Happy Families_ Stories - Carlos Fuentes [118]
“And then kick me out on the street?” The discomfiting brother almost choked on his laughter.
“No. To each his own life,” Don Luis said in a hesitant voice.
“The fact is, I’m having a fantastic time. The fact is, my life now is here, at the side of my adored fratellino.”
“Reyes,” Don Luis said with his severest expression. “We made a deal. Until January sixth.”
“Don’t make me laugh, Güichito. Do you think that in a week you can wipe away the crimes of an entire life?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. We haven’t seen each other in thirty years.”
“That’s the point. You don’t keep very good accounts.” Reyes swallowed a chalupa and licked the cream from his lips with his tongue. “Sixty years, I’m telling you . . . You were so solemn as a boy. The favorite son. You condemned me to second place. The clown of the house.”
“You were older than me. You could have affirmed your position as firstborn. It isn’t my fault if—”
“Why should I drag out the story? You were the studious one. The punctual one. The traitor. The schemer. Do you think I didn’t hear you tell our father: ‘Reyes does everything wrong, he’s a boy with no luck, he’s going to hurt us all, Papa, get him out of the house, send him to boarding school.’ ”
Reyes was swallowing chalupas whole. “Do you remember when we both went to Mass together every Sunday, Luisito? Ah, we were believers. It’s what hurts me most. Having lost my faith. And you’re to blame, little brother.”
Don Luis had to laugh. “You astonish me, Reyes.”
“No.” Reyes laughed. “I’m the one who’s astonished. You’re only stupefied. You must have thought you’d never see me again.”
“You’re right. I don’t want to see you again. On the sixth, you—”
“I what? Recover my innocence?”
Luis looked at him gravely. “When were you ever innocent?”
“Until the day you said to me: ‘Asshole, we go to Mass every Sunday, but we don’t believe in God, we only believe in ourselves, in our personal success, don’t go around thinking Divine Providence will come to help you. Look at yourself, Reyes, so overgrown and so devout, look at your younger brother, I tell you, I go to Mass to please Papa and Mama, the family, while you, Reyes, you go because you believe in God and religion, what a joke, the younger brother is smarter than the older brother, the baby knows more than the big galoot. And what does the baby know? That you come into this world to be successful with no scruples, to beat out everybody else, to move ahead over other people’s good faith or conviction or morality.’ ”
He took a foaming drink of beer, tilting back the bottle. “Nobody believes my story, brother. How can it be that the little brother corrupts the older one? Because you corrupted me, Luis. You left me with a malignant relationship to the world. I saw you move up, marry a rich girl, manipulate politicians, negotiate favors, and in passing rip out my innocence.”
“A carouser. You had a vocation for dissipation.”
“How could I believe in the good with a diabolical brother like you?”
“A tree that grows twisted—”
“God made you like that, or did you betray God Himself?”
“Soul of a delinquent—”
“Did you betray God, or did God betray you?”
Don Luis choked on a biscuit. His brother stood up to pound him on the back and didn’t stop talking.
“I wanted an ordered, simple life. Your example stopped me. You moved up so quickly. Ha, like the foam on this brew. You were so greedy. You know how to use people and then throw them into the trash. Your diabolical wife gave you feudal tips. The arrogance of Chilean landowners. And you spiced up the stew with Mexican malice, fawning, climbing, betraying, using.”
“Water . . .” Luis coughed.
“Ah yes, Señor.” Reyes moved away the glass. “Everything in order to reach the age of sixty-five with a gorgeous house in Polanco, five-count-’em-five servants, eight board presidencies, a dead wife, and a boozing brother.”
“You are what you wanted to be,