Stories from the Life of a Migrant Child Read Online Free PDF Page A

him gently with them. "The eggs will draw out his sickness," she said confidently. Torito stopped crying. Mamá seemed relieved, but I was not. There was something about
la curandera
that made me nervous.
    Moments after Doña María left, just as we were getting ready for bed, Torito started moaning. Then he suddenly stopped. There was dead silence. We all looked at each other and rushed to his side. He was as stiff as a board and had stopped breathing. His eyes were rolled back. Mamá started weeping. Like Roberto and Trampita, I cried too. I felt very scared.
Perhaps Doña María made him worse,
I thought.
    Papá quickly picked up Torito, wrapped him in a blanket, and yelled, "
¡Vieja, vamonos al hospital!
" He and Mamá ran out and took off in the
Carcachita.
Roberto, Trampita, and I stood there, crying.
    I thought I would never see Torito again. Frightened and confused I walked outside. It was pitch dark and quiet. I went behind our tent, knelt down on rocky ground, and prayed for Torito for a very long time, until my parents returned.
    As soon as I heard the
Carcachita,
I got up from my knees and ran to the front of the tent to meet them. When I saw Mamá and Papá without Torito, I panicked. "Is he dead?" I cried out.
    "No, Panchito; calm down," Papá answered. "We left him at the hospital."
    "Is he going ... to die?" I stammered.
    "No, he isn't," Mamá snapped. "God won't let him. You'll see," she added in a harsh tone. Her face was flushed and her dark eyes were full of tears. I was surprised and puzzled. Why would she be angry at me?
    That night I had trouble sleeping, thinking about Torito. Mamá and Papá did not sleep either. I heard Mamá sobbing every time I woke up and saw Papá smoking one cigarette after another.
    Early the next morning, Mamá said she was going to drive Papá to work. I thought it was strange because Papá always took the car to go pick strawberries. Besides, it was only five-thirty. Papá did not have to be at work until seven, and it only took a few minutes to get there. "I'll be right back," Mamá said, looking at Roberto and me. "Be sure to take care of Trampita."
    I followed my parents to the car and as Mamá was about to get in it, I asked, "Can we go see Torito when you get back?" Mamá closed the car door without answering and sped off. Roberto and I went back in the tent. We did not say a word to each other, but each of us knew what the other was thinking. We knelt side by side on the mattress, in front of the
Virgen de Guadalupe,
and prayed silently.
    I was worried and irritated by the time Mamá returned. It was around eleven. "Where were you?" I asked angrily. "I want to go see Torito."
    "Only if God wills it," she said sadly, putting her arms around Roberto and me.
    "What do you mean?" I asked.
    "Torito is very sick," she replied. "He has a rare disease that may be catching. That's why you can't see him."
    "But you went to see him this morning, didn't you?" I responded, raising my voice. "That's why you took so long, right?"
    "Sí,
mi'jo,
" she answered, "but they won't let children in to see him. You can see him when he comes home."
    "When is that?" Roberto and I asked at the same time.
    "Soon, probably," she answered hesitantly.
    I had a feeling Mamá was not telling us all she knew.
    After preparing supper, Mamá went to pick up Papá from work. When they got home, Papá looked very upset and anxious. I waited for them to talk about Torito, but they did not say a word about him. And as soon as dinner was over, they left for the hospital. After Roberto and I cleaned the dishes, I went outside, behind our tent, and prayed on my knees again. But only for a little while. I hurried inside when I heard Doña María chanting next door.
    When Papá and Mamá returned from the hospital, Mamá's arms were empty. Roberto and I looked at each other in disappointment. "Torito is a little better, but we can't bring him