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~ 69 ~ Wailing Cry ~ It was actually better for us that Apá didn’t want to leave his country. Maybe he actually considered us for once, knowing that he couldn’t live up to the commitment. In any case, we no longer had to be afraid of Apá coming over and hurting Amá when he found her alone.This decision also put an end to his attempts to reconcile with her. Over and over again, he had tried to tell her that he was going to change, while he still continued his wild nights. Each time we went looking for him we found him with a different woman. Amá would hear about Apá’s adventures either from us or from neighbors. One afternoon Apá had come around, expecting us to be in school, but it was a holiday and we four girls were playing out in the street when he arrived.We didn’t know he was home, so when I ran inside the house, I was surprised to see him in the kitchen. He was kneeling down in front of Amá begging her forgiveness. He swore he wasn’t going to hurt her anymore in any way, and that he wanted his family together again. Amá told him that he wasn’t hurting her, but he was hurting his children. Amá kept repeating, “No, Fidencio, no.” In his rage, he threw a glass of water at her.Then, to make a bigger impression on her, he grabbed a picture of Amá’s favorite patron saint and put it right in front of her face. He had placed it so close to her face that she couldn’t move without hitting it with her face. Amá turned pale with anxiety. Next thing, he smashed the picture onto her face. I felt my heart drop to my feet with fear. I yelled for my sisters, but they were already there. I looked at Amá, and I saw the pieces of glass drop to the floor. Blood ran from her face down to her feet. Without communicating, my sisters and I attacked Apá. ~ 70 ~ Mary grabbed Apá by his curly hair, and my sister Estella climbed on a wooden crate so she could hit my father on the head with a cast-iron skillet. I ran as fast as I could to our nearest neighbors. I ran into their kitchen without even knocking .The woman was washing dishes when I charged up to her with a lump in my throat. I was so frightened and breathless I couldn’t even speak. After a few moments of trying, I grabbed her by her apron and told her to go to my house because my apá was hurting my mother. By the time we got there, another neighbor was already there. Disgusted, the two women told Apá to leave or they would call the police.Without even turning to see if Amá was all right, Apá was out the door. My sisters and I were in a state of utter terror. I remember being choked by this emotion. My whole body was tense and stiff with fear. Later, Joe returned home. The house was unusually quiet. Everybody was too afraid to talk about what had happened. Joe asked what was wrong, but nobody answered. He saw Amá’s face. He became enraged. His eyes burned with anger so intense I felt that if he had stared at an object it would have burst into flames. He told us to call him at work if Apá ever came over again, whether Amá agreed or not. For many days after that incident, I was full of terror, partly because I thought God would punish me for wishing Apá’s death. How, I wondered, could a man who abused his family in so many ways engage in religious acts? Yet I had seen Apá perform his ceremonial rituals. Many times I had seen him walking on his knees from the litero (“courtyard”) to the altar to pay a manda, the price of a favor from God or one of the saints. When he was finished his knees would be bleeding. This was like making a pact with them for doing a miracle in response to his request. One pays a manda with some kind of self-sacrifice. My father carried on these rituals from the old days. When I was just a little girl, four or five years old, I remem- [3.141.31.209] Project MUSE...

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