with an unsentimental eye. “But you don’t see the places they have to live in to earn the money for those fancy trucks.”
    Gus nodded again, then added, “Or the hard-core houses they have back home. Jesus, Gabriel, why didn’t you tell him all this before we came up? Why didn’t you tell me? Maybe we could have stopped the old man in his tracks.”
    Gabriel pushed against the screen door and let in a flood of light. “Like I said, I didn’t know all this until now.”
    But as he stepped off the porch he knew otherwise. He had considered some of those arguments back in Texas, at least partially, but Gabriel had feared that Gus might have used his ambivalence to derail the trip. And perhaps, Gabriel now believed, Gus had wanted to be proven wrong. Maybe Gus truly wanted their father to succeed despite all the discouraging signs.
    Gabriel found their van parked under a shade tree across the street from the abandoned barn. His father wore his mechanic’s overalls and had slid open the van door to showcase two large toolboxes with overlapping triple trays.
    â€œWow. What are you going to do, Dad, transplant a transmission?”
    He guided his son’s gaze to a handful of tools he had already set aside for a tune-up. And even though no one was around, his father said in a low but excited voice, “I wanted to bring out the big guns. For show.” Then hepointed across the open field that served as camp commons.
    â€œThey say a white preacher will be here in an hour. He’s giving a sermon in that run-down barn.”
    â€œHow’s his Spanish?”
    â€œProbably as creaky as that old barn. But you know those Anglos. They pick up a few words in Spanish and think they’re experts.”
    â€œSo while the preacher is fishing for souls—”
    â€œI’m fishing for customers.” For once he seemed to savor the