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Chapter 17
- University of Wisconsin Press
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273 o 17 Sliv ers of sil very light il lu mi nated the tan gle of trees. The branches were leafless and twisted. They ended in nubs like the am pu tated limbs José had seen in one of his father’s med i cal books. His heart pounded in his chest, and a spasm of nau sea con stricted his throat. His feet sank into soft, squishy ground. Each step re leased an other jet of the stench of rot ting meat that filled his nos trils and clung to his clothes. As he edged his way among the trees there sud denly ap peared in his path a man-sized, winged crea ture cov ered in fecal-colored feath ers. Its face, framed by a mane of greasy hair, was half-human, half-avian. It turned black, iris less eyes on José and croaked men ac ingly. José stag gered back away from the crea ture, and, as he did, tore through the gnarled branch of a tree. From a dozen broken twigs, voices shrieked, “Why do you hurt us, boy!” José screamed. El Morito’s star tled green eyes glared at him for a sec ond and then the cat jumped off the bed. His breath was hard and shal low and his heart pounded in his chest. His bed clothes were damp with sweat. He reached to the bed table and turned on the lamp. The light flick ered on, dis pel ling the shad ows in which he half-feared the bird crea tures were lurk ing. His door creaked opened and his mother en tered the room in her night gown and robe. Her long, thick hair, fall ing loosely around her shoul ders, re minded him of the birds, and he shud dered as she ap proached him. “José,” she said gently. “I heard you shout. Did you have an other night mare?” “Yes,” he said in a qua ver ing voice. “I dreamed of the Wood of the Sui cides.” 274 Tragic Days She sat at the edge of his bed and sighed. “I wish you had obeyed me and stayed away from the Pa lan tino.” “I’m sorry, Mamá,” he said sob bing, as he threw him self into the cra dle of her arms. “I shall never dis obey you again. I will never go back there.” For weeks after he had gone to the cof fin maker’s the a ter, the flick er ing shad ows on the mus lin had re played them selves ob ses sively in his mind. He had re peat edly asked his mother if they could re turn, but her only inter est in the Tea tro Pa lan tino had been to learn about his father. When he asked to go alone, she told him El Car men was not a safe neigh bor hood for an un ac com pa nied child. “But I am not a child,” he whined. “I am al most twelve.” “José, that is enough,” she said in a tone that brooked no fur ther ar gu ment. “I for bid it.” His grand mother, no tic ing his mop ing, asked him the cause. He tried to ex plain to her what he had seen and why it was so ur gent that he re turn. “The pic tures moved like a dream, Abue lita, and I want to see them again, but my mother says no.” “If it is that im por tant, I will send San tos with you,” she said, “but you are not to tell your mother.” “Thank you, thank you,” he said, kiss ing her pow dered cheek. One after noon, while his mother was away, he slipped out of the pal ace with San tos, his grandmother’s ma jor domo. San tos hailed a cab and they wan dered the streets of El Car men until they found the mor tu o rio just as José had re mem bered it. José trot ted down the coffinstacked aisles to the table where the man sold tick ets, San tos at his heels. San tos bought tick ets and they went into the close, dark room that smelled, San tos com plained, like the privy in a can tina. José chose a bench clos est to the screen, near where the fat woman pounded away at her out-of-tune piano. As be fore, they waited...