Read Online The Sands of Time by Sidney Sheldon - Free Book Online
Authors: Sidney Sheldon
Ads: Link
Graciela prepared her own meals and took care of her clothes. She made her lunch to take to school, and she would say to her teacher, “My mother made me empañadas today. She knows how much I like empañadas.”
Or: “I tore my dress, but my mother sewed it up for me. She loves doing things for me.”
Or: “My mother and I are going to a movie tomorrow.”
And it would break her teacher’s heart. Las Navas del Marqués is a small village an hour from Ávila, and like all villages everywhere, everyone knew everyone else’s business. The life-style of Dolores Piñero was a disgrace, and it reflected on Graciela. Mothers refused to let their children play with the little girl, lest their morals be contaminated. Graciela went to the school on Plazoleta del Cristo, but she had no friends and no playmates. She was one of the brightest students in the school, but her grades were poor. It was difficult for her to concentrate, for she was always tired.
Her teacher would admonish her, “You must get to bed earlier, Graciela, so that you are rested enough to do your work properly.”
But her exhaustion had nothing to do with getting to bed late. Graciela and her mother shared a small two-room casa. The girl slept on a couch in a tiny room, with only a thin, worn curtain separating it from the bedroom. How could Graciela tell her teacher about the obscene sounds in the night that awakened her and kept her awake as she listened to her mother making love to whichever stranger happened to be in her bed?
When Graciela brought home her report card, her mother would scream, “These are the cursed grades I expected you to get, and do you know why you got these terrible grades? Because you’re stupid. Stupid!”
And Graciela would believe it and try hard not to cry.
Afternoons when school was out, Graciela would wander around by herself, walking through the narrow, winding streets lined with acacia and sycamore trees, past the whitewashed stone houses, where loving fathers lived with their families. Graciela had many playmates, but they were all in her mind. There were beautiful girls and handsome boys, and they invited her to all their parties, where they served wonderful cakes and ice cream. Her imaginary friends were kind and loving, and they all thought she was very smart. When her mother was not around, Graciela would carry on long conversations with them.
Would you help me with my homework, Graciela? I don’t know how to do sums, and you’re so good at them.
What shall we do tonight, Graciela? We could go to a movie, or walk into town and have a Coca-Cola.
Will your mother let you come to dinner tonight, Graciela? We’re having paella.
No, I’m afraid not. Mother gets lonely if I’m not with her. I’m all she has, you know.
On Sundays, Graciela rose early and dressed quietly, careful not to awaken her mother and whichever uncle was in her bed, and walked to the San Juan Bautista Church, where Father Perez talked of the joys of life after death, a fairy-tale life with Jesus; and Graciela could not wait to die and meet Jesus.
Father Perez was an attractive priest in his early forties. He had ministered to the rich and the poor, the sick and the vital, since he had come to Las Navas del Marqués several years earlier, and there were no secrets in the little village to which he was not privy. Father Perez knew Graciela as a regular churchgoer, and he too was aware of the stories of the constant stream of strangers who shared Dolores Piñero’s bed. It was not a fit home for a young girl, but there was nothing anyone could do about it. It amazed the priest that Graciela had turned out as well as she had. She was kind and gentle and never complained or talked about her home life.
Graciela would appear at church every Sunday morning wearing a clean, neat outfit that he was sure she had washed herself. Father Perez knew she was shunned by the other children in town, and his heart went out to her. He made it a point to
Or: “I tore my dress, but my mother sewed it up for me. She loves doing things for me.”
Or: “My mother and I are going to a movie tomorrow.”
And it would break her teacher’s heart. Las Navas del Marqués is a small village an hour from Ávila, and like all villages everywhere, everyone knew everyone else’s business. The life-style of Dolores Piñero was a disgrace, and it reflected on Graciela. Mothers refused to let their children play with the little girl, lest their morals be contaminated. Graciela went to the school on Plazoleta del Cristo, but she had no friends and no playmates. She was one of the brightest students in the school, but her grades were poor. It was difficult for her to concentrate, for she was always tired.
Her teacher would admonish her, “You must get to bed earlier, Graciela, so that you are rested enough to do your work properly.”
But her exhaustion had nothing to do with getting to bed late. Graciela and her mother shared a small two-room casa. The girl slept on a couch in a tiny room, with only a thin, worn curtain separating it from the bedroom. How could Graciela tell her teacher about the obscene sounds in the night that awakened her and kept her awake as she listened to her mother making love to whichever stranger happened to be in her bed?
When Graciela brought home her report card, her mother would scream, “These are the cursed grades I expected you to get, and do you know why you got these terrible grades? Because you’re stupid. Stupid!”
And Graciela would believe it and try hard not to cry.
Afternoons when school was out, Graciela would wander around by herself, walking through the narrow, winding streets lined with acacia and sycamore trees, past the whitewashed stone houses, where loving fathers lived with their families. Graciela had many playmates, but they were all in her mind. There were beautiful girls and handsome boys, and they invited her to all their parties, where they served wonderful cakes and ice cream. Her imaginary friends were kind and loving, and they all thought she was very smart. When her mother was not around, Graciela would carry on long conversations with them.
Would you help me with my homework, Graciela? I don’t know how to do sums, and you’re so good at them.
What shall we do tonight, Graciela? We could go to a movie, or walk into town and have a Coca-Cola.
Will your mother let you come to dinner tonight, Graciela? We’re having paella.
No, I’m afraid not. Mother gets lonely if I’m not with her. I’m all she has, you know.
On Sundays, Graciela rose early and dressed quietly, careful not to awaken her mother and whichever uncle was in her bed, and walked to the San Juan Bautista Church, where Father Perez talked of the joys of life after death, a fairy-tale life with Jesus; and Graciela could not wait to die and meet Jesus.
Father Perez was an attractive priest in his early forties. He had ministered to the rich and the poor, the sick and the vital, since he had come to Las Navas del Marqués several years earlier, and there were no secrets in the little village to which he was not privy. Father Perez knew Graciela as a regular churchgoer, and he too was aware of the stories of the constant stream of strangers who shared Dolores Piñero’s bed. It was not a fit home for a young girl, but there was nothing anyone could do about it. It amazed the priest that Graciela had turned out as well as she had. She was kind and gentle and never complained or talked about her home life.
Graciela would appear at church every Sunday morning wearing a clean, neat outfit that he was sure she had washed herself. Father Perez knew she was shunned by the other children in town, and his heart went out to her. He made it a point to
Similar Books
