THE PESO PARADOX

From the R.M. Dolin novel, “AN UNSUSTAINABLE LIFE – The Book of Issac”

Chapter 7: The Peso Paradox

Issac’s always understood but underappreciated that money is the most addictive substance known to man. It isn’t the hardest to do without, but it is the most painful to miss and the easiest to slither back to when it constantly calls. It drives decisions, influences behaviors, and causes people to forego things they love, including love. No one escapes its destructive impact, but some manage the dementia better than others. In the same way, childhoods are hard on memories because they exist in a time lacking context and replays become micro-bursts of six-word short stories. Scientists say the brain doesn’t retain memories until a person’s three, but Issac’s cognitive memories don’t reach back before nine; he doesn’t know why but is convinced he’s not suppressing trauma. In the large inventory of stories stored as memories, the characters are fixed; there’s his dad coming home in a suit or relaxing at an afternoon matinee at Wriggly with Uncle Darwin, his mom in the kitchen baking or at the park with Aunt Gwen talking on a bench while he explores his world. There’re memories of sitting at the dinner table; sometimes with the melody of laughter and other times with a tension he’s never been able to define and avoids devoting bandwidth to decipher.

Issac doesn’t recall time spent with Aunt Gwen in those early days even though she maintains a prominent role in the aftermath of his dad’s death. It’s the opposite for Uncle Darwin; he has a significant role in early memories but disappears completely in later chapters. As Issac grew older, he was necessarily influenced by his mom’s increasing bitterness cast as ever deepening shadows of darkness. Since his night at Murphy’s when angry raged at the mere suggestion Lenny’s version of the Darwin story could in any way be different from that told by his mom and constantly confirmed with equal conviction by Aunt Gwen, Issac’s been replaying his past through evolving filters. It’s why he’s awake at four in the morning examining his damaged disk-drive for clues and evidence of who to believe; he’s only conclusion so far is that he wouldn’t be having this conversation with himself now if on some subconscious level he didn’t already knows Lenny’s right.

The challenge in sorting through early memories lacking context is they also lack a logical filing system based on time, or location, or even importance; it’s like they’re swimming in a cesspool of confusion where access becomes akin to bobbing for apples. That being said, the mind has a way of ensuring some memories are more accessible than others and this morning the memory that’s bobbing to the top is one of the last ones he has of his dad and Uncle Darwin together, a memory that’s been featured so often throughout the years Issac’s dubbed it the ‘The Peso Paradox’.

It’s never been easy to reconcile this memory with a timeline of events, but his best estimate is that it was when the summer he turned ten, which means just a few months before his dad died. Like most six-word short stories, this memory doesn’t have a beginning or an end, just an in between, which sounds like buildup to a cinematic climax, but this is not that kind of story. Rather, it’s more like the ‘Deus ex Machina’, from a Baroque opera; a moral cast as divine messaging. Issac sits in the red leather chair his mom gave his dad on his first Father’s Day with reel on replay. It starts with Issac and his dad coming out of their apartment building where Uncle Darwin waits beside his vintage Harley. Vincent and Darwin are talk but Issac can’t make out what they’re saying other than Vincent needing a few hours with Ilene, so Darwin should take his time.

The problem with memories lacking context is that when random things appear they can seem so illogical you question whether they’re even a part of the memory or some abstraction that’s been edited in to explain something deeper. Case in point, why does Uncle Darwin have a Harley and where is he taking a ten-year-old? The Harley makes no sense because Uncle Darwin lives in New Mexico and no one’s riding a Harley from there to here when an airplane makes more sense. He’s always assumed Darwin rented the bike until Lenny started in his shit about how he loans Darwin a bike whenever they go for rides.

While that abstraction may be resolved compliments of Lenny; why Issac’s dad needs to be alone with Ilene remains unresolved even it seems Lenny has the key. While Issac puts on his helmet and the black biker jacket Uncle Darwin bought special for the ride, Ilene storms onto the sidewalk angry about something. Issac doesn’t know why his mom’s yelling at his dad who’s doing his best to defuse the tension as Darwin shields him with a distraction that becomes another one of those abstractions not making any sense. As the sidewalk drama escalates, Darwin hands Issac an old Mexican peso and starts explaining its history.

In those days, Darwin was more than an uncle, he was a giant, a deity who Issac admired with awe. Darwin was someone everyone has in their life, who’s interesting, exciting, and who you would go anywhere with and do anything for, just to spend time together. It’s why the drama on the sidewalk as Darwin explains the peso is secondary to Issac’s excitement about his helmet, black biker jacket, and first ever Harley ride. Issac isn’t sure if the helmet and biker jacket have metaphysical significance, but suspects if Freud were analyzing his dream masquerading as a memory, they’d represent Darwin’s efforts to protect Issac from whatever Vincent and Ilene are arguing about.

This is the unorthodox nature of memories, they drift from real to metaphysical with dream-like deliberation throwing both into abstraction and at four in the morning when trying to process all of Lenny’s shit, Issac has way too many questions challenging things he long ago answered, which is also why, Darwin’s peso is such a paradox. In his growing array of uncertainty, some things remain concrete, like Uncle Darwin always having something exciting going on, something that on multiple occasions caused his mom to cry and led to his dad telling Darwin to go while he stayed behind to work things out.

Issac vividly remembers the moment of departure; his mom and dad with their sidewalk conflict raging, Uncle Darwin running through his safety briefing and detailed instructions on riding protocols; like the proper way to mount and dismount a Harley, how to lean into curves, what to expect during accelerations, and sudden braking. Once Darwin gets him squared way on the bike, Issac remembers his dad reassures him of the fun he’ll have while reminding Darwin not to come back early. Issac remembers the moment Darwin fires up the Harley; the roar of the massive engine beneath him as it comes to life, the way each time Darwin flicked his wrist the rattle of the tail pipes would vibrate so hard and a sound so shattering it seemed they were on a rocket ship about to blast off.

As he and his uncle accelerate into their adventure, Issac looks back to the scene on the sidewalk; his mom crying, his dad doing his best to console her. As their shrinking image drifts into the distance, Issac’s overcome by the excitement of his adventure; the feel of the open air along the lake shore, the intensity of cars coming alongside as they fly down the interstate to O’Hare, things Issac has never experienced. He remembers how they found a spot by the end of the runway to watch plane land and Uncle Darwin letting him drink from the aluminum canteen he pulls from the Harley’s saddle bag; it was the kind John Wayne aways had in war movies, which was yet another thing that made his day with Uncle Darwin fantastic.

As he watches planes overhead touch-down, Issac imagines the passengers looking down, wishing they could be him and him wishing, if he had a wish, it would be to have this day never end. Watching massive planes pass over you a hundred feet in the air never gets old but eventually Uncle Darwin says there’s other places to explore. With a second safety briefing followed by further instructions, Darwin helps Issac with his helmet and black biker jacket and off they go for a ride in the country. Issac can’t say how far they go but since his memory may be a dream, it doesn’t really matter. What matters is they eventually stop at a place popular with truckers. He remembers how important he felt riding with his uncle as they pass small towns and countrysides alive with roaming livestock and neatly laid fields of corn so tall if you stepped inside, you’d be swallowed up and never come out. He remembers the fragrant smell of freshly mowed alfalfa and the way bugs smacked his helmet and bounced off his jacket. He’s never forgotten the difference between riding in a car and living on a motorcycle and wonders at four in the morning with Lenny-laced words refusing to rest, if the Harley is yet another metaphor in his memory posing as a dream.

In a promise never broken, Issac doesn’t tell anyone that Uncle Darwin lets him order chocolate milk and teaches him how to poke holes in his pancakes with a fork like the truckers do so syrup can soak in better. He never tells his mom about the other men on motorcycles who sat with them at the counter proudly showing their tattoos while telling Issac the colorful stories behind each one. He doesn’t tell her because he doesn’t want her to cry and it seems any adventurous things he does with his uncle causes her to cry.

“And there it is,” Issac confesses to himself as this sudden epiphany takes form, Lenny wasn’t talking shit that night at Murphy’s, his version really is how it really all went down. Now, the Paradox of the Peso makes sense. As they were leaving the truck stop on their motorcycle ride, Uncle Darwin explains that even though the peso is twice bigger than a quarter it only has half the value and somewhere in that was a moral Issac doesn’t remember. Uncle Darwin continues with a story Issac really doesn’t remember either, other than it has something to do with a cowboy who rides a great mustang stallion and carries a book of adventures; somehow that is all tied to his message about money and when valued for more than it’s worth leads good people to make bad decisions, sometimes directly and sometimes due to fate. The problem with such morals is that they get wasted on ten year olds and the best he could do then, and still now, is try understanding the meaning behind a cowboy with horses who loses everything he loves all at once, not because of anything he’d done, but because no matter how still you are, the world rushes around you the same way wind passes past your face as you ride a rocket engine down a country road.

Issac sometimes still will head out of town toward Wisconsin on the next untried road hoping to once again find that truck stop, falsely hoping the bikers with tattoos are there, so they can tell him if he’s correctly deciphered the Peso Paradox. Try as he might though, he’s never found the truck stop, the bikers with the wild tattoos, or the meaning of the moral Uncle Darwin tried teaching. Today though, he draws comfort from the fact that as he explains his early morning epiphany to Sara, she gets it.

“Why do you think your mom was crying?” Sara asks, only partially paying attention because she’s distracted by a road sign that reads ‘Welcome to Wisconsin, The Badger State, Forward’. “Imagine,” she laughs as they fly by, “the kind of conversations they must have had to come with a slogan as stupid as ‘Forward’.”

Issac concurs, “one comes to expect that level of stupidity from a state that brought us the Green Bay Packers.”

“Every state has their minions; we got the Okies.”

“They at least know where they’re from,” Issac jokes

Sara laughs. “Cause every Okee’s from Muskogee.”

Issac grins. “Not sure we can say Packer fans know their way home, but back to your question; no, I don’t know why mom was crying, the obvious thing would be she’s scared for my safety. A ten-year-old on a Harley is enough to blow any mom’s mind. Imagine my uncle trying that kind of shit today, child services would have is ass in jail before the tailpipes could warm.”

“Not in Texas,” Sara proudly states. “We grow our kids tough; they’re riding dirt bikes and ATVs on their own by ten. Seeing kids on Harleys isn’t odd either, but our riding season’s all year so lots of guys own bikes instead of cars.”

“Aren’t Texans are required to drive trucks with gun racks on the back?”

“Not if they’re packing heat, which pretty much is everyone.”

“And you?”

“Under the seat as we speak.”

“Whoa!” Issac says in shock. “A little context here!” He considers the implications. “I’m not certain that’s illegal in ‘The Land of Lincon’.”

“We’re not in Illinois anymore. Besides, I got conceal carry.”

Issac looks at his girlfriend in a whole new light. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“When I told dad I was moving to Chicago, he said I had to. I think his exact words were, if I can’t talk you out of going to that hellhole of a town, I’m at least sending you able to protect yourself.”

Issac looks at his Four Seasons chef in disbelief. “Who are you?”

“Travel light and unafraid,” that’s my motto. Maybe Wisconsin can use that as a warning sign for citizens crossing into Illinois.” She considers things further. “My kids will grow up riding; bikes, horses, ATVs, tractors, boats, if it has a motor, they’ll drive it. And,” she confidently adds, “they’ll know how to drive a stick.”

“Why? They don’t even make sticks anymore, do they?”

“For real men they do. Mama always says not to marry a man who can’t drive a stick – or back up a trailer. How’s your trailer-backing skills?”

“Oh look!” Issac excitedly shouts. “An outlet mall, I’m sure you’re gonna wanna stop.”

“Why?”

“Well winter’s only a few short weeks away.”

“It’s September.”

“You ain’t in Texas anymore and when winter winds get to blowing off the lake you’re gonna experience a cold even hell couldn’t conjure; not walk-in freezer cold, this shit it’ll cut through you like a knife cutting water, and it goes straight to the bone. What your mom shoulda taught you was to find a man smart enough to come in out of the cold.”

“Or better yet, one smart enough to live someplace where it don’t get cold.”

“You’re the one who came to Chicago.”

“I did choose to, I was sent. I interviewed for Four Seasons Tahiti; they say okay, then send me here. Said I need to study under Chef Mercer so I can bring Chicago flare to the islands.”

“Is Chef Mercer some kind of hotdog savant? You need to cook with Patrick, he’s a real Chicago chef, a pirate he says, and pirates know things. But as far as staying warm in winter, you need someone with entirely different skills.”

“Like you I suppose?”

“I’m just saying.”

“What if you have to back up a trailer that’s connected to a truck with a stick before you can come in out of the cold?”

“Then baby,” Issac says with a sweet smile, “we’ll have to get naked under my blanket and use body heat to survive.”

Sara laughs. “Good one. Somehow, I think mama would approve of you even if I do have to save your ass in a gun fight and drive the getaway truck.”

“With the gun rack, you don’t want to forget the gun rack or your story lacks that necessary Texas twang.”

“That is true, but now I gotta stop at this stupid outlet mall on account of ya got me all worried about winter.”

#

Early indications are it’s going to be a wicked Windy City winter; telltale signs confirm locals know it by their worried looks and the already hunching shoulders. It’s no different down at Murphy’s Northshore Bar where the faithful continue their transition from exciting Chicago Cubs baseball to Monsters of the Midway football; already wagers abound for Sunday’s home field game between the Bears and evil Green Bay Packers. It getting so crazy someone’s actually taking bets the Bears will score two touchdowns off interceptions; given the statistical unlikelihood of that, Issac had to get in on the action.

It’s hard to tell if Lenny’s learning anything from Issac when it comes to betting or if Bear’s wagers don’t pack the emotional punch, but so far, based on his Bear’s bets, he’s more apt to lead with his head than his heart. While he is a die-hard Bear’s fan and part of the Soldier Field faithful, Lenny follows Issac into getting a piece of the interception-wager, which leads Lenny to wonder if Issac’s finally come around to his way of thinking.

“I’m not apologizing,” Issac further attempts to explain. “What I’m saying is that I can see where some of what you’re saying could be true, that’s all, so don’t go reading past that.”

Lenny laughs, “You know what you are, a hedger. You hedge bets like you hedge life. You’ve already decided what I said is true, yet you sit here splitting hairs. Well kid, at the end of the day, it’s a distinction without a difference.”

Issac sets a fresh pint down deciding if there’s anything cogent in Lenny’s diatribe. “Well first of all, you’re saying it wrong; it’s a difference without distinction.”

“Says you.” Lenny wipes the foam from his face. “And what you’re saying about Darwin is definitely a distinction devoid of difference.”

Issac immediately starts to respond but just as quickly sees the silliness of it. “That pretty much sums up what I’m saying, you say shit that ain’t right, but at the same time, ain’t wrong either.”

Lenny laughs at the repartee he’s crafted, “That’s why I say what I’m saying.”

Issac knows from past interactions someone has to be the adult. “I’m getting off your clown carousel cause quite honestly; you do this shit just to screw with me.”

“I gotta do something to keep the free pours coming.”

“Be that as it may, what I was saying is that since that night when you said all your shit about breaking my uncle’s heart to be kept away, I’ve been replaying past memories and can see where some of it could be true. It don’t mean I forgive the bastard, but I can see where maybe it wasn’t all on him. Guess where I’m going is that maybe this thing between us doesn’t have to be about forgiveness anymore.” He considers the best way to state his proposal. “What I’m trying to say, is maybe next time you see him, you can pass that along.”

“Happy to kid, only-” Lenny takes a swig of beer and wipes away the foam. There’s a guy at the bar trying to get Issac’s attention but he’s not a local so Issac’s in no hurry to help.

“Only what?” Issac presses: suddenly and unexpectedly caught up in Lenny’s cliff-hanger pause.

“Something odd’s going on in New Mexico.”

The guy at the bar’s getting pissed, but that’s because he’s not listening to the mystery drama playing out on the other side of Issac. “Whatta ya mean,” Issac asks, “like some Roswell sort of shit?”

“I don’t know what that means, but Darwin was supposed to be here this week. We had plans to run over to Lafayette and catch the Boilermaker game only, he doesn’t show. Not like him to miss something so important. I call and leave multiple messages, but he hasn’t called me back. It’s not like this hasn’t happened before, so likely no need to worry, and I wouldn’t, but something just feels odd about this.”

“Excuse me!” the guy on the other side of Issac abruptly interrupts, “can I get a beer.”

“Yeah” Issac says gesturing to the other end of the bar, “go ask Murphy.” Issac can’t be bothered by customers when compelled to come back to Lenny. “Uncle Darwin was gonna be here this week?”

Lenny looks at his favorite bartender in disbelief, “that’s the part you heard?”

#

Normally Issac doesn’t see Sara after a shift, it’s too late for her and she gets up too early for him. As part of her mentoring rotation, Sara now works the morning mis en place shift where her primary responsibility is to prepare ingredients the afternoon shift uses to create evening shift entrées. Her new tasks include things like chopping vegetables, soaking meat in marinades, cutting and toasting yesterday’s bread for croutons, and making salad dressings early so the ingredients have all day to marry.

Sara’s not annoyed Issac knocks on her hotel door so much as she’s in need of context, which Issac struggles to provide because he doesn’t have a certain crisis or dramatic dilemma in need of resolution, he just needs to be with someone who understands the strange emotions gripping him. Why he should care that his Uncle Darwin missed a football game defies logic and yet, Issac’s been infected by the same eerie sense something ominous has happened that’s got Lenny all geared up. What scares Issac is that this sense is the same unsettled indescribable feeling he had the night his dad died and his mom had yet to return from New Mexico, a feeling of utter loneliness. He tries explaining this to Sara and can see she’s not getting it but thankfully, he also sees that all she needs to know is that he’s in crisis and that as much as anything is why, he now knows he loves her; not in the good-time Charley way he once loved Gabriella, but in ways beyond physical or even emotional. He stops short of believing his love for Sara is spiritual though; after suffering alongside his mom as the cancer slowly takes her, he’s abandoned thoughts of spirituality in his life. Rather, he just accepts that he profoundly loves Sara and there’s no reason to dissect that into elemental units of complex compounds.

“Of course it’s okay you came.” Sara tells him. “Your upset about something you can’t talk about and I understand. If you want to just silently sit here together that’s okay; often when I’m upset, that’s really all I need.”

“I can’t explain this unsettledness I feel. Lenny was talking shit like he always does, and I tell him that while I don’t forgive my uncle for what happened, I can sort see things from his perspective and the next thing I know, he’s going off on being worried something’s happened to my uncle and next thing I know I’m having these goofy-ass feelings of like, worry or remorse.”

“I think this is about loneliness; souls can sense a stirring, a coming together, a pulling apart. Your soul is talking, only it’s not telling you about your uncle” Sara takes Issac’s hand, she smiles softly, looking into eyes. “I was planning on talking to you today, but your soul got my message early; that’s why your here.”

Already confused, Sara’s just making it worse. “I don’t understand.”

Sara looks compassionately into Issac’s eyes. “You always knew I was only in Chicago for a mentoring rotation; we talked about it many times.” She smiles uneasily, not so much about the news, but the irony of the timing. “At the end of the month, I rotate to the George Cinq in Paris.”

Issac looks at the woman he loves in disbelief, of all the things he thought she might say, “that wasn’t even on the list.”

#

Patrick watches Issac slice lemons into half-moon disks, “You okay kid, you seem a little off.”

Issac doesn’t look up, “just got a lot going on.”

“I know it’s been tough, kid, it ain’t’ easy going from a ne’er-do-well trust-funder to a working stiff barely having two coins to rub together but I got something that’ll cheer you up. Got a call today from the Chinese poker guy, wants to host another event; says it’s a tournament, many players, multiple days, big money. I say we recruit Sara and the four of us knock this out. Of course, she has to work under my Sous Chef. Hey Santi,” Patrick shouts, “you okay if Sara works our gig?”

Santi shouts back, “Si chef.”

Patrick smiles in satisfaction, “there, everything’s set.”

“Tell me how this works; you’re a fry cook at a dive bar where Santi washes dishes and somehow you two caterer large corporate events?”

“The world belongs to hustlers’ kid, never forget that. You look at me and Santi and see a fry-cook and a dishwasher, but have you ever noticed as soon as this dive gets busy, we’re ghosts? That’s because we got our own thing going. We agree to do Murphy’s mis en place on game day and in exchange, he lets us use his kitchen when we get a gig, it’s win-win. You look at Santi and see a Mexican washing dishes, but if you look past the obvious, you see he helps me. Santi maybe didn’t go to a fancy culinary institute like Sara, but he’s mentoring under someone who did, and someday, Santi’s gonna be a damn good chef; every bit as good as anyone at Four Seasons. Here’s the deal with life kid, fancy credentials get you in the game, but it takes talent that can’t be taught to excel and Santi’s got that talent. So, what say you call Sara and ask if she wants in, this event is gonna be big and we’ll all make bank.”

Issac looks up in a way that dispells any myth Patrick might have that he’s excited about this gig. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna happen.”

“Why not kid, we both know you need the money.

“Well,” Issac struggles to say out loud what he’s been avoiding hearing himself say, “Sara and I broke up.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, what happened?”

“She’s being transferred to Paris.”

As a veteran of constant culinary change, Patrick understands the magnitude of the moment and compassionately puts his hand on Issac’s shoulder. “I’m sorry kid, I know it seems unkind, but I’ve been in Sara’s shoes many times, that’s the unfortunate nature of a culinary career. Just cause she leaves you, don’t mean she doesn’t love ya.”

“Yeah,” Issac states with complete clarity, “she just loves her career more.”

Having had this conversation before, Patrick knows what to say in these moments and is about to, when Murphy enters the kitchen from the bar, he stops by the gas range beside multiple aluminum pots boiling with steam. After a brief hesitation, he slowly makes his way over to Issac. “I’m so sorry lad, I just got the news myself and I am completely devastated

“Thanks,” Issac quietly answers.

“I mean we go through life and we all know shit like this happens, but we never are ready for it to happen to us. And the thing is lad, the longer you go in life the more you learn shit like this gonna happen to you eventually.

“Amen to that brother,” Patrick adds. “I was just telling Issac that constantly transferring to new kitchens is part of being a chef.”

Murphy looks at Patrick with perplexed confusion, “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“Sara’s leaving Chicago at the end of the month, being transferred to the Four Seasons Paris, what are you talking about?”

“Issac’s Uncle.” Murphy takes a moment to read Issac’s reactions. “You don’t know do you lad?”

“No what?” Issac asks with hesitation, born from experienced angst.

“I’m sorry lad,” Murphy says in his patentedly abrupt way, “your uncle’s dead.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”