No one else was home, except for Luís, who was already asleep.
Mother was probably on her way home from the city. Sometimes she did overtime at the English Mill and we only saw her on Sundays.
I had decided to stay near Father, because that way I couldn’t get up to any mischief.
He was sitting in the rocking chair staring blankly at the wall.
His face was always covered in stubble. His shirt wasn’t always terribly clean.
Maybe he hadn’t gone to play cards with his friends because he had no money.
Poor Father, it must have made him sad that Mother had to work to help pay the bills.
Lalá already had a job at the factory. It must have been hard to go looking for jobs
and always come home downcast after hearing the same reply: “We need someone younger.”
Sitting on the doorstep, I was counting little white geckos on the wall and glancing at Father from time to time.
The only other time I’d seen him looking so sad was that Christmas morning.
I needed to do something for him. Maybe I could sing for him. I could sing very softly and for sure it would cheer him up a little.
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