La Linea Read Online Free

súplica se te ha concedido,” Abuelita finally said. “I know how much this means to you.”
    She reached across the table and entwined my fingers with hers. Dark brown age spots and deep blue veins covered the backs of her hands.
    A strand of gray hair fell out of the bun at the back of her head. She tucked it back behind her ear with her free hand, while her other tightened its grip on mine.
    â€œAbuelita,” I began. “I have a question for you. Please tell me the truth.”
    I was sorry as soon as I said it. Abuelita didn’t lie. She just gave me a small smile and nodded.
    â€œIs it true what Don Clemente told me, about Papá?” I swallowed hard.
    â€œSí, m’ijo.”
    â€œ ¿Por qué?, Abuelita? Why? Why?”
    â€œMiguel, your papá must have had his reasons,” she answered. “You’re going now. That’s what counts.”
    I disengaged my hand from hers, stood up, and turned to the window. “I know. I want to go, but I don’t know if I can forgive him.”
    â€œYou’re too hard on people, Miguel. You’re hard on Elena,” Abuelita answered. “Don’t judge your father.”
    I remained unmoving. I gripped the edge of the windowsill, tightly, until my knuckles turned white. I could not talk back to Abuelita.
    â€œNo juzgues, m’ijo,” she repeated firmly. It was as close as she ever came to scolding me, and it was the end of the conversation.
    â€œWe’ll need to slaughter a goat,” she said. “I want to have a going-away party for you.”
    â€œNo, Abuelita,” I protested.
    Abuelita might need the goat meat later on. Things were tight, really tight. It seemed a waste to use it up. And I didn’t want a party. I didn’t want any long good-byes. I already had my eyes on la línea. I could already feel my feet moving me away.
    But Abuelita was determined. So we set the fiesta for three days from then, the night before I was scheduled to leave.
    I spent the rest of the day poring over my travel packet. I memorized the routes and the names that Don Clemente had written, each in his flowing, elaborate script. The sheaf of papers, the envelope with the money—all of it seemed too thin, too small to get me where I needed to go, so far north.
    But I followed Don Clemente’s instructions to the letter. I went to the next town, to the supermercado to buy the items I needed: a plastic water bottle, comfortable shoes, and a new backpack with compartments to store everything. I even got a pouch for the money to wear next to my skin, under my shirt. I sneaked everything into the house when Elena was away and hid them in my secret place behind the wall.
    And then, for the next three days, I did work for Abuelita that I should have done months before. I hauled, chopped, and stacked a big pile of wood. I repaired several parts of the fence around the corral. I hit my thumb with the hammer twice, and some of the boards hung a little crooked, but at least it was done.
    Then I climbed up on the roof to see if I could find the leaks. Even with the little rain we got last winter, Abuelita had to place pots under three places where steady drips of water fell into her kitchen. I patched the leaks, poorly.
    â€œLo siento, Abuelita,” I apologized to her silently as I worked. The truth was, I was no good as a carpenter. The patches on the roof probably wouldn’t last.
    Finally, I stood and stared at the tomatoes I’d planted two months before. I was an even worse farmer. Bugs had eaten most of them inside out, leaving gaping holes in the flesh. The tomatoes that had escaped the bug attack were small and shriveled. My chiles, next to the tomatoes, had puckered up and fallen off before they ripened.
    I picked one of Elena’s tomatoes, growing right next to mine. It was round, red, and warm from the sun. I took a big bite. The juice ran down my chin, sweet as sugar. Elena’s