Loteria by Mario Alberto Zambrano Read Free Book Online Page B

when I opened the door. She was sitting on one of the chairs against the wall in the hallway, with a black shawl over her head. “You’re not going dressed like that.”
    I motioned toward the front door.
    “Mama! ¡Por favor! You’re not going like that.” She opened her hands like if she wanted me to take off my clothes and give them to her.
    I waited for her to stand up.
    On the way out Larry said good-bye and reminded us that I had to be back before seven. He was sorry, but it was the rules. I didn’t see Julia anywhere. I thought she’d walk us to the car and act like some caregiver or something. But I didn’t see her. It was Saturday.
    They let Tencha take me in her car, even though there was an officer following us the whole time. I stared out the window and wanted to ask if we could go somewhere else, to Astroworld or the Galleria. I didn’t want to see anyone that would make me feel like if I were carrying bricks in my pockets.
    It didn’t hit me until we were in Magnolia Park, near our old house, that I’d see the Silvas. That they probably knew everything that happened. I thought of Buelita Fe and felt sick. When we passed a McDonald’s I pointed to it and tried to get Tencha to stop. But she said no. We couldn’t be late. She didn’t know what had gotten into me.
    The parking lot was half-full when we got there. On the way inside I stepped into a puddle because I was staring at a house across the street, at a black Doberman sleeping near the front steps.
    Tencha grabbed me by the hand and pulled me toward the entrance. There was hardly anyone inside except for the Silvas and a few neighbors I recognized. At the altar, behind Padre Félix, was the coffin, closed with white roses over it. I wanted to sit behind everyone, but Tencha kept walking, pulling me forward. We passed the pews and I kept my head down. As soon as we sat in the first row I heard those words, “En el nombre del Padre, del Hijo, del Espíritu Santo, Amen.”
    Then everyone stood up.
    The last time I’d been there I was sitting in our usual spot, on the left side about ten pews back. I turned my head, because I wanted to see if we were still there: Mom, Papi, Estrella, and me. But Buelita Fe was there, staring at me and grabbing her elbows like if she were hugging herself.
    The whole time I felt like if she were next to me. Because she could’ve been. So what if she was, kneeling and praying the way she used to when Mom would get up and take communion. I wanted to hear her voice. But all I could hear was Padre Félix and the organ in the corner behind him.
    Maybe she had nothing to say to me.
    I stayed close to Tencha after communion because I didn’t want to talk to anyone. They’d want to know how I was doing or tell me how sorry they were. They’d tell me that things happen. Accidents happen. Or maybe they wouldn’t say anything at all.
    When we were outside, Tía Hilda tried to get me to look at her, but I kept my head down and looked at my shoes, my black Adidas with the word SAMBA on them. Buelita Fe was the only one that didn’t push me. She grabbed my hand and patted it, then wiped my face like if it was dirty, and now it was clean. When I smelled her dishwashing soap on her hands, it was like my insides started folding and I started crying, keeping my mouth shut so they wouldn’t hear me.
    In the car on our way back to the center I wanted to tell Tencha I was sorry for not wearing the dress she bought me. I was sorry I didn’t want to go to the cemetery or the reception. But all I wanted was to go see Papi. She kept driving and looking forward like if there was nothing else to do but go back to the center.
    Then I said something, something stupid that came to my mind. It was the first time I opened my mouth since it happened. The first time I said anything.
    “Why don’t we go back to Mexico?”
    She paused for a moment, looking at me then back at the road. I guess she needed a moment to realize that I’d spoken.