Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe Read Online Free PDF Page A

not fully comprehend. I wanted to talk, to say something, to ask questions. But I couldn’t. All the words were stuck in my throat. So I just nodded.
    I’d never thought of my father as the kind of man who understood art. I guess I saw him as an ex-Marine who became a mailman after he came home from Vietnam. An ex-Marine mailman who didn’t like to talk much.
    An ex-Marine mailman who came home from a war and had one more son. Not that I thought that I was his idea. I always thoughtit was my mother who wanted to have me. Not that I really knew whose idea my life was. I made up too many things in my head.
    I could have asked my father lots of questions. I could have. But there was something in his face and eyes and in his crooked smile that prevented me from asking. I guess I didn’t believe he wanted me to know who he was. So I just collected clues. Watching my father read that book was another clue in my collection. Some day all the clues would come together. And I would solve the mystery of my father.

Nine
    ONE DAY, AFTER SWIMMING, DANTE AND I WENT WALKING around. We stopped at the 7-Eleven. He bought a Coke and peanuts.
    I bought a PayDay.
    He offered me a drink from his Coke.
    “Don’t like Cokes,” I said.
    “That’s weird.”
    “Why?’
    “Everybody likes Cokes.”
    “I don’t.”
    “What do you like?”
    “Coffee and tea.”
    “That’s weird.
    “Okay, I’m weird. Shut up.”
    He laughed. We walked around. I guess we just didn’t want to go home. We talked about stuff. Stupid stuff. And then he asked me, “Why do Mexicans like nicknames?”
    “I don’t know. Do we?”
    “Yes. You know what my aunts call my mom? They call her Chole.”
    “Is her name Soledad?”
    “See what I mean, Ari? You know. You know the nickname for Soledad. It’s like in the air. What’s that about? Why can’t they just call her Soledad? What’s this Chole business? Where do they get Chole from?”
    “Why does it bother you so much?”
    “I don’t know. It’s weird.”
    “Is that the word of the day?”
    He laughed and downed some peanuts. “Does your mother have a nickname?”
    “Lilly. Her name’s Liliana.”
    “That’s a nice name.”
    “So is Soledad.”
    “No, not really. How would you like to be named Solitude?”
    “It can also mean lonely,” I said.
    “See? What a sad name.”
    “I don’t think it’s sad. I think it’s a beautiful name. I think it fits your mom just right.” I said.
    “Maybe so. But Sam, Sam is perfect for my dad.”
    “Yeah.”
    “What’s your Dad’s name?”
    “Jaime.”
    “I like that name.”
    “His real name’s Santiago.”
    Dante smiled. “See what I mean about the nicknames?”
    “It bothers you that you’re Mexican, doesn’t it?”
    “No.”
    I looked at him.
    “Yes, it bothers me.”
    I offered him some of my PayDay.
    He took a bite. “I don’t know,” he said.
    “Yeah,” I said. “It bothers you.”
    “You know what I think, Ari? I think Mexicans don’t like me.”
    “That’s a weird thing to say,” I said.
    “Weird,” he said.
    “Weird,” I said.

Ten
    ONE NIGHT, WHEN THERE WAS NO MOON IN THE NIGHT sky, Dante’s mom and dad took us out into the desert so we could use his new telescope. On the drive out, Dante and his dad sang along with the Beatles—not that either of them had good singing voices. Not that they cared.
    They touched a lot. A family of touchers and kissers. Every time Dante entered the house, he kissed his mom and dad on the cheek—or they kissed him—as if all that kissing was perfectly normal.
    I wondered what my father would do if I ever went up to him and kissed him on the cheek. Not that he would yell at me. But—I don’t know.
    It took us a while to drive out into the desert. Mr. Quintana seemed to know a good place where we could watch the stars.
    Somewhere away from the lights of the city.
    Light pollution. That’s what Dante called it. Dante seemed to know a great deal about light pollution.
    Mr.