American Tropic - By Thomas Sanchez Page 0,3
the sun-blackened bodies of men, women, and children. Their arms and legs are akimbo in grotesque contortions of death, the flesh peeling from their bodies, exposing white bones. Their eyes have been pecked out by marauding birds.
In a morning-bright kitchen, Joan at the stove hums cheerfully as she cooks breakfast. At the table, Luz watches her sixteen-year-old daughter, Carmen, brushing toucan-beak-orange-colored polish onto her fingers.
Luz shakes her head at Carmen. “Are you getting ready to go to school or to a nightclub?”
Carmen looks up, her long straight brown hair framing her face. She smiles. “Mom, I’m getting straight A’s.”
Joan turns from her pots and pans steaming on the stovetop and shoots Carmen a reassuring wink. “That’s right, honey, you keep trotting those A’s home and you can paint your nails any color you want. How about painting each one a different color? Be bold.”
Luz loosens her stern gaze. “Okay, I get it. A’s equal painted fingernails. I’ll go with that, but no lipstick. I don’t want my girl wearing lipstick to school. It’s not acceptable in this family.”
Carmen screws the cap onto the nail-polish bottle and picks up her textbooks from the table. She gets up and kisses Luz on the cheek. “You win, Mom. No lipstick. I’m off.”
“And no tricks. Don’t put a ton of lipstick on when you get out of the house. Promise me.”
Carmen hugs Luz. “Promise, Mom. Jeez, no lipstick.”
Luz watches Carmen leave, the door closing behind. She notices Carmen’s plate of uneaten food on the table. “Left without eating again. She’s too skinny. Got to fatten her up on rice and beans and ropa vieja.”
Joan hands Luz a cup of coffee. “Don’t be so hard on her. She’s a good girl.”
“Carmen’s goodness is not what worries me. It’s the world out there around her that bothers me.” Luz takes a sip of coffee. The wrinkled look of concern across her smooth face doesn’t go away.
Joan nudges her playfully. “You were a wild teenager. Drove the boys crazy. You got knocked up when you were eighteen.”
“Nineteen, and it wasn’t boys, you know that, it was one guy. Twice he got me pregnant, I married him like a good Cuban girl—you know the story.”
“Sorry, hon, didn’t mean to bring that up. We won’t talk about him.”
“No, we don’t speak of the beast with no name. Story over.”
“But look at you now. A pillar of society, an officer of the law, and a cute one at that.” Joan strokes Luz’s short black hair and sings with a throaty purr, “In the jungle, the mighty jungle, my panther prowls for me.”
Luz tilts her head back; her worried expression fades as her brown eyes gaze up at Joan.
Joan’s hands caress Luz’s arched neck. “You want to fool around, panther?”
“You know I can’t on a workday.”
Joan leans over; her blond hair cascades around Luz as she whispers, “We could fool around and fool around and fall in love.”
“We are in love, my darling.”
Joan’s fingers deftly open the top buttons of Luz’s shirt; her hands slip onto Luz’s exposed skin.
Luz grips Joan’s wrists, pulling Joan’s hands away. Joan’s jaw tightens; her lips draw into a tight line.
Luz rebuttons her shirt and gazes with concern around the kitchen. “Why isn’t Nina here? Where’s Nina?”
“Don’t be such a cop on the job all the time. Nina is fine. She wants to get herself ready for school. She needs to be independent.”
Luz shoves her chair away from the table and leaves. She walks quickly down a hallway and pushes open a bedroom door. She looks inside.
Nina sits in her wheelchair before a dresser with a large mirror. Her fourteen-year-old body is frail, her torso shrunken, her head bald from chemotherapy. She turns around to Luz, her large brown eyes still luminous. “Mom, I’m glad you’re here. I need your opinion.”
“About what, baby?”
Nina holds out two long wigs, one blond, one brunette. She studies the wigs critically. “Who should I look like today? Marilyn Monroe or Cleopatra?”
“Show me both wigs so I can judge.”
Nina puts on the blond wig and purses her lips in a sophisticated pout. “What about Marilyn? Am I as irresistible as her?”
“Marilyn never looked so good. Maybe it’s a bit too much for school—but you look great.”
Nina pulls off the blond wig and puts on the brunette. She gives a sassy stare. “Am I as powerful as Cleo?”
“Yes, you’ve definitely got the Queen Cleo vibe going.”
“Mom, you can’t be such a pushover and like both wigs. Help me. Which one?”
Luz steps close