The Memories of Ana Calderón (1994)
“Even though many years have passed, my recollections of the hut often come to me. Its roof was made of long interlaced fronds which were lashed to a supporting frame of poles hacked out of palm trees. Its floor was the black sand that had been washed ashore ages before our time. Our palapa was on the fringe of a cluster of dwellings, and even though we weren’t really a part of the port city, still, its lights could be seen from where we lived. We could even see the ships that came down the coas...t from Veracruz.
My father’s name was Rodolfo and like all the men of the village, he was a fisherman. My mother was named Rosalva. I don’t remember her as well as I do my father, and that’s because she died when I was twelve years old, but I know that I loved her very much. Although I have memories, even vivid ones of when I was a child, I’ve always thought that my life really began on the day that my little brother, César, was born. That happened on the day I turned ten.
I was listening to my Aunt Calista’s voice calling out for me that afternoon, and even though it sounded heavy with frustration, I pretended not to hear her.MoreLess
My father’s name was Rodolfo and like all the men of the village, he was a fisherman. My mother was named Rosalva. I don’t remember her as well as I do my father, and that’s because she died when I was twelve years old, but I know that I loved her very much. Although I have memories, even vivid ones of when I was a child, I’ve always thought that my life really began on the day that my little brother, César, was born. That happened on the day I turned ten.
I was listening to my Aunt Calista’s voice calling out for me that afternoon, and even though it sounded heavy with frustration, I pretended not to hear her.MoreLess
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