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

home until tomorrow," she said, teary-eyed and with a feigned smile. Then taking a deep breath, and looking at Roberto, Trampita, and me, she continued, "We have to pray to the
Santo Niño de Atocha
because—"
    "Yes," Papá interrupted, taking out his wallet and pulling out a tattered holy card. "Your Mamá and I have made a promise to
el Santo Niño
." Then holding the card in the palm of his right hand and looking at it, he continued, "We'll pray to him every day, for a whole year, if Torito gets well."
    Papá then took a pin from a small tin box where Mamá kept her sewing things and pinned the card to the canvas wall, above the mattress, next to the picture of the
Virgen de Guadalupe.
    On the holy card was a picture of the little Jesus of Atocha sitting on a high wooden chair. He wore sandals, a blue cloak, a short, brown cape, and a brimmed hat to match. In his right hand he carried a basket and in his left hand a wooden staff.
    We all knelt in front of the
Santo Niño
to pray. Mamá always prayed to him whenever one of us got sick because she said the Holy Child Jesus took care of poor and sick people, especially children. The late hour and the repetition of the prayers made me sleepy.
    That night I dreamed about the
Santo Niño de Atocha.
I was behind our tent, praying on my knees in front of the baby Jesus holy card. Suddenly the
Santo Niño
came alive. He stood up from his chair and floated in the air, carrying the basket. He glided to where I was and placed the basket at my feet and pointed to it. Out of the basket emerged hundreds of tiny white butterflies. They formed themselves into a pair of wings, lifting me and carrying me away over Tent City and setting me down next to my Torito, who lay in the middle of a lush-green alfalfa field. In the dream I awoke and looked at the prayer card. Torito was in it, sitting in the high chair, dressed as the
Santo Niño de Atocha.
    The next morning, when I told Mamá about my dream, she decided to make Torito an outfit, just like the one the
Santo Niño de Atocha
was wearing in the picture prayer card. Instead of taking a nap after she made the lunches, she started sewing a cloak using the fabric from one of her blue dresses. She finished it that evening, just in time to go get Torito from the hospital.
    Later that night, when Mamá and Papá returned with Torito from the hospital, he was wearing the blue cloak Mamá had made him, but he did not look like the
Santo Niño
in the holy card. Torito was pale and skinny. He moaned when I tickled him. "Mamá, is Torito still sick?" I asked.
    "Yes,
mi'jo,
" she responded, "that's why we have to keep on praying."
    "But didn't the doctor take care of him?"
    Mamá turned her back to me and did not respond. I looked at Papá, who was pacing up and down, wringing his hands. After a long moment of silence, he said, "Remember, we have to keep our promise and pray to
el Santo Niño
every day, for a whole year."
    That night, and every night for an entire year, we all prayed to
el Santo Niño de Atocha
as we followed the crops from place to place. During that time, Mamá dressed Torito in the blue cloak and only took it off when it needed to be washed.
    On August 17, the day we completed the promise to
el Santo Niño,
we all gathered around Torito, who sat on Mamá's lap. His chubby, rosy cheeks made him look like a cherub.
    "I have something to tell you," Mamá said teary-eyed as she took off his cloak. "When we took Torito to the hospital, the doctor told us my son would die because we had waited too long to take him there. He said it would take a miracle for him to live. I didn't want to believe him," she continued, gaining strength as she talked. "But he was right. It took a miracle."

El Angel de Oro
For Miguel Antonio
    It always rained a lot in Corcoran during the cotton season, but that year it rained more than usual. No sooner had we arrived from Fowler, where we had picked