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Show -9- Graciela did not answer. The camp was in sight now, and the smell of rabbit stew simmering over the open fire gave new spring to their tired footsteps. Granny looked at them and frowned. "That's enough for you today, Graciela. It's too hot out there. You and Rosa can stay here this afternoon and help me with the jam." Rosa kicked a rock. Now she wouldn't be able to play her radio. And she knew what they'd be doing all afternoon. The first fruit of the day had already been cooked and strained for syrup. The pulp lay spread on a canvas, drying rapidly in the sun. Before it could be made into jam, the seeds - thousands of them, black and tiny - would have to be removed by hand. It was a job she'd had to help with every year, and she hated it. After lunch, Rosa and Graciela knelt beside the canvas, picked up hunks of dried fruit pulp and began to rub them between their hands, to work the seeds to the surface where most of them would fall out. Even the seeds would not be wasted. They would be fed to the chickens or roasted and ground up into meal. Granny supervised the pots and the cooking fires. As the oldest woman in the village, she was absolute ruler of the jam-making activities. The younger women turned to her with their questions and waited for her to determine when the fruit had cooked long enough. Today she was the most important person in the camp. Funny, strange old Granny, with her dowdy clothes and her uneducated ways. The red pulp was warm and sticky. It took a great deal of rubbing to work the seeds to the surface. Rosa's arms ached. The sweat trickled |