Read Online Bad to the Bone by Len Levinson - Free Book Online Page A

old, with a faint slick of perspiration on her forehead. It was difficult to imagine that this dying old crone had been a vibrant middle-aged woman only a few years ago.
    Doña Consuelo knelt at the side of the bed, clasped her hands together, and prayed: Hail Mary, full of grace . . . It didn't seem right that a religious woman like her mother should suffer, while killers and banditos lived forever. Where is the justice in the world? asked Doña Consuelo.
    She knew the story of Job, and understood that ordinarypeople could never understand the mind of God. I'll be alone soon, she thought desperately. No one could ever appreciate me like my mother, who'd lived simply and righteously like a saint all her life.
    â€œOh, mother,” whispered Doña Consuelo, “what will I do without you?”
    The figure on the bed stirred. “Is that you, Consuelo?”
    â€œHow are you, mother?”
    â€œEvery day I grow weaker.” It seemed an effort for the shriveled woman to speak.
    â€œYou'll be well in a few more months—I'm sure the doctors will help you. You must have faith, for Christ said that faith will move mountains.”
    â€œI'm too weak to have faith, daughter, but you must understand, after I'm gone, that if you want to be with me, just drop to your knees and pray. The way of the righteous leads to heaven, while the path of the evildoer leads to the flames of hell.”
    Doña Consuelo imagined a wall of flames arising from the wall, consuming all in its path. The young Catholic wife believed, deep in her heart, that hell was exactly like that, with sinners writhing and shrieking eternally over open fires.
    The room was silent, except for her mother's shallow respirations. Doña Consuelo placed her warm hand on her mother's cool arm. Her heart filled with sorrow when she contemplated the suffering of the poor woman. It's better to die than linger this way, she considered. But she wanted to keep her mother as long as she could.
    â€œHow is your marriage going, my dear?” her mother asked in a whisper.
    â€œI am very happy, mother.”

    â€œAre you . . . ?”
    â€œNot yet, mother. Sometimes I think there is something wrong with me.”
    â€œBe patient, and don't forget: your husband is not a young man, either.”
    â€œBut he's very young, mother. Vaqueros in their twenties can barely keep up with him.”
    Her mother smiled wisely, while Doña Consuelo wondered what the sick woman was trying to communicate. “He should be here soon,” Doña Consuelo said. “He's most worried about you.”
    â€œI'm not worth everybody's trouble, and we all live at God's pleasure anyway.”
    Her faith is strong, Doña Consuelo realized. I hope, when my time comes, that I can be as strong as she. Doña Migdalia's eyes closed, as the exertion of speech exhausted her. Doña Consuelo stared at the outline of a skull lying on the pillow. From dust we come, and to dust we shall return, the daughter thought morosely. All our hopes and aspirations end in the grave, and there isn't anything we can do about it.
    Doña Consuelo had never thought much about graves prior to the illness of her mother, but now Sister Death was haunting her home, about to take her mother away, and even she herself, Doña Consuelo of the barren womb, even she would end up in a dark dank hole in the ground, chewed upon by rats, nibbled by insects, and rotting like any other lump of dead meat.
    Doña Consuelo nearly gagged at the mere contemplation of her own decaying bones. Yet it was no idle dream, but a true vision of her future. My days are numbered, and perhaps I can make better use of them. I should spend more time with the poor, and do charitywork for the church, but nothing will ever take the place of my dear mother, who taught me all I know of life.
    Tears streamed down Doña Consuelo's cheeks as she withdrew from the room. She sat on a chair in the outside corridor and