Romans & histoires When I Was Puerto Rican Audiobook

Puta! He looked down on his plate filled with chilaquiles and huevos rancheros waiting for her answer. "Here and there, señor, But mostly San Jose," she whispered. Her voice was timid. So different from the confident woman he met last night. Though her Spanish was passable there was an underlying accent he couldn't place. -That is not the real her.- Again, he raised his gaze and observed her. Head downcast, focused on her meal, he couldn't get much. "And your parents?"

As soon as I arrived at the airport and went to pick me up, he gave me a gold pendant with the image of the Child Jesus. She is a fifty-four-year-old woman with two children, both boys. Manuel, twenty-three, and Rodrigo, twenty-seven. They were my second family. I owe them my first years in an unknown land, although life had not especially smiled on them. I can't help but feel nostalgic at the thought of Manuel. "I am from Santo Domingo. I imagine you're also from there because of your accent, ”Julio replies. He takes a drink from an espresso that the young woman has just brought him.

It took a while before he answered after recovering from the shock of hearing her speak. "I'm-I'm okay" His voice sounded small, but she heard him clearly. She quickly perked up at his accent, realizing that he wasn't a local at all. "Where are you from?" She questioned as she bent before him, slightly pushing up his shorts so that she could get a better look at his knee. "I'm from Puerto Rico," he replied, slightly wincing when she ran her index finger over the base of the wound. She paused abruptly, taking him by surprise and scaring him half to death when he thought he had just scared her off. However, his doubts were soothed when she smiled at him even wider.

“And I’m grateful that you see me as a person, and not someone you just want to use. But I’m antsy, Joemar. After ten days on the yacht, and two days on your island, I’m sick of sitting around doing nothing. I’m used to doing things!” Joemar pulled out some Costa Rican currency and tucked it under the pitcher of chiliguaro. “Then let’s do something. Come on.” He got up, took my hand, and led me out into the throng of pedestrians on the street. XXX

The man who was going to shake his hand backed away. - Campbell? From the Campbell family? - Yes. That Campbell. He's my father, and his face was in the punching bag. The man frowns but holds my hand. - My name’s Theodore Silva. - Unusual name. - Theodore or Silva? They both laugh. - My father is Portuguese. - That explains. There is a very good pub in Santa Monica. Do you want to go there? I call an Uber. The man's eyebrows come together. - Now, don’t tell me you are making a move on me.

Both of our gazes flick to the window where a light shines in, waking some of the others before it's gone again. Someone hoots and the sound of men's boots on the deck grows louder. I hear muffled words. This man is loud, though. He speaks first in Spanish then English. I can tell he's talking to Fernando, because Fernando doesn't speak Spanish. He didn't pick up a single word in all the years he worked with my brothers. Refused to because he's, arrogant fuck. “Just fucking found it. I'm going to kill that old man,” he says, and he sounds pissed.

I wanted to look up at Aziel and see what he was doing but I opted not to and focused my attention on my untouched dinner plate instead. “Where are your parents from?” He asked right before putting a piece of stake in his mouth. “My mom is Mexican and my dad,” I paused for a moment. “My dad was Puerto Rican.” “Was?” I nodded even though I knew he couldn’t see me. “He died during the war. He was a soldier.” I said blankly hoping he would stop questioning me now.

It feels like a stolen jewel I want to hide in my pocket. The door opens. The peace shatters instantly. Ciro fills the doorway. He is wearing his working face—a mask of granite and suppressed violence. "We have a problem," Ciro rumbles. Aureliano marks his page and sets the book down. The laziness vanishes. The predator snaps back into focus. "What kind of problem?" Aureliano asks. "The Port," Ciro says. "Pier 4." I sigh. A long, heavy exhale that pushes against my ribs.

I knew he was a man who would keep his promise and I knew he would keep that girl alive. What I didn’t know was his name, his identity, and the path he was about to take. “Hi, Fox, can you hear me?” It was 10 years later, while I was wandering at one of the biggest porters in Brazil in the south of the earth. When the sun jumped out of the sea, everything on the surface glittered under its golden glory. Suddenly, I heard his voice ring up in my head. It was weak and lightened on purpose, but I instantly sensed that he was dying.

And from then onwards, we became very close. I started saving her a seat, sitting with her on my breaks. We started laughing, and talking about things that made me happy. I'd always laugh out loud even if it sounded like it belonged to someone else. Mrs Pancho didn’t ask about my past and I didn't tell her either. She told stories instead. Stories of how the Crimson pack burnt and was rebuilt. She also told stories of a boy named Roberto...her grandchild, who once clung to a stranger's leg after a massacre. A coup that took the lives of Roberto's parents.