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Show -8- "I let a boy at school kiss me," she said. "Well, you just make sure that's all you let them do and you won't have anything to worry about," said Graciela, reaching high for an extra-succulent pod. "Look out. You got some dirt on that one, Rosa. Granny won't like that." "Pooh!" Rosa brushed off the dirt. "Let's change jobs. You're getting tired, I bet, and I want to use the kuibit. When their baskets were full, they walked back to camp, carrying them on their heads. The baskets were heavy. Rosa wished someone in one of the trucks would come out and get them, but she knew better to complain. Carrying the baskets in on foot was part of the time-honored ritual that had to be followed. "Turn off your radio," cautioned Graciela. "We're getting close enough for them to hear you." She helped steady the basket as Rosa switched off the radio and stuck it back in her pocket. The basket was heavy. It pressed so hard on the top of Rosa's head that she could feel the pattern of the weave against her scalp. Little rivers of perspiration trickled down her face. "Why did you come back here, Graciela?" she asked. "I'd never come back here again if I didn't have to." "Her cousin trudged along in silence. Her round face was red from the heat of the sun and the effort of carrying the basket. "Graciela, what was it like living in Phoenix-your own apartment, your own money, and nobody telling you what to do?" "Not bad. Lonesome sometimes, but not bad." "You didn't have to come home. You could have managed somehow, couldn't you?" |
