Glória held my hand and had orders not to let me out of her sight for one minute.
And I held Luís’s hand. “When do we have to move, Mother?” asked Glória.
“Two days after Christmas we have to start packing our stuff,” said Mother, somewhat sadly.
She sounded so tired. I felt really sorry for her. Mother had worked all her life.
She’d been working since the age of six, when the factory was built.
They would sit her on a table and she’d have to clean and dry tools.
She was so tiny that she’d wet herself on the table because she couldn’t get down by herself.
That’s why she never went to school or learned to read and write.
When she told me, I was so sad I promised that when I was a poet and wise, I’d read her my poems.
Signs of Christmas were appearing in the shops and stores. Father Christmas had been drawn on every pane of glass.
People were already buying cards to avoid the rush closer to the time.
I had a vague hope that this time the Baby Jesus would be born in my heart.
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