Ted pulled another photo from the pile, one in which it looks like Marty is trying to teach young Ted how to hit. Marty is standing behind Ted with his hands around his waist and they are holding the bat together, looking out at something unseen coming at them-a ball? The future?
“Look at that,” Ted said. “I don’t ever remember you trying to teach me to hit.”
“El Spleenter,” Maria said.
“I don’t remember it, either,” Marty said.
Maria moved on and uncovered a heroic shot of Marty pitching, as perfect as a baseball card, upon which someone with a flair pen, no doubt Maria, had drawn a heart like a schoolgirl. Marty laughed and Maria feigned embarrassment. Ted apologized to his mother in his mind, but felt prompted to ask, “Why didn’t you two stay together?” Marty and Maria looked at each other, as if trying to decide who would or should take this question. Maria looked at Marty as if to ask if it was okay to talk about. Marty nodded. Maria spoke up, “I tell you sungthing. Stay together? We never get together. We were both marry.”
Ted, obviously shocked at this revelation, looked at Marty for elaboration. “I was a very moral amoral man,” Marty said.
“What about the journal?”
“You can’t believe everything you read, son.”
Mariana came up to him. “Can I talk to you outside?”
Mariana took Ted from the apartment and they walked around the block. “How could I not remember my dad teaching me to hit?”
“It was a long time ago,” said Mariana.
“No, but it’s, like, something that I’ve always been pissed about, you know, about my dad-he never had time, he never thought I was worth it, never believed in me, never tried, but look, there’s evidence of him trying right there. And he was faithful? You believe that?”
“It’s not important, but yes, I do.”
“Jesus, it’s like I’m the one who’s full of shit.”
“Not really,” said Mariana, “it’s just the way you’ve been telling your story. That photo never fit with the story you’re telling, now maybe it does. Now maybe your story is changing. Doesn’t mean you’re full of shit. Means you’re awake and alive and open to a rewrite.”
Ted couldn’t get his mind off the iconic image of father and son that he had completely erased from his own self-definition. It was like damning evidence brought in by a surprise eyewitness on the last day of a murder trial. Ted’s world rolled lightly from side to side like a ship at sea. He felt his balance was a little shaky as he walked.
“Wait.” He stopped. “Why did you want to come out here? Is there something you want to talk about with me?”
“No,” replied Mariana, “I just wanted to get outside for a bit. I love the streets up here in the summer. Like a world party. Disco coming from the windows. It’s like God is having a tea dance and playing disco on his own speakers.”
“God is not playing disco. God hates disco.”
“God doesn’t hate any music.”
“No, he hates disco. He does. He just doesn’t talk about it that much. It’s the creation He’s least proud of. After leeches and television. It’s the worst music ever invented.”
“It’s fun. It makes you dance, and it’s sad, too. There’s a lot of pain under the beat, if you listen-‘Oh no, not I, I will survive…’”
“It’s the end of civilization. I don’t wanna listen. That’s why you wanted to get outside? To listen to ‘Get Down Boogie Oogie Oogie’?”
Mariana smiled with mischief. “Yeah, that. And I wanted to give them time alone.”
“Time alone?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, that kinda time alone? Really? They’re both, like, a hundred.”
“That’s not the story they’re telling.”
“For real?”
Ted turned around and picked up the pace back to Maria’s apartment. He felt like a derelict chaperone, and wasn’t sure if he wanted what Mariana seemed pretty sure was happening. They walked back into an empty apartment. No Maria. No Marty. As Ted was about to call out for his dad, he heard it, rustling from the bedroom-there was an unmistakable feeling in the room. Marty and Maria were in there. Ted said a bit too loud, “I can’t fucking believe it!” Mariana sshed him. They stood there listening and trying not to listen. “I feel like I’m kinda betraying my mother a little bit.”
“Not at all. This is beautiful.”
“I’m kinda proud of my boy. It’s so fucking cute, I can’t stand it.”
But just then, decidedly uncute sounds started emanating from the bedroom. Rapid breaths, little moans, and a kind of purring. Mariana held up her hand for Ted to be quiet so she could hear; she repeated the Spanish to herself: “Incluso el viejo león sigue siendo un rey-even the old lion is still a king.”
“Ooooh. She’s good. I’m no lion, more like the guy who gets eaten by the lion. Like a gazelle or a wildebeest, the unsuspecting guy at the water hole, that’s me.”
“It’s probably never too late to become a lion.”
“Was that something she was saying, or you?”
“Oh, that was me.” Mariana held up her hand again for quiet. “Eso es correcto, amor, yo soy tuya, la mujer te tus sueños. Yo he estado esperando por ti, y tu has estado esperando por mi. That’s right, lover, I am your woman, the woman of your dreams. I’ve been waiting for you. You’ve been waiting for me.”
“That you or her?”
“What?”
“You translating or talking to me?”
“Translating.”
From the other room, the sounds were escalating. “Aye, Poppy, do it. Do it, Poppy. Dass it!”
Mariana dutifully translated, “She said, ‘Yes, Daddy, do it, do it, Daddy. That’s it!’”
Ted raised his hand to cut her off. “That’s okay. I got that, that was half in English.”
The sounds of sex from the other room had suddenly brought the prospect of sex into this room, like it might be contagious. This embarrassed them both a little, so Ted tried a joke. “Man, you Latin women, you don’t fuck around when you fuck around, do you?”
“No, we take that shit very seriously.”
Maria was full-throated now: “¡Ese culo es tuyo!”
Mariana raised her eyebrows. “She said-”
Ted cut her off quickly this time. “Culo is ass, right? Culo means ‘ass’?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, boy. Thought so. Let’s go. Let’s go back outside. Time for you and me to go.”
As he hustled Mariana out the door, she said, “Your father’s Spanish is much better and more colloquial than I thought it was.”
“Stop, I’m a little nauseated. I’m running now, catch up with me. I’ll be in Staten Island.”
53.
Ted and Mariana walked around and around the block. Ted bought them both shaved ice and colored syrup from a street vendor, and as he handed Mariana hers, she said, “First, Jell-O. Now, this. Wow; you sure know how to make a girl feel special.”
“Second date. Gotta step it up.”
“Ah, my favorite flavor-uh, aquamarine.”
Ted slurped at his. “If you put a gun to my head, I could not tell you what flavor mine is.”
“I know-isn’t that the best? It’s like an alternate universe where color is taste.”
“Where do they get those blocks of ice from? It’s like they tore down an igloo.”