Read Online A Thunderous Whisper by Christina Diaz Gonzalez - Free Book Online
Authors: Christina Diaz Gonzalez
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semi-defeated looks of people fighting for survival.
I stayed still, waiting to hear the tik-tik-tik of Mathias’s makila hitting the pavement. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of turning around, but it was pointless to deliver the sardines without the envelopes.
After a minute or two, I glanced back, nervous that Mathias had left me behind and my career as a spy had already come to an end. I squinted, barely making out the shape of a boy sitting on a bench about a block and a half back, twirling a makila in front of him. I had walked the wrong way.
“Ugh,” I grunted, heading over to him.
As I got closer to Mathias, I started thinking how it probably wasn’t very smart to smack him on his one good leg … even if I was really mad. What if he was sitting because he couldn’t walk or something?
“Glad to see you finally figured out we had to go this way,” he said, standing up.
Obviously, my kicks weren’t bone-breaking. “Guess we have to work together no matter what.”
“Yep,” he answered.
We walked in silence for about ten steps before I halfheartedly mumbled, “Sorry for kicking you.”
Mathias gave me a look out of the corner of his eye. “Guess I kinda deserved it.” I saw a sheepish smile cross his face. “It’s been a while since someone booted me that hard.”
We kept walking, not saying much else.
As we turned onto a street lined with several apartment buildings, Mathias spoke up again. “By the way, what I said about pitying you”—he turned his head to face me—“that wasn’t true. There’s nothing to pity about you.”
My shoulders relaxed. The last remnants of my resentment toward him drifted away.
“I still don’t understand why you got so mad,” I said, glancing over at the address written on the envelope Mathias held in his hand.
He shrugged. “I don’t like being treated like that.”
“She was just a cranky old lady,” I replied, adjusting my grip on the basket.
“Not her.” He pointed to the top floor of a redbrick building. “That’s our next stop.” He paused to look at me. “I know enough to ignore people like that old woman.… I meant you.”
“Me?”
Mathias sighed. “It’s bad enough that other people seeme as different because of my leg. I didn’t think you did.” He shook his head. “I could’ve carried that basket.”
The weight of his words landed on me like a pile of concrete. I knew that feeling. Always being seen as incompetent—less than what I was.
Mathias pressed a button next to the building’s main door marked GOICOCHEA . “My father said he’ll probably be home since he keeps bankers’ hours.”
“Vale,” I whispered, wishing I could say something to prove that I understood how I’d made him feel.
The main door buzzed, although no one had asked who we were.
“Let’s go,” Mathias said, pushing the glass door open.
“Hey, Mathias, you want to take the basket for a while? It is getting heavy,” I said as we walked into the lobby.
“¿Ahora?” he asked, and pointed with his makila to the tall spiral staircase in the center of the room. “You want me to carry it now ?” He chuckled. “You’ve carried it this far, I think I can wait until we come back down the four flights of stairs before I help.”
I smiled. As usual, my timing was perfect.
TEN
W e saved Padre Iñaki for our last delivery. It was a little after six-thirty when we approached the church rectory and knocked on the side door. Mathias had been carrying the basket with one hand and occasionally trying to balance it on his head. I’d offered to help carry it by holding up one side, but Mathias said we’d do it that way next week.… I knew he had something to prove. A young woman with long, dark hair opened the door and greeted us with a smile.
“¡Las sardinas! ¡Qué bueno!” she exclaimed. “Come in, come in. Go ahead and set that basket over by the sink.” She ushered us into the kitchen, which was full of the
I stayed still, waiting to hear the tik-tik-tik of Mathias’s makila hitting the pavement. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of turning around, but it was pointless to deliver the sardines without the envelopes.
After a minute or two, I glanced back, nervous that Mathias had left me behind and my career as a spy had already come to an end. I squinted, barely making out the shape of a boy sitting on a bench about a block and a half back, twirling a makila in front of him. I had walked the wrong way.
“Ugh,” I grunted, heading over to him.
As I got closer to Mathias, I started thinking how it probably wasn’t very smart to smack him on his one good leg … even if I was really mad. What if he was sitting because he couldn’t walk or something?
“Glad to see you finally figured out we had to go this way,” he said, standing up.
Obviously, my kicks weren’t bone-breaking. “Guess we have to work together no matter what.”
“Yep,” he answered.
We walked in silence for about ten steps before I halfheartedly mumbled, “Sorry for kicking you.”
Mathias gave me a look out of the corner of his eye. “Guess I kinda deserved it.” I saw a sheepish smile cross his face. “It’s been a while since someone booted me that hard.”
We kept walking, not saying much else.
As we turned onto a street lined with several apartment buildings, Mathias spoke up again. “By the way, what I said about pitying you”—he turned his head to face me—“that wasn’t true. There’s nothing to pity about you.”
My shoulders relaxed. The last remnants of my resentment toward him drifted away.
“I still don’t understand why you got so mad,” I said, glancing over at the address written on the envelope Mathias held in his hand.
He shrugged. “I don’t like being treated like that.”
“She was just a cranky old lady,” I replied, adjusting my grip on the basket.
“Not her.” He pointed to the top floor of a redbrick building. “That’s our next stop.” He paused to look at me. “I know enough to ignore people like that old woman.… I meant you.”
“Me?”
Mathias sighed. “It’s bad enough that other people seeme as different because of my leg. I didn’t think you did.” He shook his head. “I could’ve carried that basket.”
The weight of his words landed on me like a pile of concrete. I knew that feeling. Always being seen as incompetent—less than what I was.
Mathias pressed a button next to the building’s main door marked GOICOCHEA . “My father said he’ll probably be home since he keeps bankers’ hours.”
“Vale,” I whispered, wishing I could say something to prove that I understood how I’d made him feel.
The main door buzzed, although no one had asked who we were.
“Let’s go,” Mathias said, pushing the glass door open.
“Hey, Mathias, you want to take the basket for a while? It is getting heavy,” I said as we walked into the lobby.
“¿Ahora?” he asked, and pointed with his makila to the tall spiral staircase in the center of the room. “You want me to carry it now ?” He chuckled. “You’ve carried it this far, I think I can wait until we come back down the four flights of stairs before I help.”
I smiled. As usual, my timing was perfect.
TEN
W e saved Padre Iñaki for our last delivery. It was a little after six-thirty when we approached the church rectory and knocked on the side door. Mathias had been carrying the basket with one hand and occasionally trying to balance it on his head. I’d offered to help carry it by holding up one side, but Mathias said we’d do it that way next week.… I knew he had something to prove. A young woman with long, dark hair opened the door and greeted us with a smile.
“¡Las sardinas! ¡Qué bueno!” she exclaimed. “Come in, come in. Go ahead and set that basket over by the sink.” She ushered us into the kitchen, which was full of the
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