the sound of the banging that it’d set something off inside of him. The door opened, and the yelling got louder. They must’ve noticed he’d been drinking because of the way he stumbled. They tried to handcuff him, saying things like he was under arrest for assaulting an officer and for the suspected murder of Cristina María Castillo. When I heard those words, I peeked from the hallway and looked for her because I knew it was Estrella who’d gone and told them. She’d run away two days before and Papi kept telling me she’d be back. “She’ll be back, mija . Don’t worry. You’ll see.” The front door was left open and down the sidewalk was another officer standing behind her with his hands on her shoulders, like if she were standing in front of school and it was her first day.
I saw Papi in the living room trying to break free from their grip. There were two of them. A white man and a Mexican. The Mexican was speaking Spanish like if Papi didn’t understand English, trying to pin him down. I ran to Papi’s bedroom and stuck my hand under the mattress and grabbed the rifle. I held it against my chest. “You’re under arrest,” I heard them say. I walked down the hallway with the rifle aimed toward their voices. The white man must’ve seen me because I heard him say I had a gun. He backed away with his hands facing me, like if I weren’t real and he couldn’t believe I’d appeared. He fell to his knees and said, “Put the gun down, little girl. Put it down.”
He turned to Papi and asked, “What’s her name? Tell her to put it down.”
Papi looked at me, and I knew by the way he looked at me he wanted me to do whatever I had to do.
Estrella thought Papi had taken Mom somewhere in the woods and beaten her until she couldn’t breathe. She thought he had strangled her. “That’s why we can’t find her,” she said to me. “Because he buried her! He’s an animal, Luz! Don’t you get it?”
Papi fought back and so they thought he was guilty. That’s how it happens. That’s why they were in shock when they saw me. They never thought it would come from me. They didn’t know I was in the other room.
“Leave him alone!” I shouted.
When they looked at me, stupid and stunned, Papi broke free from their grip and grabbed a knife off the kitchen counter. He saw me and wanted a weapon of his own. He waved it in the air. But he was drunk. He’d been drinking and he lost his balance. Then, behind the officers and through the front door, I saw Estrella running toward the house. The Mexican officer tried to grab the knife and the white officer came toward me. Estrella ran inside, waving her arms, screaming, “DON’T! DON’T!”
But my finger felt stuck around the trigger and the officer grabbed the barrel and I pulled, and he pulled, and then the sound was so loud it knocked me down. On my back, in that moment when the air was knocked out of me, I thought, It’s done. It’s over. They wouldn’t take Papi and everything was okay. They just had to leave us alone.
But when I lifted my head I saw her on the ground with her cheek on the floor and her hair over her face. My mouth opened but no sound came out. Other officers came in and grabbed me and carried me out of the house by my arms and legs. Papi screamed like a dog being held down, yelling over and over again, “¡Hija! ¡Es mi hija!”
I heard the ambulance. The sirens. But it felt like I was hearing them from underwater. Like if I were sinking and something was filling my ears, and the sounds were beginning to fade, except for Papi screaming.
As they carried me to the car, facing up, all I can remember, all I could see were the stars.
LA CAMPANA
W e’d go to Buelita Fe’s house and hear church bells. Do—ong! Do—ong! Do—ong! Go to mass by ten and be out by half past eleven, then be in her backyard playing by the time it struck noon. We’d chase each other and I’d trip on a rock and brush off the dirt from my knees and see
I saw Papi in the living room trying to break free from their grip. There were two of them. A white man and a Mexican. The Mexican was speaking Spanish like if Papi didn’t understand English, trying to pin him down. I ran to Papi’s bedroom and stuck my hand under the mattress and grabbed the rifle. I held it against my chest. “You’re under arrest,” I heard them say. I walked down the hallway with the rifle aimed toward their voices. The white man must’ve seen me because I heard him say I had a gun. He backed away with his hands facing me, like if I weren’t real and he couldn’t believe I’d appeared. He fell to his knees and said, “Put the gun down, little girl. Put it down.”
He turned to Papi and asked, “What’s her name? Tell her to put it down.”
Papi looked at me, and I knew by the way he looked at me he wanted me to do whatever I had to do.
Estrella thought Papi had taken Mom somewhere in the woods and beaten her until she couldn’t breathe. She thought he had strangled her. “That’s why we can’t find her,” she said to me. “Because he buried her! He’s an animal, Luz! Don’t you get it?”
Papi fought back and so they thought he was guilty. That’s how it happens. That’s why they were in shock when they saw me. They never thought it would come from me. They didn’t know I was in the other room.
“Leave him alone!” I shouted.
When they looked at me, stupid and stunned, Papi broke free from their grip and grabbed a knife off the kitchen counter. He saw me and wanted a weapon of his own. He waved it in the air. But he was drunk. He’d been drinking and he lost his balance. Then, behind the officers and through the front door, I saw Estrella running toward the house. The Mexican officer tried to grab the knife and the white officer came toward me. Estrella ran inside, waving her arms, screaming, “DON’T! DON’T!”
But my finger felt stuck around the trigger and the officer grabbed the barrel and I pulled, and he pulled, and then the sound was so loud it knocked me down. On my back, in that moment when the air was knocked out of me, I thought, It’s done. It’s over. They wouldn’t take Papi and everything was okay. They just had to leave us alone.
But when I lifted my head I saw her on the ground with her cheek on the floor and her hair over her face. My mouth opened but no sound came out. Other officers came in and grabbed me and carried me out of the house by my arms and legs. Papi screamed like a dog being held down, yelling over and over again, “¡Hija! ¡Es mi hija!”
I heard the ambulance. The sirens. But it felt like I was hearing them from underwater. Like if I were sinking and something was filling my ears, and the sounds were beginning to fade, except for Papi screaming.
As they carried me to the car, facing up, all I can remember, all I could see were the stars.
LA CAMPANA
W e’d go to Buelita Fe’s house and hear church bells. Do—ong! Do—ong! Do—ong! Go to mass by ten and be out by half past eleven, then be in her backyard playing by the time it struck noon. We’d chase each other and I’d trip on a rock and brush off the dirt from my knees and see
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