rang.
Nilda reached her corner of Park Avenue and 104th Street and looked carefully into the tunnels. There were three tunnels; one set in the middle for traffic, and one at either side for pedestrians. The tops curved into archways; inside each tunnel a single small bulb shone, giving off very little light. Nilda squinted her eyes as she stood at the entrance trying to see inside. Lately, some of the older children had come around at this time of day, asking for money, and she recalled how she got shoved around when she told them she had none.
âDonât be a sucketa, stupid,â her brother Paul had told her, âput your money in your shoe,â which is what she did whenever she had any.
Sometimes she walked through the middle tunnel when she felt she would run into trouble, but the large trucks and cars coming through frightened her. She saw the tunnel was empty and quickly stepped inside. People were coming in from the other side; they were adults, two men and a woman. They were talking in loud tones and Nilda heard their voices and footsteps echoing the length of the tunnel. When she was with a group offriends they would all scream just to hear their voices echo. Sometimes when she was alone she would sing, enjoying the resonance of her voice as it filled the dark chamber; but she was afraid someone would hear her so she very rarely indulged herself. As she went past the middle of the tunnel, she side-stepped the puddles that filled up and seeped through the cracks and holes in the concrete. Holding her breath, she tried to avoid the smell of stagnant water and urine. At the other side, she stepped out and looked quickly to see if there was any traffic coming, and then, almost running, she went toward her building.
Nilda started to climb the first flight of steps leading up to the fourth floor where her apartment was. A strong odor of fried pork permeated the hallway and, as she moved up the steps, the odor got stronger. It was almost overwhelming. She could tell that the meat was spiced with garlic and herbs, just like her mother prepared pork chops. With it was mixed the scent of cooked rice. Nilda could smell the saffron, olives, and sausage that were mixed in the rice. Somebodyâs sure lucky, she thought. Her stomach growled and her mouth salivated as she climbed up the steps, and the mixed odors of the many flavors cooking went right through her. It must be somebody on our floor, she thought, and theyâre gonna have a party or something. Funny, I didnât hear nothing about it. She stood in front of her doorway and paused before opening the door. Stepping inside, she could still smell the food.
âMami, are you cooking rice and porkchops?â she asked with disbelief, rushing toward the kitchen.
âNilda?â her mother called.
She stepped into the kitchen and saw her motherâs wide smile and the large cast-iron pot she used for making rice sitting on the stove puffing away. Her mother held a long fork in her hand and was standing over the frying pan. Nilda heard the pork sizzling in the hot oil.
âWe hit the bolita, Nilda!â her mother said, jubilant. âNight before last I dreamed I looked in the sky and in the form of clouds was the número 305. So, yesterday morning I sent Paul on his way to school over to Jacintoâs bodega and told him to leave my bet for número 305 combinación for the bolitero. I put thirty cents on it, and sure enough 530 came out! I was going to play it straight, but then I remembered that in my dream there was another small cloud and it was almost shaped like a C, so I said, okay, that means I have to bet combination! That way no matter how 305 came out as long as it was those three numbers I would make a hit. It was a message from heaven, Nilda. My prayers were answered.â
âOh boy, Mamá, how much is that? A lotta money?â
âEnough to see us through for a little while. Come on, sit down and eat. I got
Nilda reached her corner of Park Avenue and 104th Street and looked carefully into the tunnels. There were three tunnels; one set in the middle for traffic, and one at either side for pedestrians. The tops curved into archways; inside each tunnel a single small bulb shone, giving off very little light. Nilda squinted her eyes as she stood at the entrance trying to see inside. Lately, some of the older children had come around at this time of day, asking for money, and she recalled how she got shoved around when she told them she had none.
âDonât be a sucketa, stupid,â her brother Paul had told her, âput your money in your shoe,â which is what she did whenever she had any.
Sometimes she walked through the middle tunnel when she felt she would run into trouble, but the large trucks and cars coming through frightened her. She saw the tunnel was empty and quickly stepped inside. People were coming in from the other side; they were adults, two men and a woman. They were talking in loud tones and Nilda heard their voices and footsteps echoing the length of the tunnel. When she was with a group offriends they would all scream just to hear their voices echo. Sometimes when she was alone she would sing, enjoying the resonance of her voice as it filled the dark chamber; but she was afraid someone would hear her so she very rarely indulged herself. As she went past the middle of the tunnel, she side-stepped the puddles that filled up and seeped through the cracks and holes in the concrete. Holding her breath, she tried to avoid the smell of stagnant water and urine. At the other side, she stepped out and looked quickly to see if there was any traffic coming, and then, almost running, she went toward her building.
Nilda started to climb the first flight of steps leading up to the fourth floor where her apartment was. A strong odor of fried pork permeated the hallway and, as she moved up the steps, the odor got stronger. It was almost overwhelming. She could tell that the meat was spiced with garlic and herbs, just like her mother prepared pork chops. With it was mixed the scent of cooked rice. Nilda could smell the saffron, olives, and sausage that were mixed in the rice. Somebodyâs sure lucky, she thought. Her stomach growled and her mouth salivated as she climbed up the steps, and the mixed odors of the many flavors cooking went right through her. It must be somebody on our floor, she thought, and theyâre gonna have a party or something. Funny, I didnât hear nothing about it. She stood in front of her doorway and paused before opening the door. Stepping inside, she could still smell the food.
âMami, are you cooking rice and porkchops?â she asked with disbelief, rushing toward the kitchen.
âNilda?â her mother called.
She stepped into the kitchen and saw her motherâs wide smile and the large cast-iron pot she used for making rice sitting on the stove puffing away. Her mother held a long fork in her hand and was standing over the frying pan. Nilda heard the pork sizzling in the hot oil.
âWe hit the bolita, Nilda!â her mother said, jubilant. âNight before last I dreamed I looked in the sky and in the form of clouds was the número 305. So, yesterday morning I sent Paul on his way to school over to Jacintoâs bodega and told him to leave my bet for número 305 combinación for the bolitero. I put thirty cents on it, and sure enough 530 came out! I was going to play it straight, but then I remembered that in my dream there was another small cloud and it was almost shaped like a C, so I said, okay, that means I have to bet combination! That way no matter how 305 came out as long as it was those three numbers I would make a hit. It was a message from heaven, Nilda. My prayers were answered.â
âOh boy, Mamá, how much is that? A lotta money?â
âEnough to see us through for a little while. Come on, sit down and eat. I got
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