Signs Preceding the End of the World by Yuri Herrera Read Free Book Online Page A

real real mournful and I had no way to know what it was she needed. Your brother went to see her and never came back. Reckon it worked out for him.
    And do you know where he went?
    Let the boy here take you; I showed him the barrio.
    The woman gave the youngster an address and Makina was already rushing him out to the street when she stopped and looked back to ask How did you know who I was? Did my brother tell you how to recognize me?
    That too, yes. Told me he had a sister who just by looking at her you could tell she was smart and schooled, said the woman. Yes, that too.
    After half a block the youngster was already lagging and decided to give Makina the address of the house where her brother had gone. Makina flew; she literally felt her feet not touching the ground, as if she could float, scissoring her legs till she found her brother and brought him home without setting foot on foreign soil again.
    The house was beautiful and big and pink and a wooden fence surrounded it. Makina opened the little gate in the middle of the fence, went up to the front door, rang the bell, waited. She heard a man’s footsteps approach and got her hopes up that it was him, that he himself would be the one to open the door, that they’d be reunited right then, no more delays. The door opened and there stood a small man with glasses, wrapped in a purple bathrobe. He was black. Never in her life had she seen so many black people up close, and all of a sudden they seemed to be the key to her quest. Makina glared as though reproaching him for being skinnier and blacker and older than her brother, as though this man were attempting to pass for the other. She was about to say something when he beat her to it with I could put on a blond wig if you like.
    Makina was thrown for a second and then laughed, embarrassed.
    Sorry, she said in anglo, it’s just that I was expecting someone else to open the door.
    Someone white? Do you think this is a white person’s house?
    No, no …
    Well, right you are, this is a white person’s house, there’s not a thing I can do about it, except dress like a white person. Do you like my robe?
    No … Yes … I mean, it’s just I was expecting someone different.
    A different black man? Are you saying I’m not black enough?
    Makina laughed. The man laughed. Suddenly her anxiety had passed. For the first time since she’d crossed she felt welcome, even if she still wasn’t invited in.
    No, not white or black, I’m looking for my brother. They told me he came here to work, in this house.
    Oh shoot, the man said with exaggerated disappointment, I knew my prayers couldn’t have been answered with such celerity … Last night I knelt down and begged the Lord: Lord, send me a woman to relieve me of my misery.
    I’m sorry …
    Right, I know, the brother. He’s not here. I’m here. The family that lived here moved. To another continent. They sold the house and I bought it. I don’t know why they left, but times are changing and this is a lovely place to stay put.
    Makina felt all of the strength she’d been recovering from her own ashes begin to ebb, felt herself extinguishing, felt she wouldn’t be able to verse from this one last dead end and that her luck had finally run out. To hell with it all, she thought, to hell with this guy and that one, to hell with all this shit, I’m going to hang myself from a lamppost and let the wind whip me around like an old rag; I’m going to start crying and then I’m going to go to hell too. She gestured farewell to the black man and prepared to go.
    There’s one left, though, he said.
    Makina stared intently, as if trying to read his lips.
    What?
    They left the oldest son behind. He’s a soldier. If you go to the army base you’ll find him there.
    Makina had no idea what so-called respectable people were referring to when they talked about Family. She’d known families that were truncated, extended, bitter, friendly, guileful, doleful, hospitable, ambitious, but