Loteria by Mario Alberto Zambrano

Author:Mario Alberto Zambrano [Zambrano, Mario Alberto]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2013-03-11T04:00:00+00:00

LA ESCALERA

I used to chase Estrella around the house and hang out in front where the sidewalk is, saying hi to the people who passed by on their way to the supermarket. When I’d get bored, I’d grab the ladder from the garage and climb it to the roof. From there I could look down and see Estrella and all of Magnolia Park. She wouldn’t notice me. She’d be wearing her sunglasses and flip through the stations on a portable radio and act like she was a teenager already, like the girls who would pass in their boyfriends’ cars, sitting in the passenger side with the window rolled down and their hair pulled back, wearing their bikini for a top. I could tell by the way Estrella looked at them that she hoped they’d notice her and her dark sunglasses she thought were so cool. She’d roll up her tank top so it looked like a bikini, and from the roof of the house I could see the cars passing by and the guys who drove them. They were always bigheaded and lowrider looking, blasting cumbias from a piece of shit car that might break into pieces by the time it got to the corner.

After I got bored, I’d climb down the ladder and go inside, lie down on the couch and listen to the fan in front of the window. Mom would either be cleaning or on the phone talking to someone in Mexico.

Papi by then was getting better, but he was still drinking, just not as much.

Around that time there’d been a family talk. Estrella and I were in our room and Mom told us to come to the kitchen. She had two cups of coffee and two cups of Abuelita hot chocolate. “Where’s the marshmallows?” I asked, trying to be funny.

“We ran out,” she said. “Stop talking and listen.”

Papi had just showered and was clean-shaven. He’d combed his hair and was drinking coffee like if it was morning. He told us that he wasn’t going to drink anymore. That it wasn’t good for him. Mom was sitting next to him, nodding at every word he said.

“It’s not good for you,” he said. And I thought, It’s not good for you, either.

But a week or two later, instead of staying in the living room he went to the garage and acted like he was working on his truck. It made funny sounds when he turned it on, but I don’t think there was anything wrong with it.

When I went out there to see what he was doing I could smell Don Pedro on him. Sometimes, to be nice, I’d start singing rancheras to see if he wanted to sing, but he’d prop open the hood and start checking things like if he was in the middle of something. And because he was in the garage, I couldn’t get the ladder and climb to the roof. Because if he saw me he wouldn’t let me. But from there I would’ve been able to see what he was doing, even though I already knew.

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