OCR Text |
Show in my father's house/ 134 the page to give the impression I had written it myself. "Why do you write 'I'?" I wanted to know. "Daddy starts with 'D. '" She cleared her throat. "Well -- uh -- we've each taken one of the vowels for our mail-name. I'm 'U,' Helga is 'E,' and your father is 'I.' We do that so that the authorities can't use our letters in court. It worked fine in the old days, but now there are more of us than there are vowels. Sometime soon we'll have to invent a new system -- with real names this time." When we had been in Mexico about a week, I ventured outside and peered over the hedge. Aunt Elsa said that we shouldn't talk to the neighbors at all. But then Aunt Elsa often "made mountains out of molehills" as my mother said. I habitually ignored her orders, just as most of the family did, until her voice went shrill and passionate- A dark-skinned boy came to the hedge and spoke. I was delighted, although I didn't understand him. He motioned me through an opening in the hedge and up to the porch, where I saw an old woman wrapped in a serape. Despite her withered skin, she had a fineness to her features and long-fingered hands which reminded me of my Grandmother Allred. She didn't smile, but eyed me sternly, placing an elegant hand on my shoulder. "How old?" "Five," I whispered, spreading the fingers of one hand. |