Twisted Cross

  “Espèrame, wait here,” Papá said.

   “What’s over there?” Sal said. The boys peered through the gate toward a sandy slope with a crooked house on one side.

   “Just a shack and a bunch of children running around,” Blas said. “Hey, one boy looks a lot like you, but younger.” They spotted a woman cooking over an open fire pit. Were these all of her kids? “She’s hugging him! Mira, look, your Papá knows her,” Blas said. As soon as he said this, Sal looked away.

   “Papá never talked about having a sister or anyone in Cadiz,” Sal said. Could this be the family his parents had argued about—Papá’s horns and tail? Sal didn’t want to see any more. “Let’s get some rest.” He let Mamà’s shawl fall to the ground. He and Blas laid down and leaned their heads against the rocks.

The next morning Papá roused the boys early to roam the docks and look for work. He didn’t even bother to mention the phony job or his other family. He lied about everything. He even dared to ask the boys to reinforce the gate where they slept.

   “How many days do we look for work?” Blas said. He spoke quietly to Sal, not wanting to confront Papá. “I thought he had a job here?