The Time It Snowed in Puerto Rico Read Online Free PDF Page A

again.” Papi stood. His arms flexed, ready to swing. I squeezed the cheeks of my culito , anticipating the sting, and mad that Omar wasn’t there beside me. Papi pushed a hand through his hair; his tobacco-stained hands ran over the belt edge. Then he touched the top of my head.
    “Go. Dinner is waiting.”
    I walked from the study to the dining room table and took a seat with Omar and Mamá. It was a while before Papi joined us. Mamá didn’t speak or sing or hum or move while we waited for him, and neither did we. When he finally did come, his belt was looped back around his waist and he didn’t say another word about the jíbaros bar or the roosters. Instead, he blessed our meal and talked of the day and the sugarcane and the heat; then he drank a Schlitz, laughed, and kissed Mamá for her good cooking. Omar smiled so big it hurt my gums to watch. He asked for second helpings of Mamá’s rice and said gracias -this and gracias -that. They all went on like nothing had happened, like they’d been to the States and forgotten. But I knew. I remembered it all. I could barely eat my plateful, even though my stomach growled and cramped. The mixta tasted like copper, red saffron-stained rice and cooked chicken flesh. I picked a small wingbone from the pile of rice on my plate.

Gringo Elvis
    I N THE WINTER, THE RAINS CAME . S TUCK INSIDE our schoolroom, nobody could concentrate. At first I thought it had something to do with the Navidad and the Día de Reyes and the coming holiday break. But the conversations weren’t about parrandas and presents, fire-works and troubadours, not even about the rain.
    It wasn’t just the students, either. The teachers huddled in the halls, their voices tinkled like broken bells. At home, Papi’s friends from the jíbaros bar came over in the evenings to complain about the weather and debate politics over glasses of gin. Everybody was talking about the United States, President Kennedy, and Puerto Rican statehood.
    One night during dinner, Papi pulled the television close to the table so he could watch the news. Parts were in English. Mama didn’t like it. She cleared her throat and hummed aloud, so Papi turned up the volume.
    “What’s the big deal with President Kennedy?” I asked. The news showed a photograph of the smiling president and his smiling wife surrounded by children waving American flags, all smiling.
    “Para! El público!” The newscaster spoke every word as an exclamation. “Come! See! The American! President!”
    “He’s coming,” said Papi. He leaned back in his chair and tossed a half-eaten drumstick onto his plate. I nibbled on the tough skin of my sweet-and-sour chicken thigh. Mamá had overcooked the meat and burned the rice. She’d been mindless all day.
    I set the thigh to the side and licked my sticky fingers one by one. Mamá handed me a napkin. Copper finger-prints stained the white.
    “To our barrio ?” I crumpled the napkin in my fist and sucked my saucy thumb. Mamá frowned, but I pretended not to notice. “Why?” There was nothing but corn, tobacco, and jungle for miles. Nothing a president would be interested in.
    Mamá hummed louder. Papi turned up the volume again.
    “No. To San Juan,” Papi explained. “On December fifteenth. He’s flying here to meet Governor Muñoz Marín. For sure, it will be one big fiesta.”
    “Can we go, Papi? Are we going to be an American state?”
    “Maybe. Many want us to. Many don’t.” He laid his palm firmly on the table, our glasses shook.
    “Do you want us to become a state?” I asked.
    But Mamá cleared her throat. “Politicians are nothing but gamblers—they use words instead of cards. Faro, please, not at dinner, not with Verdita,” she said.
    “I like politics.” I licked another finger. Heat prickled up from my belly. If Papi and I wanted to talk politics, so be it. Mamá could just keep her nose out of that, too. And besides, she didn’t know a thing about it. This wasn’t just