The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao

Oscar could have sworn that there was a third man with them and he was standing back behind some of the cane but before Oscar could see his face it was Good Night, Sweet Prince, and he felt like he was falling again, falling straight for Route 18, and there was nothing he could do, nothing at all, to stop it.

CLIVES TO THE RESCUE
     
    T he only reason he didn’t lay out in that rustling endless cane for the rest of his life was because Clives the evangelical taxista had had the guts, and the smarts, and yes, the goodness, to follow the cops on the sly, and when they broke out he turned on his headlights and pulled up to where they’d last been. He didn’t have a flashlight and after almost half an hour of stomping around in the dark he was about to abandon the search until the morning. And then he heard someone singing . A nice voice too, and Clives, who sang for his congregation, knew the difference. He headed toward the source full speed, and then, just as he was about to part the last stalks a tremendous wind ripped through the cane, nearly blew him off his feet, like the first slap of a hurricane, like the blast an angel might lay down on takeoff, and then, just as quickly as it had kicked up it was gone, leaving behind only the smell of burned cinnamon, and there just behind a couple stalks of cane lay Oscar. Unconscious and bleeding out of both ears and looking like he was one finger tap away from dead. Clives tried his best but he couldn’t drag Oscar back to the car alone, so he left him where he was—Just hold on!—drove to a nearby batey, and recruited a couple of Haitian braceros to help him, which took a while because the braceros were afraid to leave the batey lest they get whupped as bad as Oscar by their overseers. Finally Clives prevailed and back they raced to the scene of the crime. This is a big one, one of the braceros cracked. Mucho plátanos, another joked. Mucho mucho plátanos, said a third, and then they heaved him into the backseat. As soon as the door shut, Clives popped his car into gear and was off. Driving fast in the name of the Lord. The Haitians throwing rocks at him because he had promised to give them a ride back to their camp.

CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE CARIBBEAN KIND
     
    O scar remembers having a dream where a mongoose was chatting with him. Except the mongoose was the Mongoose.
    What will it be, muchacho? it demanded. More or less?
    And for a moment he almost said less. So tired, and so much pain—Less! Less! Less!—but then in the back of his head he remembered his family. Lola and his mother and Nena Inca. Remembered how he used to be when he was younger and more optimistic. The lunch box next to his bed, the first thing he saw in the morning. Planet of the Apes .
    More, he croaked.
    ——— ——— ———, said the Mongoose, and then the wind swept him back into darkness.

DEAD OR ALIVE
     
    B roken nose, shattered zygomatic arch, crushed seventh cranial nerve, three of his teeth snapped off at the gum, concussion.
    But he’s still alive, isn’t he? his mother demanded.
    Yes, the doctors conceded.
    Let us pray, La Inca said grimly. She grabbed Beli’s hands and lowered her head.
    If they noticed the similarities between Past and Present they did not speak of it.

BRIEFING FOR A DESCENT INTO HELL
     
    H e was out for three days.
    In that time he had the impression of having the most fantastic series of dreams, though by the time he had his first meal, a caldo de pollo, he could not, alas, remember them. All that remained was the image of an Aslan-like figure with golden eyes who kept trying to speak to him but Oscar couldn’t hear a word above the blare of the merengue coming from the neighbor’s house.
    Only later, during his last days, would he actually remember one of those dreams. An old man was standing before him in a ruined bailey, holding up a book for him to read. The old man had a mask on. It took a while for Oscar’s eyes to focus, but then he saw that the book was blank.
    The book is blank. Those were the words La Inca’s servant heard him say just before he broke through the plane of unconsciousness and into the universe of the Real.

ALIVE
     
    T hat was the end of it. As soon as moms de León got a green light from the doctors she called the airlines. She wasn’t no fool; had her own experience with these kinds of things. Put it in the simplest of terms so that even in his addled condition he could understand. You, stupid worthless no-good