Read Online B0061QB04W EBOK by Reyna Grande - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Reyna Grande
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said. “Until today.”
“Then you should be happy to be here,” Mago said, but she didn’t look at me. She was looking at a boy in my class who was heading toward us eating a mango on a stick.
“The teacher hit me because I was writing with my left hand,” I said. “I think I’d rather stay home and clean Abuela Evila’s house from top to bottom than to go to school.”
“So you would rather stay home with our grandmother?” Mago asked. “I don’t believe it.”
I looked at the glass containers of agua fresca at the food stands: agua de melón, sandía, piña. From here, I could see the large cubes of ice swimming inside the glass containers. My throat was so dry I imagined that this was how the earth felt after months and months of waiting for rain. Mami used to say that the clouds go down under the mountains to drink water from the rivers, and once they’re full they come up to the sky, ready to bathe the earth. Sometimes the clouds take too long to drink water and that’s when the grass withers, the flowers die, the water in the canal narrows to a trickle and almost disappears. But sometimes the clouds drink too much water, and that’s when the floods happen. Days and days of never-ending rains that turn the gentle river waters into aguas broncas, tearing down trees and dragging everything in their path, then spilling over the banks and bursting into people’s homes.
Mago gasped, and I turned to see what she was looking at. The boy in my class had dropped his mango on the ground. He began to reach for it, but then stood up and walked away from it looking really sad. I looked at Mago and knew what she was thinking.
Every time we went out to run errands, she was always looking around to see if she could find a half-eaten fruit or a lollipop some unlucky kid had dropped. Sometimes she got lucky. Sometimes she didn’t.
Mago looked at the mango, and I knew she couldn’t resist picking it up. “Go get it,” she told Carlos as she pointed to the mango.
“You go,” Carlos said.
“Some of my classmates are over there. They’ll see me. Ándale, you get it, Nena.”
“No,” I said. Mago looked at me, and I knew that sooner or later she would make me do it. “Mago, you shouldn’t eat things from the ground. They’re bad. They’ve been kissed by the devil,” I said.
Mago waved my words away. “Those are just tales Abuela Evila likes to scare us with,” she said. Abuela Evila used to say that when food falls to the ground, the devil, who lives right below us, kisses it and taints it with evil. “Look, I don’t know if the devil exists or not, and I don’t care. I’m hungry. So go get it!”
Mago pushed me toward the mango, but I shook my head. Tales or no tales, I wasn’t going to risk it. But my mouth watered at the thought of sinking my teeth into the mango’s crunchy flesh.
The bell rang, and the kids rushed back to their classrooms. Mago and Carlos waved and disappeared from sight. I stood there under the jacaranda tree, and my feet didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to go back to the classroom. I didn’t want to go back and struggle to hold my pencil with my useless right hand. I didn’t want to see el maestro looking at me and making me feel ashamed, making me feel as if I were evil. I didn’t want him to hit me again and have my classmates jeer and laugh. But if I didn’t go back, I knew I wouldn’t learn to read and write. How could I ever write a letter to my parents and ask them to please, please, come back?
As I made my way to the classroom, I noticed the mango again. It lay on its side, its flesh yellow like the feathers of a canary. It was covered with red chili powder and dirt. And what if Mago is right? I asked myself. What if the devil doesn’t exist? If he doesn’t exist, that means the left side isn’t the side of the devil. And that would mean I am not evil for being left-handed.
I looked around, and the courtyard was now empty. I bent down and picked
“Then you should be happy to be here,” Mago said, but she didn’t look at me. She was looking at a boy in my class who was heading toward us eating a mango on a stick.
“The teacher hit me because I was writing with my left hand,” I said. “I think I’d rather stay home and clean Abuela Evila’s house from top to bottom than to go to school.”
“So you would rather stay home with our grandmother?” Mago asked. “I don’t believe it.”
I looked at the glass containers of agua fresca at the food stands: agua de melón, sandía, piña. From here, I could see the large cubes of ice swimming inside the glass containers. My throat was so dry I imagined that this was how the earth felt after months and months of waiting for rain. Mami used to say that the clouds go down under the mountains to drink water from the rivers, and once they’re full they come up to the sky, ready to bathe the earth. Sometimes the clouds take too long to drink water and that’s when the grass withers, the flowers die, the water in the canal narrows to a trickle and almost disappears. But sometimes the clouds drink too much water, and that’s when the floods happen. Days and days of never-ending rains that turn the gentle river waters into aguas broncas, tearing down trees and dragging everything in their path, then spilling over the banks and bursting into people’s homes.
Mago gasped, and I turned to see what she was looking at. The boy in my class had dropped his mango on the ground. He began to reach for it, but then stood up and walked away from it looking really sad. I looked at Mago and knew what she was thinking.
Every time we went out to run errands, she was always looking around to see if she could find a half-eaten fruit or a lollipop some unlucky kid had dropped. Sometimes she got lucky. Sometimes she didn’t.
Mago looked at the mango, and I knew she couldn’t resist picking it up. “Go get it,” she told Carlos as she pointed to the mango.
“You go,” Carlos said.
“Some of my classmates are over there. They’ll see me. Ándale, you get it, Nena.”
“No,” I said. Mago looked at me, and I knew that sooner or later she would make me do it. “Mago, you shouldn’t eat things from the ground. They’re bad. They’ve been kissed by the devil,” I said.
Mago waved my words away. “Those are just tales Abuela Evila likes to scare us with,” she said. Abuela Evila used to say that when food falls to the ground, the devil, who lives right below us, kisses it and taints it with evil. “Look, I don’t know if the devil exists or not, and I don’t care. I’m hungry. So go get it!”
Mago pushed me toward the mango, but I shook my head. Tales or no tales, I wasn’t going to risk it. But my mouth watered at the thought of sinking my teeth into the mango’s crunchy flesh.
The bell rang, and the kids rushed back to their classrooms. Mago and Carlos waved and disappeared from sight. I stood there under the jacaranda tree, and my feet didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to go back to the classroom. I didn’t want to go back and struggle to hold my pencil with my useless right hand. I didn’t want to see el maestro looking at me and making me feel ashamed, making me feel as if I were evil. I didn’t want him to hit me again and have my classmates jeer and laugh. But if I didn’t go back, I knew I wouldn’t learn to read and write. How could I ever write a letter to my parents and ask them to please, please, come back?
As I made my way to the classroom, I noticed the mango again. It lay on its side, its flesh yellow like the feathers of a canary. It was covered with red chili powder and dirt. And what if Mago is right? I asked myself. What if the devil doesn’t exist? If he doesn’t exist, that means the left side isn’t the side of the devil. And that would mean I am not evil for being left-handed.
I looked around, and the courtyard was now empty. I bent down and picked
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