Gods of Jade and Shadow - Silvia Moreno-Garcia Page 0,6

it was true, it was written on his face. Besides, he didn’t have the imagination to lie about such a thing. The knowledge hit her harder than a blow. She stepped back. She clutched her can of shoe polish like a talisman. Her throat felt dry.

She did not believe in fairy tales, but she had convinced herself she’d have a happy ending. She’d placed those pictures under her pillow—an ad showing an automobile and another one with pretty dresses, a view of a beach, photos of a movie star—in a childish, mute effort at sympathetic magic.

He grinned and spoke again. “When the old man passes away you’ll be under my care. Don’t shine my shoes today, you’ll have plenty of chances to polish them every day, for the rest of your life.”

He left and Casiopea sat down again, numbly rubbing the cloth against the shoes, her fingers streaked black. On the floor next to her lay his cigarette, slowly extinguishing itself.

The consequences were swiftly felt. Mother informed her of the punishment while they were getting ready for bed. Casiopea slipped her hands into the washbasin upon the commode.

“Your grandfather has asked that you stay behind tomorrow,” her mother said. “You are to mend a couple of his shirts while we are out.”

“It’s because of Martín, isn’t it? He’s punishing me because of him.”

“Yes.”

Casiopea raised her hands, sprinkling water on the floor.

“I wish you’d stand up for me! Sometimes I feel like you have no pride, the way you let them walk all over us!”

Her mother was holding the hairbrush, ready to brush Casiopea’s hair as she did every night, but she froze in place. Casiopea saw her mother’s face reflected in their mirror set by the washbasin, the hard lines bracketing her mouth, the lines upon her forehead. She wasn’t old, not really, but right that instant she seemed worn.

“Perhaps someday you’ll learn what it is to make sacrifices,” her mother said.

Casiopea recalled the months after her father died. Mother tried to make a living with her macramé, but more money was necessary. First Mother sold the few valuables they owned, but by the time the summer came, most of their furniture and clothes were gone. Even her wedding ring was pawned. Casiopea felt ashamed of herself then, realizing how difficult it must have been for Mother to go back to Uukumil, to her harsh father.

“Mother,” Casiopea said. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s a difficult situation for me too, Casiopea.”

“I know it’s hard for you. But Martín is so mean! Sometimes I wish he’d fall down a well and break his back,” Casiopea replied.

“And would that make your life any happier if he did? Would it make your chores shorter and lighter?”

Casiopea shook her head and sat down on the chair where she sat every night. Her mother parted her hair, gently brushing it.

“It’s unfair. Martín has everything and we get nothing,” Casiopea said.

“What does he have?” her mother asked.

“Well…money, and good clothes…and he gets to do anything he wants.”

“You shouldn’t do everything you want just because you can,” her mother said. “That is precisely why Martín is such a terrible man.”

“If I had grown up with his money, I promise I wouldn’t be terrible.”

“But you’d be an entirely different person.”

Casiopea did not argue. She was bone-tired and Mother was constantly serving her a meal of platitudes instead of any significant answers or action. But there was nothing else to do but to accept this, to accept the punishment and carry on day after weary day. Casiopea went to sleep with her head full of quiet resentment, as she must.

When her family left the next morning, Casiopea went to her grandfather’s room and sat on the edge of the bed. He’d piled his shirts on a chair. Casiopea had brought her sewing kit but upon the sight of the stupid shirts she tossed the sewing kit against the mirror atop the vanity. She would not ordinarily have allowed herself such a visible demonstration of her rage, but this time the anger was too overwhelming and she thought she’d catch on fire. She must cool down. Afterward, she would be able to take a deep breath and push the thread through the eye of the needle, stitching new buttons in place.

Something metallic rattled and slid off the vanity. With a sigh she rose and picked it up. It was grandfather’s key, which he normally wore around his neck. Since he’d gone to the waterhole he’d left it behind. Casiopea stared at the