Free 90 Miles to Havana by Enrique Flores-Galbis Page B

she’s nice.”
    â€œI
do
think she’s nice,” I say.
    â€œYou would,” Gordo says sarcastically.
    I write about Pepe and Angelita, then about cooking with Dolores, but that’s all. I’m not going to make anything up. In the blank space below I draw Dolores. lf I leave out the hairnet that creases her forehead and makes her look angry, she actually looks nice.

GOOD HOMES
    Caballo is the first one in the bathroom every morning. He makes sure that he flushes every toilet, and hums really loud and out of key when he’s at the sink. I don’t tell my brothers that he splashes water all over me when he washes his face or that he steps on my drawing book that I lay on the floor next to my head. If I say anything, I’m afraid Gordo will lose his temper and do something crazy, making things worse for us. Alquilino knows what’s going on, he gets up early, too, and as usual he has come up with a simple solution.
    Today we got up and were out of the bathroom before Caballo came in. As we walked past his bunk Alquilinoslipped in and turned off Caballo’s alarm, while Gordo lowered the shade and whispered, “Sleep tight little Romeo.”
    â€œSí, Mami,”
Caballo said in a pouty-baby voice as he rolled over.
    When we get to the kitchen the neon lights are still blinking and Dolores is putting on her apron.
    â€œWell, well, look what the dew dropped in!” she yells way too loud for our still sleeping ears. “Today you can eat first and then you’ll work harder!” she says as she lays out three bowls of cereal and pours out glasses of orange juice for us.
    After breakfast we work harder, and she notices. When we finish she hangs up her apron and says, “I’m going to talk to that director—tell him how hard you work for me—see if he’ll give you all regular beds.”
    When Dolores came back she looked tired. She put on her apron and said, “Boys, the director wants to talk to you right now.”
    When Alquilino asked if he was going to give us our own bunks, she looked away and grumbled, “I’m sure he’ll tell ya when you get there.”
    Caballo is standing outside the director’s office. He smiles at us as we walk in.
    â€œSit down boys,” the director says and swivels his squeaky chair in our direction. A colorful map of the United States behind his head swells and then flattens in the breeze from the fan. I study the unfamiliar breathingshape, but I can’t find an animal or a thing that it resembles. I’m lost until my eyes reach the lower right-hand corner of the map and find the arched back of the green crocodile of Cuba. I find Key West and then hook north, and there is Florida and Miami. Now I feel a little better because I think I know where I am.
    â€œI have good news. I found homes for you boys,” he says, just a little too cheerfully. He stands up and pokes at a red dot on the upper-left corner of the large map of the United States.
    â€œThere’s room for two here in Denver. That’s in Colorado.” His finger hovers in the middle of the map, then he squints over his reading glasses. “I think this is it. What’s it say?”
    Alquilino looks up at the map and reads,
“Shi-ca-go.”
    The director pulls a piece of paper out of the folder. I recognize the handwriting right away. That’s the letter my mother wrote for us to give to the director.
    â€œYou’re Alquilino, the oldest, right?” the director asks as he scans the letter.
    â€œYou, and your brother Gordo?” he says peering over his glasses, “will go to the orphanage in Denver. Now, the little one . . .” He searches the letter. “Let’s see, you are Julian?” he pronounces my name wrong.
    â€œWho-li-an,”
I say, trying to correct him but I don’t think he’s listening.
    â€œMy name is
Who-li-an
!” I say again.
    â€œYes, of