Read Online The Hummingbird's Daughter by Luis Alberto Urrea - Free Book Online Page B

have been a stone or a giant pearl or that thing they called ivory. She grabbed the doorknob and pulled. Nothing happened. She pushed. She tried turning it, and there was a click that alarmed her, and then the door seemed to open of its own volition, and she followed it as it swung inward, its greasy hinges silent and fluid, and she was inside.
    She was amazed to see that the patrón didn’t have a dirt floor, and she stood fascinated by the wood planks under her feet. In the village, the really good housekeepers sprinkled lemon juice to wet down the ground dust and make everything smell fresh. But this floor was beyond any juicy sand. It shone, too, as if there were a thin flood of creek water upon it.
    And there was perfume in the air, not lemons. Teresa slid the door shut and took inventory of the many fabulous objects before her. She did not know what Yoris called the fluttering white things that hung in the windows, but they were gauzy, and she could see light through them, as if they had been made of moth wings or ashes.
    The walls were white. Pale green geckos moved across them and vanished behind a series of framed paintings of burros. These were Doña Loreto’s melancholy studies, each burro endowed with huge teary eyes that bespoke a sorrow and a nostalgia for better times. Candles and oil lamps fluttered, even though it was midday. Teresita didn’t know if she should blow them out to save the patrón the cost of fresh oil and new wicks.
    She reached out her foot and touched a thick carpet. Teresita had never felt anything like it. She stepped onto it and sank her toes into its plush surface. Gold and red designs twined their way around its edge, and its rich blue had roses and vines somehow woven into it.
    A harried-looking woman suddenly appeared and said, “You, child, dump this and replace it!,” shoving a sloshing chamber pot into her hands and then vanishing down the hall. “Fúchi!” Teresa said, and she put it down on the nearest couch.
    A muted heartbeat arrested her attention. She looked around for the source of the sound. She saw a tall wooden tower in one corner, and it had a narrow glass door, and a swinging gold pendulum flashed inside. She walked to this strange square tree and looked up at its face. It was round, and across it, a blue moon seemed to float, followed by a swirly yellow sun. She did not know numbers, so the icons on its face meant nothing to her. She put her hands upon the wood column and felt it ticking. She put her ear to it to listen to such a wondrous thing.
    Tomás came hurrying out of his office, waving a letter of credit over his head, already starting to call out for someone to fetch Segundo, and remembering that his spurs were still on and Loreto did not allow spurs in the house, when he skidded to a halt and beheld Teresita in congress with his big clock.
    “How in the devil did you get in here?” he demanded.
    She looked up at him serenely. “I followed you.” She turned back to the clock. “This tree has a heart,” she said.
    He blinked. Looked at her more closely. He knew he’d seen her before. If Loreto saw her dirty bare feet on the rug—well!
    “What, might I ask, are you doing?”
    “I have been talking to this tree, but it won’t answer me.”
    He smiled.
    “It must be a very rude tree,” she said.
    He laughed.
    He stepped up to the clock and looked at it. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “Clocks are rude.”
    “This is a clock?”
    “Yes, it is. It is a grandfather clock.”
    She seemed delighted by this information.
    He thought he should be having her whipped or something, but he reached into his vest pocket instead. He didn’t know why. “Look here,” he said. He pulled out his pocket watch and clicked open its lid. It played a small bit of Mozart. She gasped.
    “It is the grandson watch!” Teresa exclaimed.
    He laughed once more.
    “Make the music again.”
    He clicked the lid shut and reopened it.
    “Be careful,” she warned.