The Dreamer: List 5

Neftalí grimaced and nodded.

He watched Guillermo saunter off. Neftalí sank to the riverbank, staring into the water.

Enrique’s handwriting was elegant, with flourishes and curlicues, and his words were just as fancy.

He loved Mamadre. She was the most indisputable. She was the kindest person on his earth.

Now Guillermo was about to pummel him. His body flooded with the same dread that he had felt before Father had forced him into the sea. Without turning around, Neftalí walked faster.

He could not look at her. His eyes stayed riveted on the ground.

Neftalí wished he could shrivel to the size of an insect. He felt light-headed and swiped at the back of his clammy neck.

Neftalí left Mamadre to console Laurita and went to his room.

Eventually, he gave up on sleep, flung the blanket aside, and allowed the raindrops, the chucao, and the waves their folly.

Uncle Orlando’s face turned serious. “There is one stipulation. We must have your father’s permission.”

Let me choose an opportune circumstance to ask him if you can work for me.

All he could see was an imposing figure in a dark cape, blocking his path.

To some of you that is not news because you were involved, even indirectly, with such inhumane actions.

“Ah. Supporting the voice of the oppressed. How quaint,” said the shopkeeper.

“Ah. Supporting the voice of the oppressed. How quaint,” said the shopkeeper.

He smiled at the shopkeeper. “Tonight I am not in the mood to fight. But only for tonight. Instead, with your permission, I would like you all to be privy to an article that will appear in the paper tomorrow.”

A gentle murmur of expectancy traveled around the table.

He watched everyone’s eyes paying rapt attention as they heard about famous explorers who forged ahead into new worlds and conquered obstacles.

He watched everyone’s eyes paying rapt attention as they heard about famous explorers who forged ahead into new worlds and conquered obstacles.

Uncle Orlando continued with conviction in his voice as he read Neftalí’s premise that these voyagers were the heroes of resolve and perseverance.

“It is only a hobby,” said Father with a quick, dismissive tone. “A frivolity, nothing more. Let us talk of something else.”

“It is only a hobby,” said Father with a quick, dismissive tone. “A frivolity, nothing more. Let us talk of something else.”

Father’s face reddened with anger. “I will give him an allowance when he goes to the university, if he studies for a reputable job.”

As he ate, he suddenly wished he could amend his essay to include Uncle Orlando and Rodolfo in his list of heroes.

His forehead was furrowed and his voice tight.

“The new group that has become advocates for the Mapuche wants to organize a protest against the developers. They need a place to meet tonight. So I have offered the office. They will be here in a few hours. Maybe the voice of a larger group will do some good. But, Neftalí, no one must know about the meeting.”

After dark, Neftalí stood at the window peeking out from beneath a blanket and keeping a vigilant post.

As people crowded inside the small newspaper office, they seemed far more humble than the shopkeepers who had been to his house for dinner.

Uncle Orlando turned away. Then, almost as an afterthought, he called back to Neftalí, “Be safe.”

Then a tiny, conceited word came along. Like a hungry termite, it began to gnaw on the tall words, chewing at their foundation, gulping their pulp, until they swayed, toppled, and collapsed.

Neftalí’s heart matched the pounding of his feet as he hurtled down the dirt street. When he turned the corner to the main road, he saw the ball of fire rising into the night.

Neftalí pushed through the confusion, searching for Uncle Orlando.
At last, he found him standing in the street, bewildered, holding a single printer’s drawer in his hands.

A brigade formed, and people passed buckets of water up the line. Still, it was a pitiful attempt to squelch the giant flames.

Neftalí joined the volunteers, grateful to have something to do with his hands and, at the same time, troubled by the futility of it all.

He did not see a man covered head to toe in soot. He saw a man covered in righteousness.