Free A So-Called Vacation by Genaro González Page A

fact that his son had seen through his tricks.
    Gabriel observed him for a while, then said, “You should do TV commercials, Dad. You look like a real mechanic.”
    â€œI am a real mechanic.” He turned casually to show off the tools bulging from his back pockets. He even had on the garage cap he hated to wear because it plastered his hair in an unflattering pattern.
    â€œWhat I mean is, there’s lots of mechanics out there, but they usually don’t look like the real thing.”
    His father did another slow circle, then froze, like a muscle man proud of his profile. “I’m more real than the real thing. I don’t need to work in a garage to prove it.”
    But despite the comings and goings of curious gawkers who wandered to and from the sermon, his efforts barely attracted a trio of men, including one who kept offering contrary advice. Gabriel became so annoyed that he whispered to his father under the hood, “Why even bother answering this idiot?”
    â€œI’m always getting guys like him at the shop. He’s testing my expertise.”
    â€œHe’s no expert, Dad. He’s just a jerk.”
    â€œI’m not doing this for him,” he whispered back. “This way everyone will know how much I know.”
    Gabriel was not convinced but he still said, “I guess you know best. Anyway, do you need help?”
    â€œThanks, but I’d better do this myself. Otherwise they’ll think I pass off my work to you guys.”
    After Gabriel left, a teenager with the uneasy air of a loner lingered on the fringes, saying absolutely nothing but making the father so uneasy that he did little more than check his toolbox. In the end he was left to supervise two hyperkinetic kids whose parents had sent them outside to ventilate their energy. They so tried his patience with their preschool inquiries that he finally packed up and left.
    He returned to their shack as the last smudge of sunlight was fading. He never mentioned how things went, yet the manic streak in his conversation got the best of Gus, who quizzed his brother with a curious head cock.
    Gabriel ignored him in order to cover his father’s charade, but he was also afraid that Gus might ask outright. Fortunately his father asked, “So is everyone ready for another workweek?”
    â€œYou obviously are,” said Paula, as she confiscated a bottle of liniment he was rubbing on his hands. “That smells nasty.”
    â€œFine. I’ll do it tomorrow.”
    â€œI’m saying don’t do it, period. You’re probably polluting every strawberry you pick.”
    â€œThis way whoever eats them gets a free laxative. Sort of like strawberries and prunes rolled up into one.”
    â€œIf you’re worried about pollution,” Gabriel told his sister, “you don’t have to go further than the bug killers they use on the crops. Birth defects, cancer, high blood pressure …”
    Gus gave an exaggerated shudder to make sure he caught their father’s attention. Then he added for goodmeasure: “There’s no need to continue the list. None of that stuff worries Dad.”
    â€œWhy should it? If pesticides don’t get you, something else will.”
    â€œWhat about your kids?”
    â€œI’m not planning to crank out any more.”
    â€œWhat about the ones you already cranked out?”
    â€œI want to make sure they’re survivors. And what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”
    â€œNo,” said Gabriel, “it just makes you sicker.”
    â€œSo anyway,” said his father, “is everyone ready for tomorrow?”
    â€œI guess so,” said Gabriel.
    Yet the following day the aches and pains that he had accumulated and that the weekend had dulled temporarily now returned stronger. Still, Gabriel took some pride in the fact that his body was coping better. And now, aware of his limits, he paced himself more efficiently.