The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao

her at work she would hiss, Please go home, Oscar.
    She was miserable when she saw him, and miserable, she would tell him later, when she didn’t, convinced that he’d gotten killed. He slipped long passionate letters under her gate, written in English, and the only response he got was when the capitán and his friends called and threatened to chop him to pieces. After each threat he recorded the time and then phoned the embassy and told them that Officer ——— had threatened to kill him, could you please help?
    He had hope, because if she really wanted him gone she could have lured him out in the open and let the capitán destroy him. Because if she wanted to she could have had him banned from the Riverside. But she didn’t.
    Boy, you can dance good , he wrote in a letter. In another he laid out the plans he had to marry her and take her back to the States.
    She started scribbling back notes and passed them to him at the club, or had them mailed to his house. Please, Oscar, I haven’t slept in a week. I don’t want you to end up hurt or dead. Go home.
    But beautiful girl, above all beautiful girls, he wrote back. This is my home.
    Your real home, mi amor.
    A person can’t have two?
    Night nineteen, Ybón rang at the gate, and he put down his pen, knew it was her. She leaned over and unlocked the truck door and when he got in he tried to kiss her but she said, Please, stop it. They drove out toward La Romana, where the capitán didn’t have friends supposedly. Nothing new was discussed but he said, I like your new haircut, and she started laughing and crying and said, Really? You don’t think it makes me look cheap?

    You and cheap do not compute, Ybón.
    What could we do? Lola flew down to see him, begged him to come home, told him that he was only going to get Ybón and himself killed; he listened and then said quietly that she didn’t understand what was at stake. I understand perfectly, she yelled. No, he said sadly, you don’t. His abuela tried to exert her power, tried to use the Voice, but he was no longer the boy she’d known. Something had changed about him. He had gotten some power of his own.
    Two weeks into his Final Voyage his mother arrived, and she came loaded for bear. You’re coming home, right now. He shook his head. I can’t, Mami. She grabbed him and tried to pull, but he was like Unus the Untouchable. Mami, he said softly. You’ll hurt yourself.
    And you’ll kill yourself.
    That’s not what I’m trying to do.
    Did I fly down? Of course I did. With Lola. Nothing brings a couple together quite like catastrophe.
    Et tu, Yunior? he said when he saw me.
    Nothing worked.

THE LAST DAYS OF OSCAR WAO
     
    H ow incredibly short are twenty-seven days! One evening the capitán and his friends stalked into the Riverside and Oscar stared at the man for a good ten seconds and then, whole body shaking, he left. Didn’t bother to call Clives, jumped in the first taxi he could find. Once in the parking lot of the Riverside he tried again to kiss her and she turned away with her head, not her body. Please don’t. He’ll kill us.
    Twenty-seven days. Wrote on each and every one of them, wrote almost three hundred pages if his letters are to be believed. Almost had it too, he said to me one night on the phone, one of the few calls he made to us. What? I wanted to know. What?
    You’ll see, was all he would say.
    And then the expected happened. One night he and Clives were driving back from the World Famous Riverside and they had to stop at a light and that was where two men got into the cab with them. It was, of course, Gorilla Grod and Solomon Grundy. Good to see you again, Grod said, and then they beat him as best they could, given the limited space inside the cab.
    This time Oscar didn’t cry when they drove him back to the canefields. Zafra would be here soon, and the cane had grown well and thick and in places you could hear the stalks clack-clack-clacking against each other like triffids and you could hear krïyol voices lost in the night. The smell of the ripening cane was unforgettable, and there was a moon, a beautiful full moon, and Clives begged the men to spare Oscar, but they laughed. You should be worrying, Grod said, about yourself. Oscar laughed a little too through his broken mouth. Don’t worry, Clives, he said. They’re too late. Grod disagreed. Actually I would say we’re just in time. They drove past a bus stop and for a second Oscar imagined he saw his whole family