90 Miles to Havana Read Online Free PDF Page B

“I don’t know what your son is talking about. I watched my boys go to bed!”
    I grab Gordo’s baseball glove from the night table, then lay it right next to where his hand would be—as if he just put it down.
    As I get into bed, I hear the little woman at the top of the stairs. “If they’re in bed, then you have nothing to worry about, but if you don’t let me in I’ll just have to assume that my son was right.”
    â€œIt’s all right,
querida
,” I hear my father say. “She’ll look and then she’ll go. Isn’t that right, Señora?”
    â€œIt’s not all right,” my mother warns. “If you let her in once . . .”
    Our door opens and a yellow shaft of light slices over Gordo’s bed, then Alquilino’s, stoping on top of me.
    â€œYou see?” my father says. “They’re all asleep. Please, I don’t want to wake them up.”
    â€œAre you satisfied?” My mother taunts the woman. “My sons are sleeping and the real crooks are running away. I can almost hear them laughing.”
    â€œWe’ll see who gets the last laugh,” the woman threatens as the slice of light rakes back over us, and then it’s dark again.
    Gordo grunts as he pulls himself in through the window. He tumbles into the room, waving the little bird in the air as if it were flying.
    â€œLook what I found behind a bag of rice.” Then he digs into his pocket and pulls out Angelita’s necklace.
    â€œYou got both?” I whisper.
    â€œThe necklace was on the kitchen table and the bird was right where you said it would be. That flashlight saved the day, too. I was coming out of the pantry, and the kid was standing in the middle of the kitchen. I flashedthe beam right into his eyes and then bolted out the door. I don’t think he saw me.” Gordo looks at his bed. “Is that supposed to be me?”
    â€œYeah,” I say proudly.
    â€œThe glove, nice touch. But it still doesn’t look like me.”
    That’s the closest that I’ve ever come to getting a compliment from Gordo.

    The next morning I volunteer to sneak the bird into the kitchen where Mami can find it. If she knew we broke into the Garcia’s house, she would probably ground us forever.
    When I swing into the kitchen with the bird in my pocket, Bebo is standing by the stove lost in thought and waiting for a pot of water to boil. I place it in a pudding dish in the cabinet where my mother always puts her rings. She’ll think that Alida returned it there when she came for breakfast that last time.
    When I turn around Bebo is still lost in the now gently bubbling water, his wooden spoon is hovering over the pot and ready to stir.
    â€œWhat’s the matter, Bebo?” I ask, then lean over the stove to look into his face.
    â€œI’m leaving tomorrow,” he says without looking up.
    â€œLeaving, why?”
    â€œBecause they’re going to send me to school, that’s why. They say I have what it takes to be a good engineer.”
    â€œWho’s sending you to school?”
    â€œThe government. The woman across the street told me where to go so I could take the test. I did really well,” he says proudly. “It’s a great thing. The school is free and I’ll get a place to live.”
    â€œI guess you like the omelet that they’re cooking, huh, Bebo?”
    Bebo looks at me for a second as if he doesn’t know what I’m talking about, but then he bursts out laughing.
    â€œ
Caramba
, how could I forget? The eggs and the revolution.” He laughs. “You’re right. I do like what they’re cooking.”
    I’m glad Bebo is going to school, but still I’m going to miss him.
    â€œI wish you weren’t going! Who else is going to teach me about carburetors and revolutionary omelets? And you said there was a lot more stuff that you wanted to teach me.”
    Bebo