Reading, England.
October 7, 1499
"What's that noise, Miguel?" a small girl asked.
Miguel woke up from his sleep and, groggily, listened for a sound to come.
Wooooooosh! Was what came back. Miguel sighed.
"It's just the wind, Gabby." Gabriella was always afraid of the noises at night. But Miguel couldn't blame her. She was only four, and all kids her age were little wimps. He always had to hold her hand when they went into town because she was afraid of either falling or being taken away by some stranger. Also, she would always tag along with him when he was with his friends, and when he told her to go away, she would run home crying to their mother.
"Miguel, please take care of your sister. I have to go to work soon."
Of course, he didn't consider what their mother did was called "work". She was a prostitute and, although she was gone for hours at a time or even wouldn't come home until morning, she was a good mother.
Besides, she couldn't do any better. Women couldn't get the best jobs in the world or, in some cases, couldn't get a job at all. But no matter what the circumstances, she tried her best to be a good mother to her children. She supported them all by herself as well.
Now I know what you're thinking. You're thinking she married some deadbeat guy who knocked her up a couple of times and left as soon as things got a little bad. But it was nothing like that at all. Miguel's father was a sailor from Spain, which would explain why two little British children would have Spanish names. He loved their mother dearly and married her as soon as he could. He was a wonderful husband to his wife and a great father to Miguel. But soon after he turned five and Gabriella was born, he was murdered by stranger in the night.
Miguel had never been more heart-broken in his whole little life, and every night it crushed him as his mother would go off and make love with another man. Every night, he would cry himself to sleep, but not so loud so he wouldn't worry Gabriella.
He only had possession of one thing that his father had once owned. His beautifully carved mandolin. When his father died, Miguel practiced for hours every day, learning all of the chords from remembering the times he had watched his father played. At first he played clumsy little tunes that sometimes sounded flat because he didn't press the strings hard enough. But now, he could play long songs as beautifully
as his father once did.
"Miguel! What's that other noise?!" Miguel listened again.
"That's a tree scraping against the window."
"Oh. Ok............. Miguel! What's-"
"DOG BARKING!"
"Ok, Ok! You don't have to yell!" "Well geez, Gabby. You're such a scaredy-cat!" He turned his back to her and shut his eyes again. Then he heard his little sister begin to sob in her pillow. "Now what are you crying' for?"
She sniffled and looked up at him with tearful, big green eyes. "I want my Mommy. Where is she?"
Miguel sighed. Sometimes he forgot that she was just an innocent little girl and didn't know as much as he did. He put his arm around her and gave her a little hug, and she snuggled up next to him. "She's at work right now. She'll be home tomorrow and she'll fix us some breakfast. How's that?"
"Okay." she peeped, a little more cheerful now.
He smiled at the little girl as she fell asleep in his arms. She was very tiny and had long blonde hair that covered all of her back. She always carried around with her a raggedy old doll made out of cloth and stuff with straw. Their father had made it for her and gave it to her the day she was born. She named it Juany, after their father. It was her own little way of paying respect for the man she never knew, but who loved her so very much.
As Miguel began to fall asleep, the door burst open. Gabriella screamed and hid under the covers. Miguel grabbed a knife that he kept under the mattress and rushed to the door, expecting to see a robber or a murderer. Instead, he saw his mother, white as chalk, with a bloody hand clutched to her stomach.
October 7, 1499
"What's that noise, Miguel?" a small girl asked.
Miguel woke up from his sleep and, groggily, listened for a sound to come.
Wooooooosh! Was what came back. Miguel sighed.
"It's just the wind, Gabby." Gabriella was always afraid of the noises at night. But Miguel couldn't blame her. She was only four, and all kids her age were little wimps. He always had to hold her hand when they went into town because she was afraid of either falling or being taken away by some stranger. Also, she would always tag along with him when he was with his friends, and when he told her to go away, she would run home crying to their mother.
"Miguel, please take care of your sister. I have to go to work soon."
Of course, he didn't consider what their mother did was called "work". She was a prostitute and, although she was gone for hours at a time or even wouldn't come home until morning, she was a good mother.
Besides, she couldn't do any better. Women couldn't get the best jobs in the world or, in some cases, couldn't get a job at all. But no matter what the circumstances, she tried her best to be a good mother to her children. She supported them all by herself as well.
Now I know what you're thinking. You're thinking she married some deadbeat guy who knocked her up a couple of times and left as soon as things got a little bad. But it was nothing like that at all. Miguel's father was a sailor from Spain, which would explain why two little British children would have Spanish names. He loved their mother dearly and married her as soon as he could. He was a wonderful husband to his wife and a great father to Miguel. But soon after he turned five and Gabriella was born, he was murdered by stranger in the night.
Miguel had never been more heart-broken in his whole little life, and every night it crushed him as his mother would go off and make love with another man. Every night, he would cry himself to sleep, but not so loud so he wouldn't worry Gabriella.
He only had possession of one thing that his father had once owned. His beautifully carved mandolin. When his father died, Miguel practiced for hours every day, learning all of the chords from remembering the times he had watched his father played. At first he played clumsy little tunes that sometimes sounded flat because he didn't press the strings hard enough. But now, he could play long songs as beautifully
as his father once did.
"Miguel! What's that other noise?!" Miguel listened again.
"That's a tree scraping against the window."
"Oh. Ok............. Miguel! What's-"
"DOG BARKING!"
"Ok, Ok! You don't have to yell!" "Well geez, Gabby. You're such a scaredy-cat!" He turned his back to her and shut his eyes again. Then he heard his little sister begin to sob in her pillow. "Now what are you crying' for?"
She sniffled and looked up at him with tearful, big green eyes. "I want my Mommy. Where is she?"
Miguel sighed. Sometimes he forgot that she was just an innocent little girl and didn't know as much as he did. He put his arm around her and gave her a little hug, and she snuggled up next to him. "She's at work right now. She'll be home tomorrow and she'll fix us some breakfast. How's that?"
"Okay." she peeped, a little more cheerful now.
He smiled at the little girl as she fell asleep in his arms. She was very tiny and had long blonde hair that covered all of her back. She always carried around with her a raggedy old doll made out of cloth and stuff with straw. Their father had made it for her and gave it to her the day she was born. She named it Juany, after their father. It was her own little way of paying respect for the man she never knew, but who loved her so very much.
As Miguel began to fall asleep, the door burst open. Gabriella screamed and hid under the covers. Miguel grabbed a knife that he kept under the mattress and rushed to the door, expecting to see a robber or a murderer. Instead, he saw his mother, white as chalk, with a bloody hand clutched to her stomach.
