Chapter 1: The Coup
Guatemala City, June 1954
My father is one of the few friends President Arbenz has left. For the past few months, my father has dressed in his gray lawyer suit and spent every day at the Palacio Nacional with the President. I asked Papi if I could go with him but he said he would take me when the State of Emergency was over. For now, I have to stay home with my mother and little brother.
For the last four years the President has upset a whole lot of people, including my mother. She hates him and calls him a communist for taking some of her land and giving it to the poor Indians. Lots of people don’t want him to be President anymore. Some even tried to kill him. My father said all those people will be sorry because the President is a good man who wants everyone to have black beans, tortillas, milk and eggs on their table everyday. Papi also said the President has been framed. I don’t know what he meant by that but I don’t like it.
Yesterday I turned eight-years-old, but I wasn't allowed to celebrate my birthday. President Arbenz said no one could invite friends to their homes. My father told me the President was in terrible trouble and we would be too if we disobeyed his orders. We didn't invite anyone over, and I didn't cry or get angry for not even having a piñata to break.
It was still too dangerous to go to school so I put on my red pants and red rubber boots and fixed my hair in a pony tail. I had to get to the creek outside our old Spanish home and throw some rocks. Once again my parents were arguing about Father going to the Palacio Nacional.
I sneaked out the kitchen door and gathered a pile of rocks next to me and began throwing them at a tree. I prefer the small round rocks; they travel faster and hit my target better. I was collecting my second pile of rocks and couldn’t hear my parents shouting anymore when a single engine plane came swooping over our house like a hunting hawk. It was one of the planes called Sulphate or laxative because they make everyone run to the bathroom when they turn up. In seconds my father was out the door. He raced past me with a rifle on his back.
“Papi!” I said.
His freckled face was crimson with anger as he ran through the garden to the ladder leaning against the thick white wall of our house.
I looked up at the airplane; gray leaflets were coming out of its tummy.
Father didn’t wait for the papers to hit the ground; he reached out his arm and grabbed one. He quickly read it and said. “Gringo schemers; now they want Arbenz to resign.” He tucked the flyer into his suit pocket and climbed up the ladder.
Juana, my Mayan nanny, darted out the kitchen door looking for me. When she saw my father on the roof of the house pointing his rifle at the plane she covered her mouth with one hand and said, “What in the name of God is going on?”
I shrugged my shoulders to show her I didn’t know and ran over to follow my father up the ladder. “Papi, come back!”
My athletic father raced up the wall as if he intended to grab the plane out of the sky and smash it in his fist. Then he jumped from one clay tile to another making the roof of our home shake so violently I was afraid I'd fall off the ladder and he would crack the roof and land in the living room like a sack of black beans.
“Come back!” I called to him.
My father didn’t hear me. He kept on jumping, pointing his rifle into the gray, gloomy sky, and firing at the plane overhead until he ran out of bullets. Maybe he thought he could stop it from dropping more papers around on our neighborhood.
The Sulphate disappeared in the distance as fast and abruptly as it had come. Behind it, thousands of leaflets floated over us as if they were ashes raining from a volcano. My father kept shouting, "Cabrónes! Go away! We don't want you here!"
Finally, when the last of the propaganda had fluttered to the ground and we could no longer hear the rumbling of the plane, my father came down the ladder. He picked up another leaflet and grumbled, “Traitors.”
“It’s only paper,” I said. “Why are you so mad?”
“What are you doing here?” he turned to ask.
“I wanted to be with you.”
“Lorena, you should have stayed in the house with your mother.”
“But I wanted to help you.”
"You don't even know how to shoot."
“I can hold your rifle while you load it.”
Father knelt in front of me and rubbing my arms, he kissed my cheek. "Lorena,” he said, “next time you hear the planes, they will be dropping bombs, not papers. Then I will need your help.”
I stared into his big brown eyes and waited for him to tell me how. Of course I would help.
"You're eight now, and I know I can trust you. First, I want you to take care of yourself."
I nodded, that was easy. I already took care of myself. I had no idea what else he wanted of me, yet his deep voice warned me it was important.
“Second," he frowned, “if I’m not around when the bombers come, I want you to take care of your mother.”
“What?” I clenched my jaw. “I can’t do that, Papi.”
“I’m counting on you. Just make sure your mother stays calm.”
“Mami would never listen to me.”
“She will,” he said. “If you take care of her, I promise next year I will teach you to shoot.”
I wanted a gun just as bad as some girls wanted a doll. But how could I protect Mami? She was the most beautiful, smartest and at twenty-six she was the youngest mother in my class. Her friends watched over her when she acted a bit loud. Mother didn’t need me. Before I could ask Father what I could really do for Mami, he kissed me on the cheek. “Negrita, I’ll be back before your bedtime,” he said and rand up the steps into the house. I knew he was going to the Palacio Nacional.
Just in case another plane bombed us like Father warned, I spent the rest of the day inside the house.
***
As he promised, Father was back that evening before dark. I heard him pacing the hallway until Mother shouted, “Are you going to keep us awake all night?”
I put the pillow over my head. I didn’t want to hear her curse Papi for being gone all day to be with the President. The entire time Father was on the roof shooting at the plane, Mother had remained inside celebrating the counter-revolutionaries’ actions with a several cups of coffee. After Father drove off she was in one of those moods where it’s better to stay out of her sight. I had no intention of getting sent to my room so I was very still while she talked away.
“Filthy communist,” she said referring to Arbenz. “As soon as the Liberator marches into the city I will get my fifteen-hundred acres of land back.”
Father had told me Arbenz gave more than 1500 acres of his own land to the Indians, too; I kept that information quiet. I figured Arbenz did it because he wanted to. Maybe he didn’t like his land. Mother wanted her land back and in some ways I took her side. It wasn’t fair to take other people's things. I didn’t want my six-year-old brother, Carlos to get one of my kittens just because I had two and he wanted one.
Then there was Juana. She had been my Nanny since the day I was born. I loved her and she was poor. Sometimes her family didn’t have enough food to eat. She told me that if they could only have a piece of land to plant corn and beans and have chickens to make soup and to kill for her God, then they wouldn’t starve. It was only fair that her families have some land; there was so much land everywhere.
I didn’t know which side to take. If I took Mother’s side then Juana’s family could die; if I took the President’s side then Mother would get mad at me.
A week passed without any Sulphates coming to scare us. Father, loyal to his friend, kept going to the Palacio Nacional every day and coming home before dawn. With the state of emergency enforced, he had to come back home early. No one was allowed to drive at night. Every house had to turn their lights off and keep them off. We were in bed shortly after the sun went down and we used candles to get to the bathroom. Arbenz said darkness would protect us from being targets of bombings from the counter-revolutionary planes. The pilots would get lost or crash into the nearby mountains if they had no lights to go by.
*****
We lived in the city but faraway from downtown. That way we avoided being trapped in the middle of the war. With three other neighbors, we had built a private road. From our home, we could hear the roaring of a car driving onto our property and spot strangers blocks before they could get close to our houses. This privacy made our home safe from intruders.
We didn’t have to flee the city like so many of our friends; Tía Rebeca, my seven-year-old cousin Sandra, and my grandmother came to live with us until the war calmed down. I dreaded having to share my room with Sandra. She left her dolls on my bed, complained about how my red boots stank, and whined about how she didn’t like living with us. If we were at her home I wouldn’t like it either so I kept my mouth shut and tried to make her feel welcome. She would leave as soon as the Sulphates disappeared from the sky forever. My Father was working with the President to make sure the planes never came back.
Sandra and I looked like sisters. We both had the same light brown-sugar eyes and our thick hair, which hung to the middle of our backs, was the color of mahogany bark. Both of us had fair skin that burned and hurt after a weekend at the beach. But aside from our looks, Sandra and I were as different as a tree in a forest and a flower in a vase. She wore dresses bought in Spain or France, pushed her teddy bear around in a carriage, and played house with Carlos. I hated playing with dolls and stuffed toys. I didn't mind a bit or a lot of dirt on my clothes, and I liked chasing the frogs down the ravine, collecting sticks and throwing rocks with my sling shot. Most of the time, I stayed out of their way and they stayed out of mine.
One morning I was still in bed, tasting the smell of Juana’s freshly ground coffee, when I heard the roaring of airplanes. In seconds they were over us. I remembered my father telling me that next time they would be dropping bombs instead of leaflets. I had to find my mother. I was bouncing on one foot trying to slip my rubber boot on when, “Booom!” The house shook from the explosion.
“Come on, Sandra, let’s go!” I grabbed my cousin's hand and we ran out the bedroom door. As soon as we were in the hall Sandra let go of my hand and shrank up against the stucco wall.
"Bomb! It’s a bomb!” Tía Rebeca screamed from the other side of the house. “Girls, come fast.” Her long blonde hair flying loose, Tía crossed the main patio holding a Bible over her head as if the book would guard her from the bombs. When she saw us sliding along the cold stucco wall, unsure where to go, she raced toward us and called, "Sandraaa! Lorenaaa!"
Sandra’s face relaxed. My cousin trusted that her mother would protect her even when the bombs were falling. I wished my mother could be more like Tía Rebeca. But I shouldn’t wish that now. I needed to find my mother and keep her calm like I had promised Father. I had to make sure Mother wouldn’t get mad at me or anyone else.
Tía Rebeca grabbed my cousin by the back of her blouse and pulled her toward the sewing room. She signaled me to follow. “Lorena, come hide with us.”
“I can’t. I have to find Mami.”
My nanny, in her pink uniform and rubber tire sandals that flapped up and down as she hurried past me, touched my shoulder and said, "Lorenita, come, come with me."
“Have you seen my mother?”
“Maybe she’s in the kitchen.”
I followed Juana even though I knew Mother only went there twice a year to count her silverware and inspect for neatness. Maybe it was her day to check.
On our way to the kitchen, Abue, my grandmother, shouted from behind us, “Hurry. More bombers will come.”
To let my grandmother pass, I quickly moved over to the cedar double door and by accident kicked a lower windowpane out. A sudden gush of air blew in on my legs. I tried to pick up the pieces of glass but they were scattered all over the kitchen. I was in trouble; Mother would be furious at me for my clumsiness and Father would be disappointed. I had already failed him by upsetting Mother.
Juana opened and closed the kitchen cabinets as though she wanted to wake up her long dead papa’s spirit, and yelled out, “Tataaaaaaa, don’t let them kill us."
“Juana, stop it,” I said.
“Ayyy Tata, Tatita, please help us,” she wept as if her tears were the only way he could hear her calling.
“Juana, you’re scaring me,” I said. “There are no spirits.” She was always telling me stories about how some spirits would lie in bed next to you and you could feel their cold bodies resting and how they whispered nasty things in your ears, or how they would hide your money when they didn’t want you to buy something or make you do things that you didn’t want to do.
The spirits had never bothered me but Juana talked about them so often, I was beginning to believe they really did the things that she said.
“The spirits are here,” she shouted. “They’ve come to take us. Tata, Tatita protect us, please don’t let them take me and my Lorenita.”
Goose bumps rose on my arms and back. For the first time, I could feel her
Tata in the kitchen with us.
“Lorenita, pray, pray with me.”
“I can’t pray to your spirits. I don’t know how.” We were going to die! A bomb would fall on us and the bad spirits would take us!
I tried to shout, “Juana, let’s get out of here,” but every syllable got stuck in my throat and not a sound came out. I tried to run and felt my feet glued to the floor. It was the evil spirits. They had grabbed me from below. I had to get away; I swung my arms up and down like a bird trying to fly. Nothing happened. I was trapped. How could I take care of mother if I couldn’t even take care of myself?
Tía and Abue ran past me out of the kitchen while I was still flapping my arms trying to get away. In their hurry they hadn’t seen me or they would have stopped to help me and take me with them.
Machine guns began erupting in the distant streets like strings of firecrackers.
Running out of the kitchen, Juana shouted, “We can't hide in here, they’re firing at us."
“Carlos!” My mother’s voice so jolted me out of my panic I forgot about Juana’s spirits and ran toward Mother. My legs were trembling when I saw her at the other side of the hall, pulling Carlos by the hand. I should have guessed she was with my little brother. In her rush, her green high heels skittered over the tiles, and cracked open a terra-cotta planter. She ignored the dirt and plants scattered on the floor and kept running. Now that she had ruined the vase I hoped she wouldn’t get mad at me for breaking the windowpane.
"Mami!" I sprang over the mess to catch up with her. She kept running, whisked Carlos into her bedroom, pushed him under the bed, and wriggled after him. >From the doorway I saw part of her green ruffled skirt fanned out on the floor. Even in danger she was careful not to get wrinkled.
“Mami, Mami,” I said, “I finally found you.”
She peeked out from her hiding place, her black silky hair sweeping the tiles as she turned. “Lorena, hija, why are you standing there?”
“I’ve being looking for you,” I said and started to run towards the bed to hide with her.
“There’s no space here,” she said. “The boxes are crowding us.”
“I’ll fix them,” I said and ran to push the boxes filled with books Father had written. They were too heavy for me to move alone. I couldn't make a space for me.
“Why do you always defy me?” she said.
“But Mami, I just want to protect you.”
Mother laughed. “Where did you get that silly idea?”
I kept quiet. I couldn’t tell her about my promise to father.
"Now, go," she said. “Go find a hiding place.”
How could Father make me believe I could protect her?
“Yeah, Lorena,” Carlos shouted, “Go hide inside the garbage can.”
“I’ll dump you into the garbage can.”
“Didn’t you hear me?” said Mother. “Go find a hiding place now.”
My shoulders stiffened and my eyes began to fill up with tears. Mother didn’t want me and I didn’t know where to go. I never thought I would have to hide all by myself. I stood there frozen next to her bed until, suddenly; I knew where I could go. I flew across the hall to our old wooden bar at the far side of the living room. Just before ducking behind it, I glanced out the window and saw our tree.
The branches of the weeping willow that Father and I had planted were gently swaying in the wind, telling me that I’d be safe. I curled up behind the bar and sneezed from the strong smell of old rum and whiskey mixed with the pinewood detergent our maid used to mop the floors. I didn’t bother covering my nose. At last I was safe and in my very own fortress. Now I needed to calm myself. My breathing was fast and loud, my blood was boiling like a stream that couldn’t be stopped. Be good; be good, I told myself. Be a good girl and maybe the airplanes will go away.
What I wanted most in the world was for Mother to come looking for me and hold me in her arms and tell me that she loved me. Then I remembered how she had laughed at me and sent me away. Father should have known she would. I closed my eyes. The cold floor where I waited had taken the warmth of my body and in a strange way it comforted me.
More planes came beating across the sky. The house trembled from side to side like it did with the earthquakes that shook the city last year. I curled up even tighter and pressed my hands hard against my ears, hoping not to hear the rat-tat-tat of the machine guns exploding outside our home. A sip of water would be heaven; my mouth was so dry it felt cracked. I turned my neck from side to side and it hurt. How long would I have to stay curled up like this? I didn’t know. All I knew was that I was supposed to be hiding. In my mind I flew away to my favorite place and saw myself barefooted and splashing in the river where Father had taken me last month.
After the roar of the planes had passed, tía Rebeca --who had been hiding in the sewing room-- clicked on the radio and turned the volume up high. A solemn voice, the same one the government used for national emergencies, came out of the box. "They’re bombing the Palacio Nacional. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. We have lost count of the number of airplanes attacking us."
"That voice again,” screamed tía Rebeca from the sewing room. "I hate that man."
“Alejandro is in the Palace with the President,” Mother shouted.
Father was caught inside the walls of the Palace!
The alarmed voice on the radio continued: "A squadron of airplanes are attacking the Palacio Nacional! The soldiers are firing back!" Then for a long time, only a loud buzz came from the radio. We didn’t dare turn it off or change the station; we needed to hear more news.
I remembered the time we went to visit the President. Patting one of the green stones on the Palacio Nacional’s wall, Father told me, “behind these thick walls, there are many secret passages and more than one million doors and windows.”
I didn’t believe a building could have that many doors and windows. We walked up and down the Palacio Nacional and counted three hundred and thirty five before I got tired. Even if the building had less than a million doors and windows, Father should be able to find one to climb out. I just hoped he wouldn’t be trapped like the orange fish in the Palace fountain with nowhere to go when the bombs fell.
Finally, the voice resumed: "President Arbenz has surrendered. The armed forces and all the political parties have confirmed that they will not support him. The counter-revolution has succeeded.” The announcer took a deep breath, then in a deeper voice said, “Until they appoint a new President, Lieutenant Colonel Castillo Armas is head of the new government. To restore order in the country, he promises to use the entire weight of the law against anyone who tries to help ex-president Arbenz."
But Father would help the President. That’s what friends do for each other. The voice continued, "As of this time, no one may leave the Palacio Nacional. All doors to the building are locked. Anyone found inside will be considered a traitor and interrogated at once."
I put my hands together in prayer. “My father is no traitor. Please, dear Jesus, please help him find a safe door to escape.”
Before any of us could move, the National Hymn played on the radio.
"Guatemala feliz! Que tus aras "Blessed Guatemala! May your altars
No profane jamás el verdugo; Never be profaned by cruel men.
Ni haya esclavos que laman el yugo May there never be slaves who deride you
Ni tiranos que escupan tu faz. . ." If your sacred soil should be threatened
Si mañana tu suelo sagrado By foreign invasion…
Lo amenaza invasión extranjera…
"Libre al viento tu hermosa bandera "Free like the wind, your beautiful flag
A vencer o a morir llamará; Will call on you: to conquer or die
Qué tu pueblo con anima fiera For your people with heart and soul
Antes muerto que esclavo será…" Would rather die than be made slave…"
Mother rushed into the living room shouting, "Everyone, out of your hiding places. Rebeca, Lorena, Mother, quickly."
I stretched my arms and waited to hear voices near me. I didn’t want to be
the first one out and find myself all alone in the living room.
"Lorena, your father could be dead," Mother cried.
“Papi is not dead,” I said and crawled out of my hiding place. “He would never die and leave me.” Mother was in front of me, her hands shaking, her black silky hair messed up. Seeing her so pale and nervous reminded me that when she was just a little older than me she had to hide inside a closet for eight hours while rioters stoned her house calling for her father to surrender. Her heart must have pounded with fear when the soldiers found her and her little brother inside that dark tiny closet. I shouldn’t get mad at Mother. I was a bad daughter for forgetting how much she had suffered. Maybe Father had remembered and that’s why he wanted me to protect her.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Your father could be dead.”
Sandra opened the door from the sewing room. Without the roar of the airplanes, the squeak seemed unnaturally loud. Sandra walked into the living room in front of her mother, with tía Rebeca’s long white arms embracing her from behind.
Tía Rebeca and Sandra did not resemble each other. Tía was slim and elegant and her blonde hair was neatly combed. Sandra was chubby and always getting in trouble for eating too much bread. Yet no one doubted they were mother and daughter. When they walked, they carried themselves proudly, lifting their heads higher than anyone I knew.
Juana crawled out from under the dining room table tucking in the shirt of her pink uniform. Mother expected her to look clean and proper at all times. Abue, my grandmother, was combing her short wavy gray hair, which was standing out around her head as if she’d seen the spirit of Juana’s Tata. Abue followed my mother from one side of the living room to the other as if she was tied to her daughter by an invisible ribbon. She was worried that Mother would do something crazy.
Without wasting time, Mother ran her fingertips over each figurine of her expensive crystal collection, saving her favorite --a slender panther with a long back-- for last. She picked up the panther and caressed it slowly. Her red fingernails showed through the glass. Finally she put it back on the counter and gazed at the rest of her figurines.
“Good. All of them are intact,” she said, then she walked to the window. When she opened the curtain to stare at Father’s willow, I noticed that she moved as gracefully as a panther. Both looked sleek and innocent, but you could never tell when they would get angry and attack.
"Don't worry, Ana María,” Abue whispered to Mother, “Alejandro will come home safe."
I hoped Abue was right.
Tía Rebeca, who always worried about others, asked, "Is everyone okay?" Looking around, she counted us. "Seven." I was number seven. I felt the calm of her ocean-green eyes on me when she asked, “And you, Lorena? Who was with you?”
I didn’t want her pity. I raised my head and answered proudly, “I found my own place.”
Tía Rebeca pursed her lips; she wanted to scold Mother for not taking care of me but she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t dare, no one did.
“I had the best place in the house,” I assured her.
“You did, did you?” Tía said, and fixed the pin in my hair.
"Why is God doing this to me again?" Mother spit out. "What sins am I paying for?”
"God is not doing it to you." Abue’s gentle black eyes looked kindly at Mother, maybe remembering what had happened in the October Revolution ten years before.
"I'm going outside,” Mother said. "I need to breathe some fresh air." She looked at Abue intensely, with hatred.
“Mami, I’m coming too,” said Carlos. “I’ve got to get my Sarita.”
“You need to wait inside,” Mother said to him. “I promise to look for your chicken.”
“I’ll wait by the door,” he answered.
The quick looks that my aunt and grandmother shot each other made me fear Mother would be in danger by going outside. Out there she wouldn’t be able to hide and protect herself.
“Let me go with you,” I said. “I know our backyard better than anyone else. If we need to hide, I know where to go.”
“It’s not safe to go outside,” Abue said. She gave me a pointed look that meant, 'what are you doing? You need to help me stop your Mother, not side with her.'
I turned away and pretended I didn’t get what she was telling me.
"Wait," said tía Rebeca. "My brother would never forgive me if I allowed anything to happen to any of you.” Tía was the only girl in a family of six boys; she took care of them after their mother died. She also felt responsible for Mother.
"I promised Carlos,” Mother said. “Besides, I have to check and see if any damage was done to our property." She walked toward the door with Carlos and me by her side. Abue was already there, blocking the door with her pale flabby arms.
“Mija," Abue said, "You need to control yourself. Please, for the children's sake. What example are you setting for them by going outside?”
"Don’t talk to me about controlling myself. We’re in the middle of a revolution, and of all people, you should know that heads will roll. How could you forget?"
"I haven’t forgotten,” said Abue, her arms still tight in the front door.
"Please, please don't go outside looking for a chicken. Tomorrow the danger will be over and we can all help you look."
"This is ridiculous,” Mother said. “If I want to kill myself, then let me!”
Abue’s eyes convinced me that I shouldn’t go out, but Mother was losing control and I needed to do something, say something so she could be calm. If only I was older I’d know how to talk sense into Mother. Couldn’t she see that we were all trying to protect her from bumping into an unexploded bomb or bullet in our backyard? I needed to make her understand that it was stupid to risk her life for a chicken.
“Please Mami, don’t go,” I begged her.
Mother stared at me with dark menacing eyes. “What do you care? You only care about your father.”
“I’m begging you, please, don’t go,” I said trying to calm her, yet my heart was threatening to jump out of my chest.
Her eyes were piercing me with anger. Then suddenly, as though she had been sprayed with magic dust, her eyes softened and she said, “Alright. If it’s that important to you, I won’t go outside to look for Carlos’s chicken.” She pointed her finger at me. “Don’t you ever dare say that I don’t love you.”
“I won’t.”
“Mami, you promised!” Carlos stomped his foot.
I wanted to glue his lips together and tell him to shut up, but that would get Mother angry and I didn’t want that.
“Later Carlos,” Mother said to him, “Later.”
Mother walked back to the living room with Carlos clinging to her leg as if she wore a cast. She gently set him atop the velvet sofa and turned to Abue.
“Mother,” she said, “how can you believe the danger will be over by tomorrow?”
I backed away to a corner. I needed to be quiet and let my pounding heart
calm. I motioned to my nanny to come with me; Juana was the only one I trusted. Lately, I’d been on a growth spurt and was almost as tall as she was. Soon I wouldn’t fit into the safety of her lap. My nanny tenderly put her arm around my stiff shoulders; her hands still smelled of corn from the tortillas she’d been making. In her arms, I felt like weeping until the next sunset. I held my tears. I didn’t want anyone to know that I was really scared. Carlos was curled up in Mother’s lap. He wrapped her hair around his finger like he used to do when he was two and still drinking his bottle. For an instant I wished I could be him.
“It’s okay, my Nena,” Juana said. She must have sensed my jealousy. Abue squeezed onto the couch next to Mother and Carlos.
"I'm so sorry you have to go through this again, Ana María," she said. "You’re still so young.”
I saw Mother’s eyes brimming with tears. I had never seen her cry before, and I didn’t know what to do, it scared me.
"Listen to me, Ana María," Abue crossed her leg and wiggled her foot like she did when she was nervous. "It's different this time."
“How can you say that? If Alejandro survives, they’ll exile him like they
did my father and me.”
“I’m sorry,” Abue said, trying to hold Mother’s hand.
Mother pulled it back and said, “No, you’re not sorry. You don’t know what
it’s like to live in exile. I do. I stayed with my father until the very end. I watched him die of sadness.”
Abue lowered her tired head. She had divorced my grandfather for another man and left my mother behind when she was a little girl. I wasn’t sure if Abue was feeling guilty or whether she suspected that saying anything more would only add fuel to Mother’s fire.
Mother had told me many times that my grandfather had died of sadness. Shaking, I asked her in a still small voice, “Mami? Will they exile Papi? Will he die of sadness too?”
Sandra, tía Rebeca, Abue and Juana formed a circle around us, listening, waiting for Mother’s answer.
In that brief moment of quiet, we heard rapid muffled knocking at our front door.
