The Glass Factory Read Free Page B

spend about fifteen minutes shooting the shit because neither of our cultures considers it polite to get directly to an issue. Also, how do you ask someone if he’s willing to make sure your kid gets back to your family safely just in case you happen to die in the next couple of weeks? Stumped you? Well, keep thinking. Turns out he’s got bad news of his own. The coffee plant, jewel of Hoboken and biggest employer on the Jersey-side waterfront, is closing. We agree that the local economy is becoming indistinguishable from those “Third World” economies we both fled to come here. Eventually I get around to telling him that I need a couple to act as godparents, just in case.
    He says, “How ’bout Raúl?”
    “No.”
    “He is Toni’s father.”
    “Don’t remind me.”
    “You’ve gotta stop being such a lone wolf, Filomena. You can’t take on something like this alone. Think of Antonia.”
    “I am: Her father sold all our stuff to pay the rent on that cocaine castle in the air he was living in and you want me to go to him for help?”
    “That was three years ago.”
    “Okay, last year he stole my tax refund check, forged my endorsement and bought himself a new car stereo with it.”
    “Yeah, well this is different. He’s the girl’s father, and you need him. You might as well admit it.”
    This is not what I wanted to hear.
    I watch Antonia, swinging upside down, her dress falling down over her face, laughing.
    I curse.
    And agree with him.

    “Yo, where’s the party at?”
    “Why do you always answer the phone like that?” I thought it was cute, once.
    “Filomena! ¡Mamita! ¿Cómo vás, muchachita?”
    “Like shit, Raúl. I need your help.”
    “¡Que milagro! You must be doing like shit if you want my help.”
    “Don’t make this any harder. Can I come over?”
    “Ah, por fín te recuerdas que nadie te lo da como yo—”
    “Make me heave, all right? I’ve got a problem. A real one.”
    “Baby, if it’s your problem—”
    “Raúl, never be indifferent when people need you.”
    “Yes, ma’am. What’s in it for me?”
    “No jail time and you can keep the car stereo, too.”
    “You still pissed off about that? Because let me tell you, chiquitína—”
    “Raúl, will you shut the fuck up and listen to me?! I’m—I’m sick.”
    “So take a aspirin.”
    “No, I mean—Boy it all comes back so quick with you. We always had real communication problems.”
    “Funny, you never said anything about it to me …”
    “Could you turn the music down for a second? This is serious. It’s about Antonia.” That gets him.
    “My little sugarplum? What about her?”
    “I’m worried. I don’t think she should stay in the barrio any longer.”
    “Why not?”
    “It’s not healthy for her. I have to tell her never to touch the needles she sees in front of the building.”
    “Hmm. ¿Y qué entonces?”
    I realize that we have switched to Spanish without me noticing it. That’s not like me. I mean, my survival usually depends on me noticing things. “I’m thinking of maybe taking her back to Ecuador with me. But I don’t have the money. These last three months have really scraped me to the bone.”
    “Back to Ecuador? With my kid? Fuck that. She can come live with me!”
    “You just agreed she should move out of the city.”
    “Oh, yeah. Well she can stay with my sister.”
    “Oh, terrific. This is the woman who has never seen her niece? No thanks.”
    “Hey: You’ve never seen her kids neither. Least they’ve got a back yard.”
    “Where’s that?”
    “Minoa.”
    “Where’s that?”
    “Long Island.”
    You can just about hear me go ding! “Is that anywhere near Carthage?”
    “How the fuck should I know? Get a fuckin’ map! No, wait—now that you mention it, yeah—I think it’s like about five, maybe ten miles west of there. The big steel-and-glass place, right?”
    “Computer casings.”
    “Yeah, sure, that’s the place. Yeah, five miles, tops.”
    “What’s her