Read Online Until I Find Julian by Patricia Reilly Giff - Free Book Online
Authors: Patricia Reilly Giff
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darkness.
“Too bad, old woman,” I whispered to myself, and threw the broom into the high weeds that lined the creek.
It was so easy…
Until I told Julian.
“We can’t do that, Mateo,” he said. “What does she have but her house, her broom? No family. No one to care about her.”
We went back to look for the broom, but it wasn’t there.
“Maybe she found it,” I said.
“I don’t think so.” He ran his hands through his hair. “It’s here somewhere, but it’s too dark.”
Julian took the money he’d been saving in his sock and bought her a broom, a much better one that wasn’t filthy and falling apart. He carried it up to her porch with me in back of him.
The old woman stuck out her lip, not a bit grateful. But later Julian said, “Why should she be grateful? We’re the ones who caused her broom to be lying in the weeds somewhere.”
That was Julian. “We’re the ones,” he’d said, when he knew it wasn’t any of his fault.
I took the coin Abuelita had given me for my name day and slipped it into his sock that night.
The bedroom door is closed the next morning, so Angel must be sleeping. I tear a piece of paper from the notebook and scribble a message:
A—
Went to look at a factory. Don’t worry.
I won’t get caught.
I leave it in the living room on the scarred table in front of the couch.
It’s a straight road, but it stretches a long way in front of me. It’s empty, no people, no cars, and after a while it loses its city look: no longer cement, but a dirt road that sends up swirls of dust and grit that I feel on my tongue as I walk along. I’m slower now. The sun feels as if it’s burning a hole through the top of my head.
But then, ahead, I see evergreen trees, odd shaped and thin, packed together. They send cool shade across the road, and a wonderful piney smell.
On the way back, I’ll step into that forest. But for now, I hope that I’m on my way to Julian.
A few minutes after I pass the forest, the smell changes. It’s a choking kind of smell that makes me want to cough, that makes me want to breathe through my mouth so I don’t have to take in that thick odor of fertilizer.
The factory. I see a long, low gray building with a chimney spewing yellow smoke. I watch for someone to come outside, someone who looks friendly enough to ask.
I wait a long time until I hear a whistle. It’s so loud that I put my hands over my ears. The doors open; men and women pour out, coughing, and head for benches with their lunches.
Could I just go over there? I look around. No policemen anywhere that I can see. I make myself walk to one of the benches. The four women sitting there glance up, sandwiches in their hands.
I clear my throat, tasting the fertilizer. “I’m looking for my brother,” I say in Spanish, my voice hoarse.
One of the women speaks, her voice as hoarse as mine. “What’s his name?” And another, “What does he look like?”
And the one sitting at the end of the bench, her hair straight down her back, says, “He looks like this kid, I bet. What’s your name?”
I can hardly breathe. “Mateo.”
“Dark eyes…” She raises her hand to her head. “Hair…”
She doesn’t want to say every-which-way hair.
“And,” she goes on, “his name is Julian.”
I sink down on the edge of the bench next to her. I can’t talk. I can’t open my mouth. I can’t say a word.
She takes a bite from her sandwich. “You remember?” she asks the others.
They shake their heads, chewing now, but they look at me carefully.
The woman knows. I watch her. I wait.
“He worked here, I remember,” she says. “A nice boy. A good boy. Gone now.” She takes another bite.
My words rush out. “But where is he?”
“I don’t know, child.”
“Which way did he go?”
I can see she’s becoming irritated, but I can’t help that.
I point toward the road. Is it the way I’ve come, or do I have to go farther?
She tosses the paper bag over her shoulder. It
“Too bad, old woman,” I whispered to myself, and threw the broom into the high weeds that lined the creek.
It was so easy…
Until I told Julian.
“We can’t do that, Mateo,” he said. “What does she have but her house, her broom? No family. No one to care about her.”
We went back to look for the broom, but it wasn’t there.
“Maybe she found it,” I said.
“I don’t think so.” He ran his hands through his hair. “It’s here somewhere, but it’s too dark.”
Julian took the money he’d been saving in his sock and bought her a broom, a much better one that wasn’t filthy and falling apart. He carried it up to her porch with me in back of him.
The old woman stuck out her lip, not a bit grateful. But later Julian said, “Why should she be grateful? We’re the ones who caused her broom to be lying in the weeds somewhere.”
That was Julian. “We’re the ones,” he’d said, when he knew it wasn’t any of his fault.
I took the coin Abuelita had given me for my name day and slipped it into his sock that night.
The bedroom door is closed the next morning, so Angel must be sleeping. I tear a piece of paper from the notebook and scribble a message:
A—
Went to look at a factory. Don’t worry.
I won’t get caught.
I leave it in the living room on the scarred table in front of the couch.
It’s a straight road, but it stretches a long way in front of me. It’s empty, no people, no cars, and after a while it loses its city look: no longer cement, but a dirt road that sends up swirls of dust and grit that I feel on my tongue as I walk along. I’m slower now. The sun feels as if it’s burning a hole through the top of my head.
But then, ahead, I see evergreen trees, odd shaped and thin, packed together. They send cool shade across the road, and a wonderful piney smell.
On the way back, I’ll step into that forest. But for now, I hope that I’m on my way to Julian.
A few minutes after I pass the forest, the smell changes. It’s a choking kind of smell that makes me want to cough, that makes me want to breathe through my mouth so I don’t have to take in that thick odor of fertilizer.
The factory. I see a long, low gray building with a chimney spewing yellow smoke. I watch for someone to come outside, someone who looks friendly enough to ask.
I wait a long time until I hear a whistle. It’s so loud that I put my hands over my ears. The doors open; men and women pour out, coughing, and head for benches with their lunches.
Could I just go over there? I look around. No policemen anywhere that I can see. I make myself walk to one of the benches. The four women sitting there glance up, sandwiches in their hands.
I clear my throat, tasting the fertilizer. “I’m looking for my brother,” I say in Spanish, my voice hoarse.
One of the women speaks, her voice as hoarse as mine. “What’s his name?” And another, “What does he look like?”
And the one sitting at the end of the bench, her hair straight down her back, says, “He looks like this kid, I bet. What’s your name?”
I can hardly breathe. “Mateo.”
“Dark eyes…” She raises her hand to her head. “Hair…”
She doesn’t want to say every-which-way hair.
“And,” she goes on, “his name is Julian.”
I sink down on the edge of the bench next to her. I can’t talk. I can’t open my mouth. I can’t say a word.
She takes a bite from her sandwich. “You remember?” she asks the others.
They shake their heads, chewing now, but they look at me carefully.
The woman knows. I watch her. I wait.
“He worked here, I remember,” she says. “A nice boy. A good boy. Gone now.” She takes another bite.
My words rush out. “But where is he?”
“I don’t know, child.”
“Which way did he go?”
I can see she’s becoming irritated, but I can’t help that.
I point toward the road. Is it the way I’ve come, or do I have to go farther?
She tosses the paper bag over her shoulder. It
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