“Please, when I grow up I’ll pay for everything.” The baker caught the boy stealing, but following him home he discovered a secret from his own past that shattered his soul.
PART 1
The toddler was shaking from head to toe as he tried to hide a bread under his rusty, dirty sweater. Her lips were chapped from the cold, her shoes without needles, and a dark mark on her cheek, from those sorrows that cling to the skin from the cradle.
– Please don’t catch me… When I grow up I pay for everything – pleaded the little boy, shrinking when Don Ramiro, the owner of the bakery, took him by the wrist.
Don Ramiro was a 58-year-old man, hardened by work in front of the oven and a lonely life. He looked at the bread that the boy was trying to steal: a hard bowl, one of those that at the end of the day no one bought in that popular neighborhood of Mexico City.
The lady in the line, Ms. Carmelita, snapped her tongue in annoyance.
—Here you go, Don Ramiro. That’s why you shouldn’t let these stray kids in. They steal because their parents tell them to. If you don’t call the patrol, they’ll evacuate the premises.
The boy looked down, swallowing his tears.
– What’s your name? —asked the baker, with a heavy voice.
—Matthew — the boy answered, with a thread of voice—. I am 6 years old… almost 7.
—Why do you steal, Mateo? Where are your daddies?
The boy’s eyes became crystal clear, but he didn’t shed a single tear. It was the look of someone who, at the age of 6, had already learned that crying only brought more problems.
—My dad is gone. And my mom… is in the bed. She says her chest hurts so bad and hasn’t stood up in 2 days. My 2 little brothers are really hungry. Lupita gave the baby water with sugar, but we don’t have sugar anymore.
The bakery went into a heavy silence. Don Ramiro let go of the child’s doll. His knees, tired from years, thundered when he stooped down to stand up to Matthew. The baker, surrounded by jars full of seashells horns and ears, suddenly felt like the most miserable man in the world in front of a child who was asking for forgiveness for wanting to survive.
“I’m not turning you over to the police,” Ramiro said—. But you’re gonna take me with your mama.
Matthew backed out, terrified.
– No! If you see her like this, they will take us to DIF and separate us. I swear to the Virgin that I’m not bad.
Ramiro didn’t listen to Mrs. Carmelita’s complaints. He took a big bag of ostrich and put in fresh bread, a bottle of milk, ham and 2 juices. They went out the back door. They walked 3 streets and traversed 2 dark alleys until they reached a neighborhood that smelled of moisture, burnt oil and desperation.
In the neighborhood yard, next to a broken laundry machine, a 4-year-old girl carried a baby wrapped in a thin blanket. Seeing the bag, the girl’s eyes lit up with heartbreaking hope.
Matthew pushed the tin door into the room. The air inside was thick, smelled of fever and rancid medicine. On a mattress lying on the floor, a young, extremely thin woman was having difficulty breathing. Her lips were purple and, with a shaky hand, she pressed a piece of paper against her chest.
Ramiro got close quickly. The woman was on the verge of collapse.
“I’m going to call an ambulance,” said the baker, taking out his cell phone.
While waiting for an answer, Ramiro noticed that the paper the woman was holding was not a medical prescription. It was an old photograph. Curiosity, or perhaps a icy feeling, drove him to gently throw the paper. Turning it over, the phone slipped out of his hands.
He was in the picture, dated 20 years ago. A younger Ramiro, hugging Ana, the only woman he had loved, who looked like a pregnancy belly. Before the baker could process that the agonizing woman in front of him was his own blood, the tin door came flying out of a kick.
A man with breath of alcohol and tattoos on his neck walked into the room. It was Rogelio, the stepfather. He looked at the bread, looked at Ramiro and pulled a knife out of his pocket, grabbing Matthew by the neck of the sweater.
-Nobody’s gonna call anybody, you old pussy! —the man roared, bringing the thread closer to the child’s face—. Nobody is going to take my gold mine.
You couldn’t believe what was about to happen…
Part 2 is in the comments 👇
