Buenos Aires Burning
by giacomina
Gonzalo stood frozen still in Chief Maradona's office, side by side with Ángel, his partner in crime. It was the biggest prank they'd ever pulled, sending the obituary to the newspaper and Ángel was just glowing with pride. Gonzalo felt sick.
Ángel, his best friend and partner through the fire academy thought he was tough and loved to remind people of this, having lived on the street and all. Only Gonzalo knew he was only on the street for three days until an older lady took him in. With a promise of hot food and a soft bed, she led him home, put his clothes in the wash, and pushed him into the shower. It was then that he realized that in just 72 hours on the street, he was not only penniless and starving, but now completely naked in the home of the first person he'd met. Fortunately, she'd turned out to be a kind and gentle soul but then again Ángel would tell you he knew that all along. He had street smarts, remember.
At 21 years old, Gonzalo Higuaín had done everything, seen everything, and he was burnt out. Absolutely burnt completely out. He was tired of all the fire calls that were false alarms, tired of all the ambulance calls for people who weren't really sick, and tired of all the situations people got themselves into that they then expected him to get them out of. Maybe this is why he went along with Ángel's bad ideas. Or maybe he just wanted to prove that he could be bad too.
"Gonzalo, your father was an excellent fireman, as was your older brother." Gonzalo could feel his fists clench against his will. Ojo1 Maradona had to start with that right away. Maradona had a glass eye. A good one. Probably expensive. In fact, Gonzalo didn't even know which one it was; he just knew that they never quite looked in the same direction at the same time.
Maradona continued. "I don't know that you really have what it takes to be a fireman. What I do know is that you and Ángel here find nothing but trouble together." He went on, and on, like he always did leaving Gonzalo nothing to say or do except stare at his eyes and try to figure out which one he should be looking at.
"So it's settled, then. You’re being reassigned. Dismissed." Damn.
~
The River Plate Station. It was nine worlds away from the center of town while Ángel, that bastard, got to be with Gago all the way down in The Boca District. They wouldn’t see each other unless there was a 4 alarm - no, a five alarm fire. "River Plate Station. Captain Heinze's shift" he repeated to himself on the subway.
"El Chino" Heinze was born in Buenos Aires to a bad mother. A few years and countless beatings later, she gave him, or abandoned him, or sold him or something to a loving Chinese couple. Raised in the Chinese section of town, he probably would have never left his Mama's shop if not for the fire department. So here he was fighting fire in El Capital, a foreigner in his own country. Maybe that’s how he went crazy.
“He’s not crazy, Gonzalo.” Maradona had scolded. “He’s calm and regimented, which is exactly what you need.” Gonzalo’s hands clutched into fists all over again, remembering the conversation.
Captain Heinze was a good person. He was the kind of leader who could command respect with very few words - or so Gonzalo had been told. With the chance to start fresh, in a new place, not having to try to live up to Ángel, he could be a good person too. Gonzalo decided to keep a low profile, work hard, and be the type of person he wanted to be. Then, once all this calmed down, he would request a transfer to Boca. He wouldn’t even mention the obituary stunt that got him assigned here. "This is just temporary." Gonzalo reminded himself, drew a deep breath, and knocked on the door.
“!Pipita!” Gago flung open the door.
Gonzalo was confused.
“Pipita. Yes. It was a pipe right? Chief Ojo, he was killed in the library with a PIPE the paper said.” Damn. They already know. Gago, covering until he got there, was headed back to his Boca Station. “A Pipe! Oh my God we were laughing so hard. Seriously, a pipe? You’re a legend already, you know that? Legend. Here are your new River Plate Station brothers.” And now he had a new name. Pipita.
First there was Demichelis. Martín was a different type of rebel than Ángel and Gago were. While Ángel was a trickster, a prankster, a young fireman brimming with confidence, Martín was older, and not just in age. He had a quiet understanding about him. He brought the cigarette to his prematurely wrinkled lips slowly and stared straight ahead, miles into the distance. Whatever you’ve seen, he’s already been there. With firepower.
“I’m Demichelis and” he motioned to the shorter man walking up to them “this is-“
“Leo.” He had three identical pens, lined up perfectly vertically in his shirt pocket. Lionel reached out his hand “from R.. Rrr...” Díos mío the kid forgot where he’s from! Gonzalo let out a laugh. “Rosario. And yes, I stutter when I get nervous.” Damn. Martín placed a protective hand of the back of Leo’s neck.
Gonzalo looked down at his shoes - he was trying to be a good person.
Without bothering to introduce himself, Chino Heinze put an arm across his shoulders and started walking him deeper into the station. Engine rotation today... ambulance tomorrow... bunk on the left... partner is Radamel García - call him Falcao.
Radamel Falcao García.
He repeated the name in his head. Falcao with the deep, dark, expressionless eyes. Falcao is a good fireman. Falcao’s from a Caribbean town. Falcao believes in magic. Fernando Gago told him everything about these guys. Falcao has deep, dark, expressionless eyes. Gago forgot to tell him that. Gonzalo slapped his own cheeks. He was a temporary partner.
~
Gonzalo stepped out of his gear after their first call hung it in his locker. Still being the middle of the night, he stumbled toward the bunkroom only to feel a strong hand grip the front of his neck and force him against the wall. He gasped what breath he could. Martín stared into his eyes while pressing him against the wall and pressing something hard against his ribs. “We usually initiate new guys around here. Your partner is the one in charge of your “welcome” but this time he wants to do it himself.” Gonzalo heard about poor Kun, interrogated about protocol and whipped with his own belt- if you believed Ángel’s story- and that was just the beginning. Martín’s grip tightened and Gonzalo couldn’t talk back even if he wanted to. “I will be watching you.” As Martín stepped away, Gonzalo rubbed a hand across the front of his neck and turned it from side to side. Suddenly preoccupied with ideas of Falcao, he barely noticed Leo straightening his uniform shirt and explaining that Martín would have his back in a fire and that was all that really mattered. Among a few clicks and restarts, Leo spit the comforting words out. Gonzalo nodded, coolly he thought, and dropped down on his bunk.
One Month Later
Gonzalo fell into his rhythm at his new home station. He threw his pesos into the can in the kitchen for Leo. The kid liked to cook and he was good at it. The others were obligated to toss some cash in the coffee can and Leo was the unofficial chef. If Leo was one thing, it was meticulous. He knew all the recipes in his head, but he would measure out spices or even water like a chemist - down to the very drop.
Gonzalo came in the morning, checked the trucks with Falcao, made his bunk, brewed coffee, and sat down with the paper. He’d learned his crew’s idiosyncrasies just like he’d learned that Falcao liked to talk. A lot. Especially about his country.
"Allie Fox. You've heard of him, right?"
Gonzalo, not wanting to engage, simply raised his eyebrows before his next sip of coffee.
"Famous inventor? No?"
It was hopeless. He was engaged in the story now. And what did Falcao's famous inventor invent? Ice. Yes, ice.
"How'd he do that, Falcao?"
"He invented this machine in the jungle."
With a machine! Of course. Gonzalo went back to his paper.
~
Their first pediatric ambulance call together was one for a 5 year old with burns. Gonzalo dropped his head into his hand. “I hate kids!” No, he didn’t hate kids, he had to explain to a shocked Falcao. He loved them - and the thought of a child being hurt just made him shiver. He hated calls with kids, that’s what he hated. Gonzalo would drive the ambulance for this one and let Falcao take care of things in the back. When Gonzalo opened the ambulance door at the entrance to the hospital, the boy, with bandages around his head and over one eye, announced he was “a pirate!” Gonzalo had to smile at Falcao’s handiwork. The kid would be ok.
That night, Falcao laid a stack of cookies in front of the little Buddha next to Chino Heinze’s bunk. “Respect your Captain.” He winked. Gonzalo wasn’t sure if Falcao believed in the teachings, or was just superstitious. Well, all firemen are superstitious anyway. Gonzalo left his apple.
If Heinze noticed, he never said anything.
Another Month Later
“There’s palm trees...”
"Why don't you go back, Falcao?" Martín's tone was dry and flat. "You talk incessantly of home but you never go back even for a visit." It was the first time Gonzalo had ever seen him at a loss for words. His mouth hung open like a fish.
"It has to be the people, right?" Gonzalo tried to help the man out. "You're here because of the people."
"Of course it's the people." Falcao cut him off with a wave of the hand. "You all would let this city burn to the ground if not for me." He turned in early that night. When Martín and Leo went out on an ambulance call, he walked into the bunk room and sat next to Falcao's bunk. The contrast of his skin against the navy wool blanket caught his eye. He could see the blue veins twisting among tendons and bones in the back of his hand. Falcao had the hands of an old man and Gonzalo wondered what they held on to. Something changed in that moment. Falcao already was a good man; he was just trying to make it in the world. Gonzalo reached out.
That fast, Falcao's eyes were open and Gonzalo was caught staring.
"Pipita?"
Damn. Say something. "It is the people. You don't have anyone up there to go back to, do you?" It was the second time Gonzalo saw pain flash across his face and leave him at a loss for words. Damn. He was trying to be understanding. Falcao stared at him not with the ashen eyes of someone recalling the painful past, but with the hollow eyes of someone still burning from it.
"Don't answer that." Gonzalo laid a hand on him. "Stay here with me."
"It's beautiful, Gonza." He shouldn't have touched him like that, on the bare skin of his abdomen. "There's palm trees..."
"Stay here with me." He couldn't stand seeing him hurt.
"I'll take you sometime..."
"Sometime. Now, stay here with me." He whispered close in his ear. "Home doesn't have to be a place."
He knew he shouldn't have kissed him then. Not even on the cheek. Kick a man when he's down... Kiss a man when he's down... What's the difference, really?
~
“Martín lost his partner once.” Leo confided in him that night. Six or seven years ago, after a fire was out, Martín’s partner Mauro climbed up a ladder and jumped into a window to check the upper story for any remaining hot spots. The floor, damaged by the fire and all the water, gave way and he fell straight through into the basement. “He was crushed.” Leo whispered. Gonzalo’s eyes widened. Every fireman knew you were supposed to take your axe and tap it on the floor to make sure it’s sturdy before stepping down. Leo answered his unspoken question. “Yeah, everyone knows you have to sound the floor first, but who among us has done it every time - I mean every single time?” Guilty.
Apparently Martín never truly recovered from that. He had to do every little thing by the book every single time. He was the only one who’d ever requested to work under Chino Heinze and Gonzalo understood how he and meticulous Leo, different as they were from each other, could made good partners.
“Meticulous?” Falcao laughed the next morning. “Well, that’s putting it softly. He’s more at ease talking to you now. Did you notice that?” Gonzalo hadn’t, but he noticed it now and it pleased him.
The word cold doesn’t even do it justice. It was freezing. Frigid. Arctic. Gonzalo groaned as soon as the station alarm rang because he knew it was a cold night to fight a fire. The water flowed through their hydrants and hoses and after the heat from the fire itself died down, everything started to get covered in a fine coating of ice. The restaurant? Ice. Their tools? Ice. The ground in front of the restaurant? A brand new ice-skating rink.
It wasn’t long before Gonzalo’s fingers and toes started to ache with cold and then steadily burn as he worked in the water. He and poor Caribbean Falcao held onto the hose and tried to advance it, but as soon as one of them would catch his footing, the other would slip. How many times did Gonzalo fall? He doesn’t know. That’s how many. When Falcao tried to pick up an ice-covered axe with ice-covered gloves, Capt. Heinze had seen enough. They finished fighting the fire from the outside and they were there the rest of the night.
Gonzalo’s hands, feet, and ears were fully numb by the time they returned to station well after the end of their shift. He started rolling hose only to have Martín stop him with a hand to the chest. He nodded him toward the door in a gesture of approval and weary smile. “Go home.”
“Why don’t you come home with me?”
Gonzalo was caught off guard by Falcao’s suggestion. “Think about it, Pipita. In the time it would take you to get to the subway, you could be around the corner at my place standing under a steaming hot shower.” Gonzalo paused. He wanted to stand his exhausted body under a hot shower so badly right now. It was just around the corner. They had to be back in the morning anyway. Falcao had empanadas. Done. It would be a chance to know him a little better anyway, since they were partners for now.
“Ok Falcao, tell me about your palm trees and the hot sunny weather.” They stepped back out into the cold.
“When I was a kid you could walk down the beach. You’d have to walk for a really long time, until the sun beat down on your shoulders and made your skin tingle. Then you’d keep walking ‘til you got to the end of the beach.”
“The end of the beach?” They got to Falcao’s door.
“Yes, that’s where the gypsy lived.” Falcao was dead serious. He continued his story, turned on the water right away, and motioned for Gonzalo to get in. “He had this flying carpet and for 20 centavos he’d take you on a ride-“
“I can't make you wait while I go first. There’s no one here to judge you.” Gonza smiled. “Get in here with me.” And so it happened. They were there, together, with hot water splashing down over bruised elbows and hips, with numb hands and feet burning back awake. Gonzalo pulled Falcao’s body close to him and held him there.
“Old man Gorosito thought he should do something more productive with his carpet - not just go joy riding. But, for us kids-“
Gonzalo leaned down and brushed against his lips ever so slightly. Adoring the silence he’d created, he leaned down again, with more determination this time, parting his lips with his own and continuing until Falcao had his arms gripping around his back and was matching his intensity. It took Falcao with his expert hands only 0.33 seconds to turn Gonzalo around and press his freezing, burning, numb, hot body against the cool tiles. He laid kisses from the base of his spine, up each little bone, until his reached the back of his neck. Pressing his chest against his wet back, he whispered into his ear “I still haven’t given you a proper “welcome” to River, you know.” He continued his kisses over Gonzalo’s ear.
Growing harder by the second against the tile wall, Gonzalo gasped out, “do it now!” He pushed his hips vulgarly back toward his host. With a lustful lack of hesitation, Falcao drove into him, leaving Gonzalo groaning and arching his back, begging for more.
Two Months Later
His truck was checked. His bunk was made. His coffee was brewing... brewing... And the alarm went off.
River Station, Palermo Station, respond to Avenida Del Libertador 14257 - apartment fire - bystanders reporting smoke showing - possibly four children entrapped.
Gonzalo jumped into his gear, leapt into the engine, and started pulling on his air pack and mask while his heart pounded in his chest.
As he and Falcao reached the second floor on their search, the hot room felt like an oven despite their protective gear. The smoke was heavy and they dropped to their hands and knees. Gonzalo kept one hand on the wall to stay oriented. Falcao kept one hand on Gonzalo’s ankle and reached with the other toward the center of the room, searching with his arm since he had no visibility.
Maybe he was hasty knowing it was kids, or maybe he was just focused, but when Gonzalo’s air pack got down to a quarter tank, he never heard it alarm. The next thing he knew, he tried to take a breath, but his mask sucked hard to his face with no more air. Panicking, he slapped Falcao on the shoulder twice and scrambled for the stairs. At the bottom of the stairwell it was still smoky, but at least it wasn’t hot. He ripped off his mask, took a smoke-filled breath, and immediately his eyes started to burn and his head spun. He lunged in what he thought was the direction of the front door only to pulled the opposite way. Somehow, somehow, that was the way out and he was laying facedown on the grass, coughing in clean air, and clutching the dear green earth having never in his life been so grateful to lay against it.
Gonzalo opened his eyes again to see the ceiling of an ambulance. Damn. He had an oxygen mask on his face, a blood pressure cuff around his arm, and EKG wires stuck to his bare chest. With his eyes, he traced an IV line from the tender, soft side of his elbow up to ... Ángel.
“Gonza! It’s about time you recognized your old partner.” He reached for the oxygen mask only to have Ángel’s hand cover his own. “Keep this on, Pipita, you’re going to need it a while longer.” Falcao opened the back door and stuck his head in.
“Awake Gonza?”
“There were kids.”
“You and your thing with kids” Ángel shook his head. “They all got out, Pipa. Hey, did you hear from Maradona on that transfer request yet? We got Captain Forlán to talk to Captain Heinze for you. Heinze put in a good word.”
Gonzalo couldn’t see Falcao’s face fall or his heart start to rip, but Ángel did. He knew all too well what that feeling looked like and all too well what that feeling felt like. Falcao was at a loss for words. Ángel motioned for Gago to start to drive and reached out to close the back door.
Gonzalo coughed again and his lungs still burned. He saw flashes of Falcao, meticulous Leo, weathered Martín, Chino Heinze, and Falcao, God Falc- He felt sick. “No, Ché. River’s my home now.” He closed his eyes again. “Es un sentimiento.”
“Oh you’re going to miss out, brother. We already have our next prank planned. When Capt. Forlán goes for his-” Ángel’s eyes lit up but Gonzalo was a different man now. He stopped. “It doesn’t matter. You know that dark haired kid?... Falcao?-“
“My partner.”
Ángel took his hands. “That’s who pulled you out of that building today.”
Later that night
Gonzalo let his weary body fall down onto Falcao’s bed for the second time in his life. He was glad his partner refused to let him go home by himself and pulled him down onto the bed to be near him.
“You’re transferring out, Pipita?”
“That was the plan. . . . I never sent it in.” Gonzalo smiled through the exhaustion and wrapped his arms around him. He could feel Falcao’s body relax and could almost see him smile despite his closed eyes.
“And you thought I was just going to be a temporary partner!” Falcao laid tender kisses over each of his eyelids. “Do you know what today is? April 20th." Gonzalo held still for him to continue.
"April 20th? No?" He imagined the sparkle in his eye.
"It’s the day The Solomon landed in Santa Marta.” He laid a soft kiss over Gonzalo’s lips. “Pirates, Gonzalo! And it didn’t go well for them either.” Gonzalo could feel his own body relax, spellbound by Falcao’s master storytelling. “Every April 20th, Old Man Gorosito would round up all us kids with his knobby cane and take us down to the docks at sundown. Then, every year, the ghost ship Solomon would sail in through the fog with all its lights in all its glory, searching in vain again for the triumph that escaped it. Gorosito was the only one with eyes old enough to see it, but he would describe to us what was happening while the pirates jumped from the massive ship to storm the beach. You could smell it - the sweat, the rum. And, you could feel it, Gonza. If you closed your eyes, you could feel their cold ghost hands brushing your shoulder as they scrambled past-“
Yes, Gonzalo decided. He was home.
1. Ojo - Eyeball.
2. Gonzalo the character is, by design, flawed. His views represent neither the truth nor the author’s views.
3. Falcao’s stories were inspired by his Grandma. She was inspired by Gabriel García Marquez and Paul Theroux.
Gonzalo stood frozen still in Chief Maradona's office, side by side with Ángel, his partner in crime. It was the biggest prank they'd ever pulled, sending the obituary to the newspaper and Ángel was just glowing with pride. Gonzalo felt sick.
Ángel, his best friend and partner through the fire academy thought he was tough and loved to remind people of this, having lived on the street and all. Only Gonzalo knew he was only on the street for three days until an older lady took him in. With a promise of hot food and a soft bed, she led him home, put his clothes in the wash, and pushed him into the shower. It was then that he realized that in just 72 hours on the street, he was not only penniless and starving, but now completely naked in the home of the first person he'd met. Fortunately, she'd turned out to be a kind and gentle soul but then again Ángel would tell you he knew that all along. He had street smarts, remember.
At 21 years old, Gonzalo Higuaín had done everything, seen everything, and he was burnt out. Absolutely burnt completely out. He was tired of all the fire calls that were false alarms, tired of all the ambulance calls for people who weren't really sick, and tired of all the situations people got themselves into that they then expected him to get them out of. Maybe this is why he went along with Ángel's bad ideas. Or maybe he just wanted to prove that he could be bad too.
"Gonzalo, your father was an excellent fireman, as was your older brother." Gonzalo could feel his fists clench against his will. Ojo1 Maradona had to start with that right away. Maradona had a glass eye. A good one. Probably expensive. In fact, Gonzalo didn't even know which one it was; he just knew that they never quite looked in the same direction at the same time.
Maradona continued. "I don't know that you really have what it takes to be a fireman. What I do know is that you and Ángel here find nothing but trouble together." He went on, and on, like he always did leaving Gonzalo nothing to say or do except stare at his eyes and try to figure out which one he should be looking at.
"So it's settled, then. You’re being reassigned. Dismissed." Damn.
~
The River Plate Station. It was nine worlds away from the center of town while Ángel, that bastard, got to be with Gago all the way down in The Boca District. They wouldn’t see each other unless there was a 4 alarm - no, a five alarm fire. "River Plate Station. Captain Heinze's shift" he repeated to himself on the subway.
"El Chino" Heinze was born in Buenos Aires to a bad mother. A few years and countless beatings later, she gave him, or abandoned him, or sold him or something to a loving Chinese couple. Raised in the Chinese section of town, he probably would have never left his Mama's shop if not for the fire department. So here he was fighting fire in El Capital, a foreigner in his own country. Maybe that’s how he went crazy.
“He’s not crazy, Gonzalo.” Maradona had scolded. “He’s calm and regimented, which is exactly what you need.” Gonzalo’s hands clutched into fists all over again, remembering the conversation.
Captain Heinze was a good person. He was the kind of leader who could command respect with very few words - or so Gonzalo had been told. With the chance to start fresh, in a new place, not having to try to live up to Ángel, he could be a good person too. Gonzalo decided to keep a low profile, work hard, and be the type of person he wanted to be. Then, once all this calmed down, he would request a transfer to Boca. He wouldn’t even mention the obituary stunt that got him assigned here. "This is just temporary." Gonzalo reminded himself, drew a deep breath, and knocked on the door.
“!Pipita!” Gago flung open the door.
Gonzalo was confused.
“Pipita. Yes. It was a pipe right? Chief Ojo, he was killed in the library with a PIPE the paper said.” Damn. They already know. Gago, covering until he got there, was headed back to his Boca Station. “A Pipe! Oh my God we were laughing so hard. Seriously, a pipe? You’re a legend already, you know that? Legend. Here are your new River Plate Station brothers.” And now he had a new name. Pipita.
First there was Demichelis. Martín was a different type of rebel than Ángel and Gago were. While Ángel was a trickster, a prankster, a young fireman brimming with confidence, Martín was older, and not just in age. He had a quiet understanding about him. He brought the cigarette to his prematurely wrinkled lips slowly and stared straight ahead, miles into the distance. Whatever you’ve seen, he’s already been there. With firepower.
“I’m Demichelis and” he motioned to the shorter man walking up to them “this is-“
“Leo.” He had three identical pens, lined up perfectly vertically in his shirt pocket. Lionel reached out his hand “from R.. Rrr...” Díos mío the kid forgot where he’s from! Gonzalo let out a laugh. “Rosario. And yes, I stutter when I get nervous.” Damn. Martín placed a protective hand of the back of Leo’s neck.
Gonzalo looked down at his shoes - he was trying to be a good person.
Without bothering to introduce himself, Chino Heinze put an arm across his shoulders and started walking him deeper into the station. Engine rotation today... ambulance tomorrow... bunk on the left... partner is Radamel García - call him Falcao.
Radamel Falcao García.
He repeated the name in his head. Falcao with the deep, dark, expressionless eyes. Falcao is a good fireman. Falcao’s from a Caribbean town. Falcao believes in magic. Fernando Gago told him everything about these guys. Falcao has deep, dark, expressionless eyes. Gago forgot to tell him that. Gonzalo slapped his own cheeks. He was a temporary partner.
~
Gonzalo stepped out of his gear after their first call hung it in his locker. Still being the middle of the night, he stumbled toward the bunkroom only to feel a strong hand grip the front of his neck and force him against the wall. He gasped what breath he could. Martín stared into his eyes while pressing him against the wall and pressing something hard against his ribs. “We usually initiate new guys around here. Your partner is the one in charge of your “welcome” but this time he wants to do it himself.” Gonzalo heard about poor Kun, interrogated about protocol and whipped with his own belt- if you believed Ángel’s story- and that was just the beginning. Martín’s grip tightened and Gonzalo couldn’t talk back even if he wanted to. “I will be watching you.” As Martín stepped away, Gonzalo rubbed a hand across the front of his neck and turned it from side to side. Suddenly preoccupied with ideas of Falcao, he barely noticed Leo straightening his uniform shirt and explaining that Martín would have his back in a fire and that was all that really mattered. Among a few clicks and restarts, Leo spit the comforting words out. Gonzalo nodded, coolly he thought, and dropped down on his bunk.
One Month Later
Gonzalo fell into his rhythm at his new home station. He threw his pesos into the can in the kitchen for Leo. The kid liked to cook and he was good at it. The others were obligated to toss some cash in the coffee can and Leo was the unofficial chef. If Leo was one thing, it was meticulous. He knew all the recipes in his head, but he would measure out spices or even water like a chemist - down to the very drop.
Gonzalo came in the morning, checked the trucks with Falcao, made his bunk, brewed coffee, and sat down with the paper. He’d learned his crew’s idiosyncrasies just like he’d learned that Falcao liked to talk. A lot. Especially about his country.
"Allie Fox. You've heard of him, right?"
Gonzalo, not wanting to engage, simply raised his eyebrows before his next sip of coffee.
"Famous inventor? No?"
It was hopeless. He was engaged in the story now. And what did Falcao's famous inventor invent? Ice. Yes, ice.
"How'd he do that, Falcao?"
"He invented this machine in the jungle."
With a machine! Of course. Gonzalo went back to his paper.
~
Their first pediatric ambulance call together was one for a 5 year old with burns. Gonzalo dropped his head into his hand. “I hate kids!” No, he didn’t hate kids, he had to explain to a shocked Falcao. He loved them - and the thought of a child being hurt just made him shiver. He hated calls with kids, that’s what he hated. Gonzalo would drive the ambulance for this one and let Falcao take care of things in the back. When Gonzalo opened the ambulance door at the entrance to the hospital, the boy, with bandages around his head and over one eye, announced he was “a pirate!” Gonzalo had to smile at Falcao’s handiwork. The kid would be ok.
That night, Falcao laid a stack of cookies in front of the little Buddha next to Chino Heinze’s bunk. “Respect your Captain.” He winked. Gonzalo wasn’t sure if Falcao believed in the teachings, or was just superstitious. Well, all firemen are superstitious anyway. Gonzalo left his apple.
If Heinze noticed, he never said anything.
Another Month Later
“There’s palm trees...”
"Why don't you go back, Falcao?" Martín's tone was dry and flat. "You talk incessantly of home but you never go back even for a visit." It was the first time Gonzalo had ever seen him at a loss for words. His mouth hung open like a fish.
"It has to be the people, right?" Gonzalo tried to help the man out. "You're here because of the people."
"Of course it's the people." Falcao cut him off with a wave of the hand. "You all would let this city burn to the ground if not for me." He turned in early that night. When Martín and Leo went out on an ambulance call, he walked into the bunk room and sat next to Falcao's bunk. The contrast of his skin against the navy wool blanket caught his eye. He could see the blue veins twisting among tendons and bones in the back of his hand. Falcao had the hands of an old man and Gonzalo wondered what they held on to. Something changed in that moment. Falcao already was a good man; he was just trying to make it in the world. Gonzalo reached out.
That fast, Falcao's eyes were open and Gonzalo was caught staring.
"Pipita?"
Damn. Say something. "It is the people. You don't have anyone up there to go back to, do you?" It was the second time Gonzalo saw pain flash across his face and leave him at a loss for words. Damn. He was trying to be understanding. Falcao stared at him not with the ashen eyes of someone recalling the painful past, but with the hollow eyes of someone still burning from it.
"Don't answer that." Gonzalo laid a hand on him. "Stay here with me."
"It's beautiful, Gonza." He shouldn't have touched him like that, on the bare skin of his abdomen. "There's palm trees..."
"Stay here with me." He couldn't stand seeing him hurt.
"I'll take you sometime..."
"Sometime. Now, stay here with me." He whispered close in his ear. "Home doesn't have to be a place."
He knew he shouldn't have kissed him then. Not even on the cheek. Kick a man when he's down... Kiss a man when he's down... What's the difference, really?
~
“Martín lost his partner once.” Leo confided in him that night. Six or seven years ago, after a fire was out, Martín’s partner Mauro climbed up a ladder and jumped into a window to check the upper story for any remaining hot spots. The floor, damaged by the fire and all the water, gave way and he fell straight through into the basement. “He was crushed.” Leo whispered. Gonzalo’s eyes widened. Every fireman knew you were supposed to take your axe and tap it on the floor to make sure it’s sturdy before stepping down. Leo answered his unspoken question. “Yeah, everyone knows you have to sound the floor first, but who among us has done it every time - I mean every single time?” Guilty.
Apparently Martín never truly recovered from that. He had to do every little thing by the book every single time. He was the only one who’d ever requested to work under Chino Heinze and Gonzalo understood how he and meticulous Leo, different as they were from each other, could made good partners.
“Meticulous?” Falcao laughed the next morning. “Well, that’s putting it softly. He’s more at ease talking to you now. Did you notice that?” Gonzalo hadn’t, but he noticed it now and it pleased him.
The word cold doesn’t even do it justice. It was freezing. Frigid. Arctic. Gonzalo groaned as soon as the station alarm rang because he knew it was a cold night to fight a fire. The water flowed through their hydrants and hoses and after the heat from the fire itself died down, everything started to get covered in a fine coating of ice. The restaurant? Ice. Their tools? Ice. The ground in front of the restaurant? A brand new ice-skating rink.
It wasn’t long before Gonzalo’s fingers and toes started to ache with cold and then steadily burn as he worked in the water. He and poor Caribbean Falcao held onto the hose and tried to advance it, but as soon as one of them would catch his footing, the other would slip. How many times did Gonzalo fall? He doesn’t know. That’s how many. When Falcao tried to pick up an ice-covered axe with ice-covered gloves, Capt. Heinze had seen enough. They finished fighting the fire from the outside and they were there the rest of the night.
Gonzalo’s hands, feet, and ears were fully numb by the time they returned to station well after the end of their shift. He started rolling hose only to have Martín stop him with a hand to the chest. He nodded him toward the door in a gesture of approval and weary smile. “Go home.”
“Why don’t you come home with me?”
Gonzalo was caught off guard by Falcao’s suggestion. “Think about it, Pipita. In the time it would take you to get to the subway, you could be around the corner at my place standing under a steaming hot shower.” Gonzalo paused. He wanted to stand his exhausted body under a hot shower so badly right now. It was just around the corner. They had to be back in the morning anyway. Falcao had empanadas. Done. It would be a chance to know him a little better anyway, since they were partners for now.
“Ok Falcao, tell me about your palm trees and the hot sunny weather.” They stepped back out into the cold.
“When I was a kid you could walk down the beach. You’d have to walk for a really long time, until the sun beat down on your shoulders and made your skin tingle. Then you’d keep walking ‘til you got to the end of the beach.”
“The end of the beach?” They got to Falcao’s door.
“Yes, that’s where the gypsy lived.” Falcao was dead serious. He continued his story, turned on the water right away, and motioned for Gonzalo to get in. “He had this flying carpet and for 20 centavos he’d take you on a ride-“
“I can't make you wait while I go first. There’s no one here to judge you.” Gonza smiled. “Get in here with me.” And so it happened. They were there, together, with hot water splashing down over bruised elbows and hips, with numb hands and feet burning back awake. Gonzalo pulled Falcao’s body close to him and held him there.
“Old man Gorosito thought he should do something more productive with his carpet - not just go joy riding. But, for us kids-“
Gonzalo leaned down and brushed against his lips ever so slightly. Adoring the silence he’d created, he leaned down again, with more determination this time, parting his lips with his own and continuing until Falcao had his arms gripping around his back and was matching his intensity. It took Falcao with his expert hands only 0.33 seconds to turn Gonzalo around and press his freezing, burning, numb, hot body against the cool tiles. He laid kisses from the base of his spine, up each little bone, until his reached the back of his neck. Pressing his chest against his wet back, he whispered into his ear “I still haven’t given you a proper “welcome” to River, you know.” He continued his kisses over Gonzalo’s ear.
Growing harder by the second against the tile wall, Gonzalo gasped out, “do it now!” He pushed his hips vulgarly back toward his host. With a lustful lack of hesitation, Falcao drove into him, leaving Gonzalo groaning and arching his back, begging for more.
Two Months Later
His truck was checked. His bunk was made. His coffee was brewing... brewing... And the alarm went off.
River Station, Palermo Station, respond to Avenida Del Libertador 14257 - apartment fire - bystanders reporting smoke showing - possibly four children entrapped.
Gonzalo jumped into his gear, leapt into the engine, and started pulling on his air pack and mask while his heart pounded in his chest.
As he and Falcao reached the second floor on their search, the hot room felt like an oven despite their protective gear. The smoke was heavy and they dropped to their hands and knees. Gonzalo kept one hand on the wall to stay oriented. Falcao kept one hand on Gonzalo’s ankle and reached with the other toward the center of the room, searching with his arm since he had no visibility.
Maybe he was hasty knowing it was kids, or maybe he was just focused, but when Gonzalo’s air pack got down to a quarter tank, he never heard it alarm. The next thing he knew, he tried to take a breath, but his mask sucked hard to his face with no more air. Panicking, he slapped Falcao on the shoulder twice and scrambled for the stairs. At the bottom of the stairwell it was still smoky, but at least it wasn’t hot. He ripped off his mask, took a smoke-filled breath, and immediately his eyes started to burn and his head spun. He lunged in what he thought was the direction of the front door only to pulled the opposite way. Somehow, somehow, that was the way out and he was laying facedown on the grass, coughing in clean air, and clutching the dear green earth having never in his life been so grateful to lay against it.
Gonzalo opened his eyes again to see the ceiling of an ambulance. Damn. He had an oxygen mask on his face, a blood pressure cuff around his arm, and EKG wires stuck to his bare chest. With his eyes, he traced an IV line from the tender, soft side of his elbow up to ... Ángel.
“Gonza! It’s about time you recognized your old partner.” He reached for the oxygen mask only to have Ángel’s hand cover his own. “Keep this on, Pipita, you’re going to need it a while longer.” Falcao opened the back door and stuck his head in.
“Awake Gonza?”
“There were kids.”
“You and your thing with kids” Ángel shook his head. “They all got out, Pipa. Hey, did you hear from Maradona on that transfer request yet? We got Captain Forlán to talk to Captain Heinze for you. Heinze put in a good word.”
Gonzalo couldn’t see Falcao’s face fall or his heart start to rip, but Ángel did. He knew all too well what that feeling looked like and all too well what that feeling felt like. Falcao was at a loss for words. Ángel motioned for Gago to start to drive and reached out to close the back door.
Gonzalo coughed again and his lungs still burned. He saw flashes of Falcao, meticulous Leo, weathered Martín, Chino Heinze, and Falcao, God Falc- He felt sick. “No, Ché. River’s my home now.” He closed his eyes again. “Es un sentimiento.”
“Oh you’re going to miss out, brother. We already have our next prank planned. When Capt. Forlán goes for his-” Ángel’s eyes lit up but Gonzalo was a different man now. He stopped. “It doesn’t matter. You know that dark haired kid?... Falcao?-“
“My partner.”
Ángel took his hands. “That’s who pulled you out of that building today.”
Later that night
Gonzalo let his weary body fall down onto Falcao’s bed for the second time in his life. He was glad his partner refused to let him go home by himself and pulled him down onto the bed to be near him.
“You’re transferring out, Pipita?”
“That was the plan. . . . I never sent it in.” Gonzalo smiled through the exhaustion and wrapped his arms around him. He could feel Falcao’s body relax and could almost see him smile despite his closed eyes.
“And you thought I was just going to be a temporary partner!” Falcao laid tender kisses over each of his eyelids. “Do you know what today is? April 20th." Gonzalo held still for him to continue.
"April 20th? No?" He imagined the sparkle in his eye.
"It’s the day The Solomon landed in Santa Marta.” He laid a soft kiss over Gonzalo’s lips. “Pirates, Gonzalo! And it didn’t go well for them either.” Gonzalo could feel his own body relax, spellbound by Falcao’s master storytelling. “Every April 20th, Old Man Gorosito would round up all us kids with his knobby cane and take us down to the docks at sundown. Then, every year, the ghost ship Solomon would sail in through the fog with all its lights in all its glory, searching in vain again for the triumph that escaped it. Gorosito was the only one with eyes old enough to see it, but he would describe to us what was happening while the pirates jumped from the massive ship to storm the beach. You could smell it - the sweat, the rum. And, you could feel it, Gonza. If you closed your eyes, you could feel their cold ghost hands brushing your shoulder as they scrambled past-“
Yes, Gonzalo decided. He was home.
1. Ojo - Eyeball.
2. Gonzalo the character is, by design, flawed. His views represent neither the truth nor the author’s views.
3. Falcao’s stories were inspired by his Grandma. She was inspired by Gabriel García Marquez and Paul Theroux.