Leaving Glorytown Read Online Free PDF Page A

ate, drank, and danced until they were on the verge of collapse. Often, they would fall asleep wherever they could find floor space. It was common for total strangers to show up at this party and be given such a warm welcome that they stayed all night. Politicians and policemen were frequent guests, too—all personal friends of Tío William, one of the most successful businessmen in Cienfuegos.
    This was the first year in some time that Tío William hadn’t hosted Noche Buena, and it was definitely the first time anyone could remember that Tío had stayed away altogether. He lay in bed with the curtains drawn, suffering in silence over the loss of his little girl. I cast a sad glance at his front door every once in a while. It still felt strange to me that Carmensita was gone forever. My child’s mind reeled at the concept of eternity.
When you die, you’re dead forever
. But what was forever? A very long time, Papa had told me. Longer than I could hold my breath? Far longer than that. Longer than a year? Way longer.
    I couldn’t imagine a time longer than a year. In a year, I would be seven, which was very old indeed—too old for me to imagine. Meanwhile, Carmensita, in heaven with the angels, would stay eleven forever. I wondered if she was watching our Noche Buena get-together, wishing she could join us. Was she lonely in heaven, or was she happy because she was with God? God loved children, I knew, but . . . did Carmensita miss me?
    Well into the night, the street stayed packed with families, the grownups dancing and drinking and the kids running wild. Rolando, Tito, Luis, and I tore around as if we owned the place—in and out of people’s houses, through their yards, eating a little here and a little there, laughing, screaming, reverting to a state of anarchy. No one cared. The adults let us do whatever we wanted. For once, we were free.
    Suddenly everyone got very quiet. That was when I realized we had been invaded.
    They’d appeared silently, out of nowhere, maybe a half dozen of them: a gang of rough-looking men, strangers to our neighborhood. We could tell by the expressions on their unshaven faces that they had not come for the food. Everything about them was mean-looking, right down to the pointy-tipped shoes on their feet. One minute everyone was having a good time, and the next you could hear the cry of a distant parakeet.
    We kids backed away. The bad men began to walk down the street, eyeing everyone with the same contemptuous glare. Then one of them winked at Mama.
    â€œHey, baby!” he greeted her.
    That was all our menfolk needed. Instantly, the gang was surroundedby a lot of very angry Cuban gentlemen, Papa in the middle of them.
    â€œWho do you think you are?” “What are you doing here?” “How dare you behave like that?” Everyone shouted at once.
    â€œPigs!” shouted the leader of the gang, a man with bad skin and missing teeth. “Worms! Traitors! Back off, or there will be trouble!”
    â€œTrouble!” said Abuelo Julian. He pushed his way to the front of the crowd until he was nose-to-nose with the ringleader. “You say there will be trouble? You got that right! But we didn’t start it! We’re peaceful people, and we don’t want any problems. But if you don’t turn around right now and get out of here, trouble is exactly what you’ll get!”
    No doubt Abuelo believed that no one in his right mind would dare harm an old man. But Abuelo was wrong. The leader planted both his hands on Abuelo’s chest and pushed him. Abuelo flew through the air, landing on the pavement. He winced in pain, then rolled over onto his side.
    â€œAbuelo!” I yelled.
    â€œJulian!” shouted Abuela Ana, watching from the sidelines.
    â€œLet’s get them!” shouted Tío Sergio, the husband of my
madrina
, or godmother, Magalys. He hauled back and landed a right hook on the man’s