roberto & nia

15. robert+nia

**dictionary at the bottom for all the Spanish words + phrases**

robert wakes up on the floor. it takes several moments for him to realize where he is – not his house, because all the flooring was cold, hard tile, and it always smelled like spoiled fruit in the morning because his mother placed papaya outside bedroom doors at night to ward off spirits. his head feels heavy and grey. he flickers his eyes upwards and immediately meets a gaze–and a man is there, hovering above him, a plate of in his left hand.

"get up," the man demands. his voice is foreign and heavy. robert stays down.

"get up, roberto," he says again, softer this time, and robert sits up from the ground.

"desayuno," he says, pushing the plate towards him. golden, butter-glazed toast and scrambled eggs. strawberries form a circle around the eggs and a box of milk teeters precariously on the side.

robert looks at him, gestures to the bed. his father places the plate on the bed.

"constanza made it," he continues, crossing his arms, taring at the wall behind robert's head. "in case you're worried it's poisoned. she likes you."

"she does, doesn't she," robert answers back. his father's eyes roll around like marbles in his head. whenever their eyes connect, they scatter and bounce again.

"we were talking last night. about you, mijo," he begins, staring at robert's hair now. his eyes pierce like lasers, and robert wonders, from a moment, whether it would all fall off. whether he would ever stop not-looking looking at him. he plays with strawberries to avoid his gaze. 

"she says," he continues slowly, a smirk on his face, "that you were fighting with a girl. con tu novia – catherine, ¿sí? ¿es la verdad?"

robert instinctively shuts his eyes, as if the sentence were a sharp pain in his side. his heart beats ruggedly again his chest.

his father frowns deeply at him. disappoint wafts from his expression like waves, covering robert's body, blurring his vision.

"¿es la verdad, mijo? ¡contéstame!"

robert tries to speak and his words tangle and die on his tongue. maybe catherine had altered his brain. maybe he was even more broken than he had thought, than he had feared.

his father sighs loudly, filling up the silence. he takes small steps to close the gap between them, and soon he is sitting next to robert on the bed, his hand is on his shoulder, like an anvil dropped on his bones.

"i want to help you, mijo. but you have to talk to me, ¿entiendes? you have to co-mmu-ni-cate. tell me what happened. why were you fighting? what did she do?"

and just like that: the weight has shifted. his heart slows its beat. what did she do. now what did he do.

"she hates me, papi," he says softly. the sentence reaches out from his mouth. "she says loves me but she hates me. i think–i think she's hated me for a long, long time."

there is a beat of silence between the two of them, before his father claps his shoulder twice. 

"so she's a bitch," his father says promptly. "you have a bitch for a girlfriend. you know how you deal with bitches, mijo? you know how las delarosas deal con putas who talk too much?"

his father is standing up now, walking freely around the room. robert feels sick, suddenly, like he had made a very big mistake.

"¿sabes tú, mijo?" his father asks again, a strange smile on his face. when robert says nothing, he shakes his head, kissing his teeth.

"i've been away for too long, roberto, too long," he says vaguely. "no one has taught you....we straighten then out, mijo. you pull the bitch out of them."

"what," robert says. not a question. a halt. the breath catches in his throat, rest, burns.

his father's eyes light up and shift wildly as he staggers around the room. "never enough to do serious damage...la policía are constantly waiting to lock up a brown man for disciplining his wife."

disciplining his wife. robert looks up at his father, breathing heavily, taking up too much space in the room. he can hear his mother's complaining about his father and his worthlessness, and his big house in suburbia, surrounded by white people and slick, shiny vans.

he has a gun in the basement. who does he think he is?

a man is a devil. your father is a devil, but he thinks he's God. even God can't make me quiet.

"did you...did you discipline mama?" robert asks, his voice shaking in a way that makes him forget it is his own. his father looks strangely at him.

"por supuesto, mijo. you think i'd let her hit me? you wouldn't let tu novia hit you, would you? only un puto would do that."

all the blood drains from robert's body, pooling neatly at his feet. he can feel his arms swing as dead weight, first left, then right. his legs bend painfully and straighten out beneath.

his father's face screws up tightly. "did you let tu novia hit you, roberto?"

soon enough, robert is floating away.

and then he is running, hard, fast, out of the bed room, past constanza washing dishes in the ktichen.

"geraldo, what's going on? robert, where are you–"

"¡cállate, constanza, catch him!" his father screams, his face contorted into mask of fury, red, hot blood the boy – ¡cierra la puerta!"

robert has already burst through the door, flinging the handle of his mother's car open and speeding away.

the last thing he sees is constant's face pressed against a window, his father circling behind her.

constanza, please have the power to slay a demon. dear God, protect her. kill him, if you have to. kill him, please. 

–

dictionary 

desayuno – breakfast 

mijo – my son

(tu) novia – (your) girlfriend

¿es la verdad? – is that true? 

contéstame – answer me 

 ¿entiendes? – (do you) understand? 

putas – bitches 

¿sabes tú? – do you know? 

por supuesto – of course 

¡cállate! – shut up !