from what he has told me, Padre Pío, is a wish for a life in prison or worse.
When a chava gets brought into the gang it is truly a tragic fate cast upon a female. Except in the Old Testament I had never heard of such barbarism, Su Reverencia. He did not say rape. But that is what it is. What he said was that a girl throws a pair of dice and whatever number comes up, that is the number of guys who will have sex with her that night. Some of the girls are barely thirteen years old when they join. They also have to get “jumped in,” which meant that their future “sisters” all beat la chavita up together. I walked away from the ball court and leaned against the fence. I wanted to vomit.
What kind of mother and father are at home, I kept thinking all that night, who wouldn't ask what happened to their hija when she returned home half the chava she was when she left? Beaten up and raped bykids who told you that they were going to be your “familia” from now on. What kind of family does that?
In my English class there is una chava who is in los Palominos. She can hardly read. (They pass failing students at my school just to get rid of them, Padre Pío.) Everything comes hard to her, all the subjects, I mean. Tiny Tears already has a baby. I asked her one day if she was planning on getting married once she finished high school. She stared at me with almost a scowl, as if she resented my question. I wanted to ask if she even knew who the father was but I decided to leave her alone. Tiny Tears hardly ever speaks. But behind all the makeup I fear is a very scary girl.
Su Reverencia, at night, as usted already knows, I devote prayers to Jesse and his brother in prison and to all of los Palominos, for God's light to enter their demented souls. Even if they do not have mothers and fathers who care, I beseech God y todos los santos that they find a way to forgive themselves. Jesse likes to tell me he forgives me for being such a nerd. He says he hopes he never hears of me on the news that I only joined the Church to molest altarboys. Then he laughs that loud cackling laugh that reminds me of a hyena's.
I used to hear hyenas when we crossed over through el desierto toward California when I was un chavito. They frightened me for sure—laughing all together, somewhere in the dark, getting closer. They travel only in packs. That's how they can be so vicious—the fact that there are many of them, they can get hold of a man and just tear him to pieces. They could eat a man vivo and afterward, laugh, todos juntos.
San Pío, thank el Señor for me, por favor, for all His blessings and considerations of His imperfect servant, but most especially for sending me this boy who is a mirror to my own spiritual shortcomings.
Su servidor, undeserving as I am
REGINA
I was tilling the soil for this year's garden when Gabo showed up with someone I never saw before to lend us a hand.
His name is Jesse Arellano. He is a thin young man with a shaved head and growing a goatee like Gabo's, except that it looks drawn on with charcoal. His first facial hair, and apparently, it was also his first time working on a garden. When he started to rake I noticed on his right hand between the thumb and index finger a blue tattoo of a cross. It was crudely drawn with dots in between the lines of the cross. I've seen that cross around a long time. It means you belong to a gang. That also means I wish he wasn't the only friend my sobrino has ever brought home. But Jesse did his best to help rake up the dead leaves, pine needles, and dried mesquite that had blown in and collected in the garden during winter, so I kept silent.
Gabo was fixing the gate to our garden just like his father would have done. Just before spring we mend it and every following winter the winds yank it every which way. We needed to reinforce the fence with new chicken wire, too, to keep the cottontails out.
I've been preparing my own mulch since I first took over this place. I use
When a chava gets brought into the gang it is truly a tragic fate cast upon a female. Except in the Old Testament I had never heard of such barbarism, Su Reverencia. He did not say rape. But that is what it is. What he said was that a girl throws a pair of dice and whatever number comes up, that is the number of guys who will have sex with her that night. Some of the girls are barely thirteen years old when they join. They also have to get “jumped in,” which meant that their future “sisters” all beat la chavita up together. I walked away from the ball court and leaned against the fence. I wanted to vomit.
What kind of mother and father are at home, I kept thinking all that night, who wouldn't ask what happened to their hija when she returned home half the chava she was when she left? Beaten up and raped bykids who told you that they were going to be your “familia” from now on. What kind of family does that?
In my English class there is una chava who is in los Palominos. She can hardly read. (They pass failing students at my school just to get rid of them, Padre Pío.) Everything comes hard to her, all the subjects, I mean. Tiny Tears already has a baby. I asked her one day if she was planning on getting married once she finished high school. She stared at me with almost a scowl, as if she resented my question. I wanted to ask if she even knew who the father was but I decided to leave her alone. Tiny Tears hardly ever speaks. But behind all the makeup I fear is a very scary girl.
Su Reverencia, at night, as usted already knows, I devote prayers to Jesse and his brother in prison and to all of los Palominos, for God's light to enter their demented souls. Even if they do not have mothers and fathers who care, I beseech God y todos los santos that they find a way to forgive themselves. Jesse likes to tell me he forgives me for being such a nerd. He says he hopes he never hears of me on the news that I only joined the Church to molest altarboys. Then he laughs that loud cackling laugh that reminds me of a hyena's.
I used to hear hyenas when we crossed over through el desierto toward California when I was un chavito. They frightened me for sure—laughing all together, somewhere in the dark, getting closer. They travel only in packs. That's how they can be so vicious—the fact that there are many of them, they can get hold of a man and just tear him to pieces. They could eat a man vivo and afterward, laugh, todos juntos.
San Pío, thank el Señor for me, por favor, for all His blessings and considerations of His imperfect servant, but most especially for sending me this boy who is a mirror to my own spiritual shortcomings.
Su servidor, undeserving as I am
REGINA
I was tilling the soil for this year's garden when Gabo showed up with someone I never saw before to lend us a hand.
His name is Jesse Arellano. He is a thin young man with a shaved head and growing a goatee like Gabo's, except that it looks drawn on with charcoal. His first facial hair, and apparently, it was also his first time working on a garden. When he started to rake I noticed on his right hand between the thumb and index finger a blue tattoo of a cross. It was crudely drawn with dots in between the lines of the cross. I've seen that cross around a long time. It means you belong to a gang. That also means I wish he wasn't the only friend my sobrino has ever brought home. But Jesse did his best to help rake up the dead leaves, pine needles, and dried mesquite that had blown in and collected in the garden during winter, so I kept silent.
Gabo was fixing the gate to our garden just like his father would have done. Just before spring we mend it and every following winter the winds yank it every which way. We needed to reinforce the fence with new chicken wire, too, to keep the cottontails out.
I've been preparing my own mulch since I first took over this place. I use
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