Barnacle Love Read Online Free PDF Page A

mother’s boy, understand. We gotta take good care of him.”
    As her father busies himself with unloading the dory, the girl traces Manuel’s lips with her index finger. Manuel struggles to keep his eyes open. He sees her clasping her hands together as if in prayer. She raises her chin to the sky exposing her long white neck. Manuel closes his eyes. As his mind retreats into a deep sleep he thinks he hears her mumble, “Thank you, Lord.”

REASON TO BLAME
    MANUEL’S EYELIDS FLUTTER when she lifts his head to give him water. It dribbles from the corners of his mouth, trickles down his chin and neck. Pepsi smiles when this happens, scrunches up her shoulders and giggles. She takes care of Manuel. When she thinks he’s asleep she combs his hair, lightly outlines his eyebrows, and then moves down the bridge of his nose with her finger. Manuel senses her excitement in daring to hover her lips over his as he lies in his makeshift cot with his eyes closed. He grumbles something and snorts a bit. Pepsi thinks he is going to wake up, and moves quickly to the foot of his cot to slip her father’s best socks onto Manuel’s feet. She smiles. Her face is small, her hair is straight and divided by a long line of white scalp; each half falls down her face, hiding the corners of her eyes. She reaches into a bowl and unravels a steaming towel, which she drapes over hisface. “Shhh. Close your eyes,” she whispers. Manuel sinks back into the pillow. The heat of the towel makes his skin tingle, scalds as it surges up his nostrils and then lulls him momentarily. When she removes the cooling towel Manuel smiles. She pretends she does not notice. He sees her eyes darting quickly to the task at hand as she stretches his skin taut with her thumb and forefinger, then carefully shaves in the direction of his growth. Manuel’s eyes move down her slender neck, down to her small breasts hidden beneath her sweater, then up again. Hers is not the sun-stained neck of a Portuguese girl. Manuel’s knotted throat burns as the tears pool in his eyes.
    “Shhh. It’ll be all right. Pepsi’s here, now. Shhh,” she whispers in a singsong.
    Cara Mãe
,
    I hope this letter reaches you. I’m alive! Weak, but saved. I’ve made it to my terra nova, lost for drowned but saved by a fisherman—a good man, Andrew. You always said that God’s real messenger was the fisherman; well, he’s mine and he’s delivered me, taken me into his home.
    When I left, there was so much that remained unsaid. Father’s crucifix hangs from my neck still, lies close to my heart.
    I feel certain about what it is I need to say, what it is you need to hear.
    I always knew I didn’t want to stay. I think you knew that also. I knew that if I stayed in our town, on our stifling island, I’d be consumed by what it wasyou hoped and dreamed for me. Please understand,
Mãe
. Don’t be disappointed. I want to leave a mark on this world,
Mãe
, and I know it’s what you’ve always wanted also. I need you to believe there is a place for me here, a tomorrow. I’m certain of it and always have been.
    Your loving son,
    Manuel
    “You … ugly girl!” he roars as he stumbles in.
    Manuel hears him from the main room. He tilts his head back to see Pepsi getting out of her bed. She has begun to leave her door open at night. Manuel sees her struggle as she jackknifes her body, pivots, then swings from under the covers her pink stump that ends just below the knee. Her good leg dangles over the edge of the bed. She squints his way; it’s dark and her eyes haven’t adjusted well enough to know if he’s seen her. She reaches for her wooden leg, the one she has outgrown, that rests on the floor next to her chamber pot. Her hands blur as they weave the leather straps and secure the metal brace to her thigh—the molded cup meets the hardened flesh where her leg should be. He’s not sure how he feels about it—she is not whole. But, when she brushes by him he is caught in her smell of