Read Online The Infinite Plan by Isabel Allende - Free Book Online

the hospital on his own two feet, but his hope of hitting the road again was out of the question; it was obvious that he had a long convalescence ahead of him. The doctor had ordered tranquillity, a special diet, and lifelong self-restraint; he was not even to consider a nomadic life for a very long time, perhaps years. Everything the family had saved had been exhausted long ago, and they owed a sizable sum to the Moraleses. Pedro would not listen to a word about money, because he owed his Maestro a spiritual debt impossible to repay. Charles Reeves, however, was not a man to accept charity, not even from a good friend and disciple, nor could they continue to camp in the patio of someone else’s house, so despite the pleas of his children, who could see their hope of escaping the oppression of school rapidly slipping away, the sign and the loudspeaker were removed and the truck was sold. With the money from the sale and a bit more from loans, the Reeveses were able to buy a run-down cottage on the edge of the Mexican barrio.
    The Moraleses mobilized their relatives to help rebuild the shack. For Gregory Reeves, that weekend formed an indelible memory: Latin music and food would be forever linked with the concept of friendship. Early Saturday morning there appeared a caravan of assorted vehicles—from a pickup truck driven by Inmaculada’s brother, a hefty man with a contagious smile, to a column of bicycles carrying cousins, nephews, and friends, all loaded down with tools and construction materials. The women set up temporary tables in the yard and rolled up their sleeves to cook for the crowd. Heads of chickens rolled, cuts of pork and beef rose in a pile, corn, beans, and potatoes bubbled in pots, tortillas toasted, knives danced, chopping, slicing, and peeling, trays of fruit glistened in the sunlight, and in the shade sat more trays, holding chopped tomato and onion, hot salsa, and guacamole. Enticing aromas escaped from the kettles, tequila and beer flowed from carafes and bottles, and guitars sang with the rhythms of the generous land on the far side of the border. Little boys and dogs raced among the tables; little girls, very grown-up, helped set the tables; a retarded cousin with a placid Asiatic face washed dishes; the moonstruck grandmother ensconced beneath a tree added to the chorus with a voice like a song finch. Olga served tacos to the men and kept the children in line. Through the entire weekend, far into the night, everyone worked happily under the direction of Charles Reeves and Pedro Morales, sawing, nailing, and welding. It was a binge of sweat and song, and by Monday the house had reinforced walls, windows on proper hinges, sheets of zinc on the roof, and a new plank floor. The Mexicans took down the tables of their feasting, packed up their tools, guitars, and children, climbed back into or onto their vehicles, and slipped away whence they had come, to avoid being thanked.
    When the Reeveses walked into their new home, Gregory, astounded by the steadiness of the walls, wondered how the house could be taken apart. To him and his sister, those modest rooms seemed like a palace; they had never had a solid roof over their heads, only the canvas of a tent—or the sky. Nora installed her kerosene stove, set the old typewriter in her room and, in the living room, in the place of honor, her hand-cranked phonograph for listening to opera and classical music; she was immediately ready to begin a new phase of her life.
    Olga, with little or no explanation, decided to live on her own. At first she stayed on in the Moraleses’ patio, using the excuse that the Reeves house was too remote and her clients could not come that far; soon after, she rented a room above a garage on the other side of the barrio, where she hung out a sign advertising her services as fortune-teller, midwife, and healer. Word of her talents spread rapidly, and her reputation was assured when she rid the lady who owned the