Red Midnight by Ben Mikaelsen Read Free Book Online Page A

sail the cayuco. Tonight I am not pretending. Everything that happens now is too real, and I want to hide and cry. Tonight I must be strong, I tell myself.
    When we reach the cayuco, Enrique takes the extra water bottles and pail of supplies I have carried. He pushes them with the other food into the small space under the deck boards on top of the coconuts. “You will have a hard time reaching these things,” Enrique says. “Angelina will have to crawl under for you.”
    Angelina is awake now in my arms and looks around with big eyes that are heavy with sleep. “Angelina can be my Little Squirrel and get things for me,” I say. “Doyou want to be my Little Squirrel?” I ask her.
    She nods. “Squirrel,” she says, still yawning. “Is this a game?”
    â€œYes, it is a game,” I say.
    Silvia comes to my side and hands me a plastic bag that is smaller than my fist. “This is for Angelina when she cries,” she says quietly.
    â€œWhat is it?” I ask.
    Silvia smiles. “Candy. When things do not go well, you can have some, too.”
    I do not know what to tell these old people who give us so much. The last time I tried, my words seemed small, so I hug each of them the way I once hugged my parents.
    â€œWe must go,” Enrique says.
    When we crawl into the cayuco, there is very little space. With boards nailed across the top, only one person can sit in the open back. Anybody else must lie underneath the deck or sit on top. There is room for only Angelina underneath, so I spread the petate on top of the coconuts for her to lie on.
    Enrique stretches out on top of the deck. He points to the back. “You are the sailor now,” he says. “I am only a passenger.”
    As I step into the cayuco, I realize how foolish I am. I am not a sailor. I am a poor indígeno who is afraid to push away from the shore. “Maybe this is foolish,” I say.
    Enrique pretends I have not spoken and pushes usaway from the dock. He hands me the paddle. “Move us away from shore before you raise the sail.”
    Carefully, as if I might break something, I dip the paddle into the water and take the first stroke toward the United States of America. And then I take the next stroke, and then the next. This long journey has begun.
    â€œThere is a good breeze from the west tonight,” says Enrique. “That is good. You must sail out of the Río Dulce to open ocean before the sun comes up.”
    When I am away from the shore, I do what I have done many times in my dreams. I crawl forward over the deck and untie the pieces of rope that keep the sail bundled around the sail poles. Then I untie the lifting rope from the mast and pull up the sail and top pole. When the triangle sail cannot be lifted any more, I wrap the rope around a handle Uncle Ramos has bolted to the bottom of the mast.
    The wind flaps the sail as I crawl past Enrique to the back. I lower the sideboard, then let the bottom sail pole swing farther and farther to the side until the wind suddenly fills the cloth. The cayuco tips but moves forward.
    Enrique points. “Use your paddle as a rudder and face that direction.” He points to faint lights in the distance. I look into the small darkened space below deck. “How are you?” I ask Angelina.
    She pokes her little head out and asks, “Where are we?”
    â€œWe are on Lake Izabal, and we are sailing to theUnited States of America.”
    She shrugs her little shoulders. “I knew that,” she says, and crawls back into the darkness.
    Enrique smiles. “I am not a real sailor, but Ramos has taken me sailing many times. Always he calls me his Second Sail because I help him. I think Angelina is your Second Sail.”
    I nod.
    â€œYou must practice before we reach the ocean. Change your direction and go that way,” Enrique says. He points again.
    I have to think, but I pull the sail pole toward me, then use the