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Show Rosa stirred under the thin blanket, her fifteen-year-old ears listening for the hiss of shower faucets and the patter of hurrying feet on tiled floors that would tell her the day was beginning. What she heard instead was the sound of a chicken clucking softly as it scratched at the dirt on the other side of the adobe wall next to her head. Off in the distance somewhere a rooster crowed. Rosa opened her eyes and remembered that it was summer now. School was out and she was home once more, on the Papago reservation in southern Arizona. Maybe Granny»d let her go into Sells today. There was a store there, and a cafe with a juke box. Here at home there was nothing. Rosa stretched and let her eyes roam upward to where the dawn winked faintly through a thin spot in the brush roof, casting a beam of gray light on a cluster of woven baskets which hung there. In the dimness she could barely make out the hunched-up outline of her nine-year-old brother Matias, still dreaming on his pallet next to the stack of ollas, the big, |