As Heinrich senses that Tomas does not yet need him to be alert, the dog’s muscles relax and he pulls away from me—his fur sliding gently along my jeans—and he hurries to my brother. Tomas reaches over and hugs him and scratches behind Heinrich’s ear. The tattoo on the back of my brother’s neck—a black rose whose stem is wrapped by vinelike barbed wire—emerges from beneath his stretched T-shirt collar. He always wears a sleeveless T-shirt so people can see the tattoos along his muscled arms. The tattoos are mostly gang, Spanish, and old-lady Catholic. As he leans forward, the thin fabric of his shirt moves over his Virgin of Guadalupe tattoo that covers his back from his neck down to his pants. She wears a black robe and has deep, olive eyes. Crushed beneath her feet are the Devil’s horns.

My brother is bent over, tongue-kissing Heinrich.

Good boy.

He looks up from Heinrich and regards me. You better wash him. The client’s coming soon.

I did wash him. I washed all the dogs.

He doesn’t smell like it.

You know I did, Tomas. You saw me.

Well then maybe you’d better do a better job.

I grit my jaw. You shouldn’t complain. It’s not like you pay me.

Fine, he says. Don’t help if you don’t want to. Sit inside and watch TV all day for all I care.

He turns away, letting Heinrich trot after him. I do not want to follow him, but I do not want to go back into the house either. Finally I do come alongside the house, batting aside the overgrown old trellis vines, and emerge onto the front yard. My brother sits on the porch. He is waiting for the client, the dog scrambling around on the threadbare grass before him, chasing a worn tennis ball Tomas threw onto the street. With sunlight coming through dusty overhanging branches, the street resembles an ocean bottom beneath a sunny kelp bed.

I linger at the lawn’s edge. He ignores me for a while, then calls out, Why you standing all the way over there?

I keep my mouth closed and my arms crossed.

Stop sulking.

I’m not sulking.

Sit down. If the client sees you standing there like that he’s gonna think you’re my houseboy.

This is a lie, of course, but my face goes hot, which is what he was after. I do not want to sit after what he has just said, so I stand there for a moment. But I feel foolish, so I walk past him and enter the front door, to see if our mother needs any help inside.

II