The Memories of Ana Calderón by Graciela Limón Page A

and still Octavio said nothing. He and Ana no longer met while alone, and when they were onthe bus or the streetcar, they separated, he in one seat and she in another. She noticed, however, that he seemed relieved as time passed, as if he believed that she had invented the entire thing. She saw, too, that he was regaining his usual playfulness, except now it was directed at others and not at her. And she knew that he spent most of his time chatting and giggling with Alejandra, who strutted around the house showing Ana that she was relaxed and happy.

    My pregnancy was becoming more apparent, and I had to wear baggy dresses and sweaters so that no one could see how my body was changing. I couldn’t be like Tavo, who decided to be a clown. Instead, sadness was devouring me and it became deeper each day because I knew that sooner or later my father would notice my growing belly. On that day, I was positive, all the anger and bitterness against me which he had kept trapped in his heart would overflow.

    It was cold and windy on the Sunday morning of Ana’s turn to make breakfast, and everyone was still asleep. She had been unable to sleep that night, so when the first glimmer of gray light broke through the shade in her room, Ana left the bed that she shared with Rosalva. She dressed quietly, making sure to slip on the oversized sweater that she now wore constantly.
    When she went into the kitchen she was startled by Rodolfo, who was sitting at the table staring out the window. Through it he could catch sight of the alley that bordered their back yard. Nothing was moving out there; everyone in the barrio was asleep. He seemed not to notice when Ana came into the kitchen. She deliberately clanked the coffee can against the sink.
    â€œBuenos días
, ’Apá.”
    Rodolfo remained unmoving and silent. He sat erect, poised, as if waiting for something. Ana noticed this, and,sensing that she was to be the target, began to retreat. She was about to back out of the kitchen when he bolted out of the chair, noisily knocking it over. As he lunged, Rodolfo grabbed her wrist with one hand, and with the other he took hold of the hem of her sweater. He pulled it up around her neck with a yank, then he planted the outstretched palm of his hand on her belly.
    Rodolfo’s face was a mask, and his eyes slanted more than ever. Ana was overcome by fear. She tried to pry her wrist out of her father’s grip, but couldn’t because his hand was like an iron vise that squeezed and wrenched the bones of her hand. A moan escaped her.
    â€œÂ¡Cabrona!”
    Rodolfo hissed the word through stiffened lips. Taking her shoulders with both hands, he slammed her against the stove. A half-filled pan fell onto the floor, splashing its contents, clanging and bouncing against the wall. Ana tried to escape, but a sudden blow to the side of her face threw her against the table, which screeched under her weight. Stunned, she groped with her arms in an attempt to find a way out, but just as her hands landed on the door jamb, her father’s fist caught her at the back of the head. The force of the rabbit punch sent her skidding headlong against the door leading to the front yard.
    â€œ
¡Hija de la chingada!
Leave my house! Pig!”
    Ana had not screamed or made noise during her father’s attack, but the metallic clashing of falling pots and the crashing sounds of overturning chairs pulled everyone out of bed. Alejandra, in her nightgown, stood at the bedroom door, her hair disheveled and her eyes blinking as she tried to make out what was happening. Behind her crowded the startled faces of the other girls. From the service porch on the other side of the kitchen, Octavio and César scrambled out. Both were still in their shorts.
    It was César who reacted. Realizing what was happening to Ana, he lunged forward and screamed, “No! No! ’Apá, please stop!” Without thinking, César tried to intervene, and