Siete minutos, Ismael Camacho Arango [read with me TXT] 📗

understand sometimes but he wanted to rape her that night.


Tragedy
As mother buried herself in a room full of memories, Homer tried to come to terms with his father’s death, Maria’s charm filling everything in his life. One morning a few weeks later, he found an envelope with a nice stamp by the door. Uncle Hugh had sent them money to board a ship on route to New York. Homer danced around the kitchen, as Maria appeared at the door.
“I’m going to New York,” he said.
He showed her the letter inviting them to a city full of opportunities in spite of the recession. Uncle Hugh’s Pictures showed the Statue of Liberty raising its torch to the sky, calling for them to come to another world.
“How can they climb to the top?” she asked.
“They have lifts,” Homer said.
“Lifts?”
“They’re metal boxes inside the buildings.”
As Maria tried to understand the wonders of the USA, Homer took the tray up to mother’s bed.
“Breakfast is here,” he said.
Putting the tray on her lap, he helped her to sit up on the bed. She looked tired even if she had slept all day.
“Shall I call the doctor?” he asked.
Mother cut the bacon with the knife, before mixing it with the eggs. As she sipped her cup of tea, Homer summoned enough courage to give her the news.
“Uncle Hugh has written to us,” he said.
Mother looked for the glasses on the bedside table before reading the letter with the nice handwriting. Homer watched her reaction to his uncle’s invitation while pouring some more juice in the glass.
“We won’t have another chance,” he said.
Mother buttered her bread while he tried to convince her of the benefits of New York on her health and well being. A big city might offer more opportunities in their lives.
“New York is cold in winter,” she said.
“We’ll get a heater.”
She lay back on the bed, ignoring the letter of hope. Homer had to fight against her stubbornness to get what he wanted.
“We have to talk about this,” he said.
Mother pretended to be asleep but Homer wouldn’t give up. They had come to South America in search of a better life and they could do it. He didn’t believe in God but this was an urgent matter.
“I will be a millionaire,” he said.
Miguel appeared at the door, accompanied by a fat priest. Three strands of dark hair adorned his head and his ears stuck out of more tufts of hair, as mother opened her eyes.
“Father Ricardo,” she said. “I’m sick.”
The priest sat by her side, hands searching for hers as thunder roared outside and drops of rain battered the window. After crossing himself, he waited for the storm to leave them in peace.
“In the name of the father, of the son and of the holy spirit,” father Ricardo said, sprinkling holy water on her face.
After anointing her forehead, he wished for her soul to be accepted in the kingdom of God, because of Jesus Christ in heaven.
“She’s not dying,” Homer said.
He threw the container on to the floor, where it shattered in many pieces all over the carpet. Maria cleaned some of the glass with a brush she had in a corner.
“She is alive,” Homer said.
The world remained in the grip of the storm, as the wind battered the tree and Father Ricardo prayed for the shadows covering everything.
“Make it stop, father,” Maria said.
Father Ricardo raised his arms to the ceiling, a strand of hair falling on his face. The priest regained his composure after blowing his nose.
“Uncle Hugh sent us a cheque to go to New York,” Homer said.
After adjusting his glasses, Father Ricardo ran his eyes through the letter, stopping in a few places he must have found interesting.
“New York is an evil place,” he said.
He talked of a city full of loose women looking for young boys like Homer. Evil awaited in every corner ready to take him to hell.
“We need money, father,” Homer said.
Father Ricardo noticed the bags Miguel had left by the door that morning, as Maria told him about the coca.
“It’s medicinal,” she said.
“Is it?”
“The Indians have taken it for centuries,” she said.
Father Ricardo crossed himself, on looking at her big teats, showing through her blouse.
“I haven’t seen you in the church on Sundays,” he said.
“I’m busy, father.”
People shouldn’t turn their backs on Jesus Christ for economic reasons. Parents had to teach their children their religious duties even if they were young or their souls might go to hell.
“If we don’t go to New York, I’ll sell merchandise in the slums” Homer said.
The priest hated Homer’s ideas. That young man would cause the end of the world one day.
“When will you do it?” he asked.
“I don’t know, father.”
Father Ricardo took another bottle of holy water out of his bag and sprinkled it around the room, vanquishing all the demons forever.
“I’ll get the doctor,” Homer said.
Father Ricardo didn’t need a doctor when he could treat mother with his faith. He gave her the last rites against Homer’s wishes, the storm raging outside.


New business
After a night full of pain, mother passed away in the morning. Father Ricardo had done what he could with his prayers and the bible.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Homer saw the room disappearing amidst his soul. His mother looked pale in the bed, her dark hair surrounding her head like a halo. She had to be sleeping after the priest had given her the last rites for the kingdom of heaven as Maria showed him her teats.
“You must be strong,” she said.
She muttered a prayer to God, while Homer had her milk full of vitamins for a healthy soul. Miguel organised the funeral amidst the bags of coca leaves spread throughout the shop, the sound of a people coming in the room disturbing Homer’s concentration. A woman held a handkerchief to her nose.
“I saw her alive a few days ago,” she said.
She talked about his mother’s qualities. She had been a saint, while looking after her family in a shop filled with merchandise, when Uncle Hugh had brought toys for the child from the debris of time.
The biggest treat in Homer's infancy had been their outings to the fair to see the bearded woman, the fattest man and the child that fit in a tiny box. He had tried doing that with the boxes in the cellar, scratching his legs and making his mother angry.
“The boy in the fair did it, mum,” he had said.
Those sunny days had taught him so many things. He had learned how to annoy the monkey man by throwing paper balls at his cage while shooting the camel woman with his water pistol.
“I’ll miss your mother,” the woman by his side interrupted his reverie.
“She was an angel,” Homer said.
The woman hugged him as Homer tried to keep his balance on the floor, the medication he had taken for the nerves taking away the meaning of his soul.
“We’ll take her to the cemetery,” someone said.
Homer wondered why he had that sense of déjà vous, as the undertaker surrounded the coffin, and the clock in the wall ticked towards the end. Then Maria appeared with a glass of water.
“You must have another tablet,” she said. “It will help you relax.”
“I want your teats,” he said.
“Not now.”
He took the tablets with some water Maria had brought him in the cup. His mother didn’t deserve to be locked away for eternity.
“Stop it,” he said.
“You might need an aguardiente,” someone else said.
He drank the liquid they offered him in a tumbler, even if he had a tablet a few minutes before. As Maria led him outside, the undertaker put mother’s coffin in a black car from hell.
“You must sit next to the driver,” she said.
Maria helped him to sit, before climbing by his side. Father had to be waiting amidst the flowers and the rain in the cemetery they had visited the day before, as Homer remembered her paying for a life insurance every month. It’s for my funeral, she had said, the moving car bringing him back to reality but he had to remember