Page 5 of Morena
As he locked the door behind us, I asked, “How much per hour?”
“Depends on how good you are with a hammer and wood,” he said.
“Pretty decent,” I replied.
“Then the pay will be decent too.” He took a step away from the house, then glanced back when I didn’t follow. “You coming?”
I nodded and followed him to the end of Montechata. When we reached the corner, he pulled a cigar from his pocket, lit it, and leaned against the wall.
“This used to be a lively neighborhood, full of life,” he said. He clicked his tongue and continued. “Now… life was taken from it.15Mi mamásays it’s cursed. Day by day, I’m starting to believe her.”
I glanced down the street, then back at him. There were plenty of people around, but most of them were tourists chasing ghost stories, stories about the ones who weren’t here anymore. Stories about the people who had once walked these streets, believing tomorrow might be better.
I saw something in his eyes then, a kind of fear of what tomorrow could bring. I didn’t fear it, tomorrow for me was never promised. It was a maybe, and today was just another day I managed to survive.
I turned before leaving and said, “Maybe it is cursed. Or maybe it’s just another town that lost the one who gave it life.”
“Morena,” he whispered. The word slipped out before he caught himself. I had never heard the name before, but I knew fear when I saw it.
So I carried it with me, under my breath as I walked away.“Morena. Morena.”
1. Give it to me, baby.
2. Break me, Daddy.
3. Very good, beautiful.
4. Swallow.
5. Beautiful.
6. Son of a bitch.
7. Bastard.
8. Legendary Spanish liberante who devoted his life to seducing women/ womaniser
9. Daughter
10. My uncle.
11. Of course.
12. Good.
13. Thirteen
14. Ghosts don't want living people.
15. My mom.
II.
ONE DAY BEFORE
Iusedtodreamof coming home. Somewhere. Someday. But I was nowhere. Always far away. If you passed me on the street, you would see a man who looked happy, someone living his life. But a smile does not mean my burdens are light. You don’t know me at all.
And here I am now, sitting on a park bench, waiting for morning. Waiting for the chance to work, or maybe to slip into the old man’s property and spend a night or two. I know he wouldn’t like it. He had warned me that the house was a place of many ghosts. Still, something else pulled me there, something I couldn’t name.
