“If you’d like.”
“You will, of course, not immediately—but the sooner, the better—take over for your grandfather.”
“What about Carlos? What about my mother, my aunts?”
“Your mother and your aunts have been provided for. Don’t spar with me, Fernando, and pretend you didn’t know that you and Carlos were going to get . . . what? . . . ‘the business.’ ”
He shrugged his admission that he had known.
“And since Carlos is not going be around very much . . .”
“Abuela,” he interrupted, “maybe . . . Grandpa’s passing ..."
“He didn’t ‘pass,’ darling. He ’died.’ ”
“Maybe Carlos will get out of the Army now.”
“That’s very unlikely, I’m afraid,” she said. “Take that as a given. Carlos will stay in the Army.”
“Why are you so sure?”
“You’re going to find out how important genetics are, my darling, as you get older. We really have no control over what we are. You have many of your father’s genes. A
nd your grandfather’s, too. You have his temper, among other things. But your father is a businessman, as was your grandfather, and you have a businessman’s genes.”
“Carlos, on the other hand, has a soldier’s genes?” he asked, almost sarcastically.
“His grandfather was a German officer. Way back on his mother’s side there were Hungarian cavalrymen, including several generals. On his father’s side, we go back to the Alamo. His great-grandfather fought, as a major, in the First World War. And his father, my darling Jorge, was a soldier who gave his life for his companions and was awarded the highest decoration the United States gives. I think it can be fairly said Carlos has a soldier’s genes.”
“I didn’t mean to sound flippant,” Fernando said.
“You did,” she said, flatly.
“Then I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want an apology; I want you to pay attention.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Over the years, I’ve had many conversations with General Naylor about Carlos. Your grandfather and I did. Your grandfather, frankly, wanted Carlos to get out of the Army when he had completed his six-year obligation—that would have been in 1996—and come home, take his place in the business, get married, and produce a son to carry on the Castillo name.”
“I understand.”
“General Naylor, who is genuinely fond of Carlos, said he didn’t think Carlos would be happy in the business not only because he’s a very good soldier but because, with the exception of you, me, and your grandfather, he never really felt part of the family.”
“Because we’re Texican?”
“You’re making it sound worse than it is,” she said. “But yes. Because he’s only half Texican. And for the same reason —he’s only half German—he could not become a German, even though he speaks the language as his mother tongue and has considerable property there. General Naylor said, and your grandfather and I came to agree, that Carlos’s family is the Army.”
“Oh, Abuela! Jesus! Can I speak frankly?”
“Please do.”
“I think Naylor’s talking bull . . . through his hat. I was an officer. I knew a lot of people for whom the Army was home. But they weren’t like Carlos.”
“Why not?”
“For one thing, they didn’t have people at home who loved them,” Fernando said. “And for another, they had nothing else to do. And for another, they didn’t have any money.”