The Heirs of Nothing
Although the café was closed to the public, it was still full. Despite the late hour, our family was there celebrating my sister Maria’s birthday. Instead of an impressive, big party like the one in Hungary, it was simply a small family gathering this time. The reason we chose such a late hour to celebrate was simple: my mother wanted to make a video call so our grandmother could see the celebration. While it was almost midnight here, it was 8 in the morning in Costa Rica.
My grandmother was surprised to see Maria and Adelis surrounded by so many girls, but my mother convinced her that they were the employees of her restaurant celebrating with her. I obviously didn't appear on the video call for my own reasons, but I was the one holding the phone and recording everything. Luckily, my grandmother never asked who the cameraman was.
After we lit the candles and sang "Happy Birthday," Maria took the phone to speak privately with her grandparents for a moment. She had always been very close to them. That's not like me with my grandfather. I've already had a couple of problems with him in the past, and I believe my transition to a girl has only made things worse, to the point of no return.
My grandfather, Florencio del Castillo, was nicknamed "El Se?or Mencho" by everyone, and he earned the title "Se?or" out of respect. He is another person who could only be described as a survivor and the true hero of our family. Just as my life has been full of chaotic adventures, he was surrounded by challenges that would have crushed anyone with a weak soul. He may never have slain dragons or served in the army, but he certainly faced his share of hardships. They say he was a gentleman from an earlier time, one of those who, through their work, helped keep the world turning until today.
Born during World War II, after the attack on Pearl Harbor, the country had no choice but to declare war on the Axis powers. Although Costa Rica did not experience direct combat, it was certainly involved in the war economy and logistics, helping the USA however it could—with food, steel, troop transport, or armaments. The situation inside the country during that time was far from ideal. In trying to help foreigners, they offered them our food, leaving us with almost nothing. My grandfather’s family was hit especially hard by that difficult period. Born to parents who didn't want him, he was the fifth child of someone who already had nothing. From a young age, he knew he had to work to survive, having seen a brother die of hunger despite his efforts to help. He began working on coffee plantations in the mountains before he was old enough to attend school, twelve hours of child labor every day. It was there that he also learned that the mountains were dangerous when he witnessed another brother die from a coral snake bite. According to my grandfather, once the snake bit, there was no hope; the hospital was more than two days away by horseback, and the venom killed within hours. He watched his brother die in the living room of their home.
Angry with his parents and blaming them for his siblings’ deaths, he ran away from home and joined a convent to become a priest. His plan was simply to stay somewhere with a roof over his head and free food rather than serve a religious purpose. He lasted a grand total of two weeks, mainly because he tried to flirt with a nun. They were both expelled.
With no chance of returning home or finding a place to sleep, he came up with an improvised plan. He would work on the coffee plantations again and ask the owner for lodging while he got his life back on track. He spent the money he earned on notebooks and pencils in an attempt to attend school. By third grade, however, he thought it was a waste of money and time. He considered skipping a few steps and going straight to being a businessman without a business.
By the age of 15, the monster of strange deals, "Don Mencho," was born. No matter how much I writes, some adventures will always remain unrecorded. Therefore, I decided to share his favorites. The first was when a friend asked him to loan him 100 dollars to build a house. His grandfather promised to help, but he only had 60 dollars. His solution? He asked his friend to first pay the $40 in taxes on the loan—$20 initially, then $40, and finally the remaining $20. In short, he lent money using the same money he would earn from lending it.
In 1962, seeking work and money more than honor, he joined the police and eventually worked in the capital, San José, for a while. The following year, John F. Kennedy visited Costa Rica for a couple of days. My grandfather claims he was part of a select group of local bodyguards who stayed close to Kennedy, working hand in hand with the CIA and a man named Frank Woods. He says that he even saved the president from a DGI and Soviet plot in an attempt to kill the president during his stay in Costa Rica. Apparently, the final to end this plot culminated in a dangerous chase on the crater of the Irazú volcano during an eruption that was happening at the time. However, he claims that the public will never know anything about it because the records are classified.
His adventure as a Black Ops operative seems to have gone further than he expected, so he left the police in November of that same year. Three days later, Kennedy was dead. Coincidence? My grandfather doesn’t think so.
Later, in the 1980s, he built his first home for my grandmother, her two daughters (my aunt Nelsy and my mother, Adelis), and himself. It was a humble house without a bathroom, but it was something. One day, however, he decided he wanted to be a cowboy, so he sold the house and land to buy two cows. After getting beaten by my grandmother and living on the street, he realized his mistake. He worked quickly to fix the situation before the next divorce. I have no idea how he did it, but he managed to trade a cow for a car, even though he didn’t have a license or know how to drive. That same afternoon, while learning to drive, he triggered the first police chase in town. Thanks to his experience as a police officer, he managed to escape by knowing how they operated.
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Fearing imprisonment and still owing money on a home he had promised my grandmother would be ready by the end of the month—or else she would turn him over to the authorities—he traded the car and the cow for a plot of land in the remote town of Londres, Puntarenas. It wasn't ideal, but it was enough to avoid the divorce.
However, the bus trip was more expensive than he could afford. Summoning his courage and desperate for money, he made the next decision: to become a bull rider and earn enough to pay for the trip to the new land by taking first place in a tournament. Surprisingly, against all odds, he succeeded.
Once in London, not much happened. After my aunt Damaris was born, he took things slowly. He only swore that he once visited the beach and heard the voices of mermaids in the distance. For a long time, we thought he was confusing something with the supernatural. My grandfather could have been many things, but a liar he was not. It wasn't until recently that we realized his most fantastic story was probably true when we came across Levia.
Scared after the mermaid incident, he no longer wanted to live in such a remote place. He sold the land for next to nothing and set out for Puriscal once again, with no plan. They managed to complete the journey by hitchhiking from car to car—a family of five. Fortunately, my grandfather was no longer wanted by the police, and he negotiated with my grandmother’s parents to keep the house he now owns—the mud house they’ve lived in ever since. It was then that my mother was able to attend school regularly and meet my father, Rafael. He is still working even to this day as a farmer and in some weird business of money, as usual live.
He was undoubtedly someone who managed to start a family despite being born with nothing, entitled to nothing, and with everything against him. Through his work, he secured a better future for those who came after him. However, those same experiences of pain and struggle also made him a rather conflicted man. He sees everyone without a job as lazy, irresponsible, and evil people who only get in the way of their families. He's a man of the old school with strongly conservative ideas, and I fit almost all of them perfectly. From my lack of work in my youth to the irresponsible way I left, and even now during my transition, there’s no need to say anything else. I know he would hate me if he knew I was still alive and how I’m living now.
Instead of dwelling on the past, I decided to focus on my future. I left Maria’s party and walked through the neighborhood until I reached my workshop.
Finally, my future was starting to take shape. I had the ownership papers, and I had spent the last few days remodeling the place. I removed all the old stuff and tried to turn the old dealership into a beautiful workshop with an underground garage theme. It would be the perfect hideout to escape from problems. I had invested quite a bit of money, but there were still things missing. The most important parts were in place, though. What would a mechanic's workshop be without cars? Luckily, two were already here.
Finally, my future was starting to take shape. I had the ownership papers, and I had spent the last few days remodeling the place. I removed all the old stuff and tried to turn the old dealership into a beautiful workshop with an underground garage theme. It would be the perfect hideout to escape from problems. I had invested quite a bit of money, but there were still things missing. The most important parts were in place, though. What would a mechanic's workshop be without cars? Luckily, two were already here.
The first was a commission from Adelis and, curiously, the Tokyo police. Inspector Yamamoto hasn’t had a car since he lost his during the U.S. president’s visit in the spring. Apparently, he’s too stubborn to own a modern car with a computerized engine. That wouldn't be the case anymore though, because I have this old Fairlady Z with an L28 engine that's not entirely legal modifided. Momo and I have been working on it in our free time. After we upgraded it, it became an absurdly light car with a dangerously powerful engine. We installed a new transmission and suspension that could handle the speed. In return, it’s completely mechanical and analog. This car will never have a computerized engine management system (PEM), and it will laugh off having a body full of bullet holes. However, it will be an uncontrollable beast on the street. I found it in a scrap yard. It was just a shell with an engine. Because of the Inspector’s obsession with original parts, we had to find everything for it. The paint isn't original, but it was repainted factory red. A job like this didn't come cheap, but I was given the green light to pay the old man for his service as a police officer. He'll pick it up tomorrow. I can't wait to see his face when he sees this machine.
The other car is mine, and that's where most of the money disappeared without a trace. It's a money-devouring machine: a 1999 Nissan Skyline GTR R34. If my mother finds out how much I spent on high-quality racing parts for it, she’s going to kill me. But anyone would have done the same after seeing an RB26DETT engine like this one. That’s why it was for sale. I just picked it up from the body shop after they added a wide-body kit and modified it to hit over 300 kilometers per hour. This is the kind of car my mother doesn’t want me to have, but it was my childhood dream to go from imagining the toy to having the real thing. Most of the money went into buying it and stripping off all the nonsense the previous owner had added, thinking it was cool without realizing it was making the car heavier. A car like this doesn't need 30 speakers to deafen the neighbors. A car like this calls for freedom, speed, and pushing the limits of its mechanics. We've worked on this car more than the Inspector's. Momo is even getting tired of how stubbornly I've tried to improve it, but I need it. This car is the key to attracting clients to my workshop.
This car wasn’t built for war. Instead of armor, it has carbon fiber. It isn't made for military operations and won't need anything like that because it will never be used as a war machine. It's an exclusively civilian car, just like the future I want. The life I truly want to live will begin with this car. I will leave my violent past behind with this car. Soon, it will be unleashed on the legendary C1 and Shuto Expressways.
