Leaving Glorytown Read Online Free PDF

mouth.
    And that was the beginning of the end of Noche Buena.
    We smaller kids were pushed behind a table by the women, who then formed a protective wall in front of us. Meanwhile, the men attacked with howls of rage and fury, using fists, feet, elbows, knees, even foreheads. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Papa himself was right there in the middle of it, fighting like a warrior from ancient times. My heartswelled with pride as I watched him and I wished I were old enough to fight like that.
    Then a new sound erupted, one I couldn’t identify. I looked around. It was Tío William, screaming with anger. My godmother had gone to get him. He was in such a hurry to join the fighting men that he was still pulling his pants on over the biggest pair of underwear I’d ever seen. Someone had dared to push his venerable father, and that someone was about to get his due.
    I’d heard stories of Tío William’s wrath before, mostly from Papa, who had occasionally witnessed it in the workplace—though always in response to a broken tool or carelessly misplaced invoice, never to anything serious. Mama’s stories were more dramatic. Tío was the eldest of all her siblings, and once or twice, when he was a young man and she still a little girl, she’d seen him explode in fury. She explained that Tío was slow to anger, but once the feeling peaked, he was like thunder in a summer storm.
    Now, hurt to the core by Carmensita’s death—for which he blamed the Communists—and filled with a murderous rage at these hoodlums—who were obviously on the Communist payroll, hired to cause trouble—he was living up to all the stories I’d ever heard. Despite my panic and fear, I remember feeling pleased that I was finally getting to see Tío William in action.
    Tío dived into the melee and unleashed a barrage of punches. Men fell to the ground, bottles flew through the air and shattered, women screamed. Among them was my dear Abuela Ana, who yelled at her husband of fifty years: “Julian, Julian, don’t you see that you are just too old for this?”
    â€œNot too old yet!” I heard Abuelo cry.
    Emilio Pérez, my father’s best friend, who in my eyes was invincible, stood by, just waiting for an opportunity to get into the fight. Then he saw an opening, and he jumped in. But a lucky punch landed flush on his forehead, and Emilio went down like a sack of wet noodles.
    â€œEmilio, get up, please!” I yelled.
    Emilio tried to stand, but his knees had turned to water, and he went back down.
    â€œEmilio is hurt!” I yelled to my cousins, who were watching in horror. “They’ll kill him, Papa, help him, please!” I shouted.
    Seeing the situation, Papa came to Emilio’s rescue and pulled him out of the way. I’d always thought Emilio was the strongest man on our block—even stronger than Tío William—and it depressed me to see him like this.
    And then it was over. I couldn’t see through the screen of women to find out what happened after that, but the next thing I knew, everyone was shaking hands and apologizing. I even saw Tío William hug one of the thugs. There was nervous laughter, and the bad guys retreated down the block—no doubt because they’d lost the fight. Everyone helped right the tables. Brooms were fetched to sweep up the broken dishes and bottles. Dogs appeared to lap up the ruined meals. My friends and I chattered about the mysterious men. Who were they? Why had they done this? What did they want?
    Later, Papa explained to me: “Those thugs were sent by the government to scare us.”
    â€œBut why?” I asked. “What did we do to them?”
    â€œNothing. That’s not the point. They want us to be scared. They’ve disrupted our most important feast of the year. They want us to knowthat they control
everything
.” His face was white, and his voice was shaking.
    Papa’s