The Time It Snowed in Puerto Rico Read Online Free Page B

“You too scared?” His body slowly shifted forward.
    We pushed into the crowd. In the center of the gallera , two roosters rolled in the dust, covered in black ooze, and pocked with holes in their feathers. Strange pieces of metaltied to their feet gave them ghoulish, bloody claws. They sprang into the air, aiming the spurs at each other. The eyeball of one swung on its purple-blue thread. The comb atop the other’s brow was completely torn off. A rainbow of feathers stuck to blood clots and matted the concrete.
    The men’s laughter popped the air like bubbles rising in a boiling soup. Then, across the circle, I saw him—Papi. He sat with a handful of men, cards in his hand, green bills piled high. He crushed a cigar into the table ledge, looked up, and our eyes met. I couldn’t run or hide or look away. The men around the gallera cheered in low growls; wings beat hard against the heat; spurs splintered bone; bodies moved in dark shadows. Papi started toward us, but the circle of men and the fighting roosters stood between.
    Omar pulled my arm. He yanked hard, but my legs wouldn’t move. “Come!” he shouted above the men’s voices.
    I didn’t follow. The roosters jumped and pecked, clawed and bled. I couldn’t stop watching.
    Then Papi squeezed my shoulder. “What are you doing here?”
    “We wanted candy.”
    “Is Omar with you?” he asked.
    Allí .” I motioned my nose toward the door. Papi didn’t say another word. I’d get the belt for sure. But I wanted it—the familiar sting. I wanted to hear the belt clap down hard on my skin so I could hush the rushing wings, the crunching of spurs against bone.
    Outside, Omar sat on the dirt, his back against an oldChevy with muddy wheels and missing hubcaps. His face shone slick and pale.
    Papi put a firm hand on each of our shoulders. “Get in the car.”
    We climbed into his jeep and drove up the winding mountain road in silence. I wondered what would happen to the rooster that lost the fight. Who washed the bloody marks off the floor? Who stuffed the body with wood chips and put marbles in the eyes? I wondered if Papi’s hands were stained red. Red like the playing cards that he had held. Omar put his hand on mine. I clenched my fists and turned to look out the window. Papi parked in front of our house. Through the window, Mamá moved around the kitchen, laying out plates.
    “Hola querido!” she said when she saw Papi. “What’s this?” She nodded toward us.
    “Go to my study,” Papi instructed. His dark eyes were ringed red.
    Omar and I obeyed. We sat in the study, side by side, looking down at the floor. Papi didn’t scare me as much as the three dead roosters winking and the flood of images from the jíbaros bar. In the kitchen, Mamá chattered and scraped the crusty pegao from the bottom of the rice pot. It reminded me of the roosters’ spurs as they landed and dragged their feet on the concrete. I put my hands over my ears and closed my eyes, but even there I could still see Papi and the ring of men, even clearer.
    “Verdita!” Papi shook me by the shoulder. He sat inhis wooden study chair and leaned forward so close that I saw the wide, shiny pores on his nose, smelled the steel of grenades on his breath. “What do you want? You can have the belt or we can talk about what you did wrong. It’s your choice.”
    This was how my papi punished, with choices. But I knew better. We didn’t talk. Papi talked and talked and yelled and talked. The belt was quicker. Pain for only a moment and then it was done.
    Before Omar had a chance to say anything, I spoke up. “The belt.”
    Omar shook his head, but it had been decided. Papi unhooked his belt, folded it in half, and thumbed the leather.
    “Verdita, I told you not to go there,” Papi said.
    “Lo siento,” I whispered. And I really was.
    “Get up.”
    We did.
    “Omar, leave us,” he said.
    Omar’s entire body jumped a little. Then he took off down the hall.
    “You won’t go there