The Best American Short Stories 2013 by Elizabeth Strout Read Free Book Online

you live. Orderly. I was your father’s history teacher. That is a fact.
     
Nelson looks to his father for confirmation. A nod from Manuel
.
     
MANUEL : He was. And I remember everything you taught me, Profe.
SANTOS : I doubt that. But it was my class, I believe, that inculcated in your father the desire to go north, to the capital. I take responsibility for this. Each year, my best students leave. I’m retired now and I don’t miss it, but I was sad watching them go. Of course they have their reasons. If these others had been paying any attention at all to history as I taught it, they might have understood the logic of migration. It’s woven into the story of this nation. I don’t consider this something to celebrate, but they might have understood it as a legacy they’d inherited. They might have been a bit more ambitious.
COCHOCHO : Profe, you’re being unfair.
SANTOS
(to Nelson, ignoring Cochocho):
Your father was the best student I ever had.
MANUEL
(sheepishly):
Not true, Profe, not true.
     
SANTOS : Of course it’s true. Are you calling me a liar? Not like these clowns. I taught them all.
(nodding toward Erick, who is pouring himself a glass of beer)
This one could barely read. Couldn’t sit still. Even now, look at him. Doesn’t even know who the president is.
(Television: generic politician, his corruption self-evident, as clear as the red sash across his chest.)
The only news he cares about is the exchange rate.
ERICK : The only news that matters. I have expenses. A son and two daughters.
COCHOCHO
(to Nelson):
And you can marry either of them. Take one of the girls off his hands, please.
SANTOS : Or the boy. That’s allowed over there, isn’t it?
NELSON : How old are the girls?
COCHOCHO : Old enough.
NELSON : Pretty?
ERICK : Very.
COCHOCHO
(eyebrows raised, skeptical):
A man doesn’t look for beauty in a wife. Rather, he doesn’t look
only
for beauty. We can discuss the details later. Right, Erick?
     
Erick nods absent-mindedly. It’s as if he’s already lost the thread of the conversation
.
     
SANTOS : So, young man. What do you do there in California?
NELSON
(glancing first at his father):
I have my own business. I work with an Arab. Together we have a store. It’s a bit complicated, actually.
SANTOS : Complicated. How’s that? What could be simpler than buying and selling? What sort of merchandise is it? Weapons? Metals? Orphans?
     
Television: in quick succession, a handgun, a barrel with a biohazard symbol, a sad-looking child. The child remains on-screen, even after Nelson begins speaking
.
     
NELSON : We began with baby supplies. Milk. Formula. Diapers. That sort of thing. It was a government program. For poor people.
JAIME : Poor Americans?
NELSON : That’s right.
COCHOCHO : Don’t be so ignorant. There are poor people there too. You think your idiot cousin in Las Vegas is rich?
JAIME : He’s my nephew. He wants to be a boxer.
COCHOCHO
(to Nelson):
Go on.
NELSON : This was good for a while, but there is—you may have heard. There have been some problems in California. Budgets, the like.
SANTOS
(drily):
I can assure you these gentlemen have not heard.
NELSON : So we branched out. We rented the space next door, and then the space next door to that. We sell clothes in both. We do well. They come every first and fifteenth and spend their money all at once.
JAIME : You said they were poor.
NELSON : American poor is . . .
different
.
SANTOS : Naturally.
COCHOCHO : Naturally.
NELSON : We drive down to Los Angeles every three weeks to buy the inventory. Garment district. Koreans. Jews. Filipinos. Businessmen.
SANTOS : Very well. An entrepreneur.
MANUEL : He didn’t learn this from me.
SANTOS : You speak Arabic now? Korean? Hebrew? Filipino?
NELSON : No. My partner speaks Spanish.
COCHOCHO : And your English?
MANUEL : My son’s English is perfect. Shakespearean.
COCHOCHO : Two stores. And they both sell clothes.
NELSON : We have Mexicans, and we have blacks. Unfortunately these