Lost in the City: Tree of Desire and Serafin Read Free

she ran, holding the child by the arm and stopping when they reached the sidewalk, as if it were a recently won beachhead.
    â€œAre we going to school?”
    â€œI’ve already told you we’re not going to school”—the tone of her voice rising—“and carry that cat carefully.”
    They got to Insurgentes Avenue and stopped at the corner. Cristina was looking at the buses streaming by in front of her, wondering which one she should take. She had gone to Alicia’s house with Mamá so many times. Why hadn’t she paid attention to the names of things then? Why hadn’t she thought she would need to go there someday alone? Now it seemed so hard to remember . . . She took a chance with a very serious-looking lady who was protecting herself from the sun with a brilliantly colored parasol. She looked at them surprised from her square of shade, as if from far away, and asked about their mother. Cristina replied that they were just going to meet her, and chose to walk to the next block to get away from the woman (she had such eyes . . .).
    When the bus stopped, she ran to get on it. First she pushed the child on by his waist, and then she got on herself. But she faced a finger moving from side to side like a windshield wiper.
    â€œThat cat can’t get on,” the driver said firmly.
    â€œIt’s Lucas,” Joaquín explained.
    A very tall, smiling man took his hand off the chrome bar, stroked the child’s head, and then looked at Cristina.
    â€œPlease, Mister,” Cristina begged the driver.
    â€œAnimals can’t get on. Come on, get down,” and he started to move the gear shift.
    Cristina got off first, thinking it would be easier to lift Joaquín down afterward. But he was afraid to jump down from the platform—before the anguished cry of his sister—and the cat must have caught his fright because it slipped out of his arms and randown the aisle of the bus with Joaquín behind it. Cristina was in the street, with her hand out, pleading, and the last things she could hear were her brother’s cries, mixed with the even sharper shrieks of a woman probably terrified by the presence of the animal. An instant later, she saw the red stripe pass in front of her like the flash from a gun, and the roar of the motor was again deafening.
    â€œJoaquín!”
    The world spun around dizzily, and everything seemed senseless. She ran with the conviction that if she lost her brother, she would throw herself under the wheels of the next passing car. A cry within drowned her voice:
    â€œJoaquín!”
    But the bus stopped in the middle of the block. The air could be breathed again. Cristina saw the tall man who had stroked his hair descend and receive Joaquín and the cat in his arms. He settled them carefully on the sidewalk, smiled and waved good-bye to Cristina, and got back on.
    Their coats had fallen, and she had to go back to get them. Then, although still panting and crying, she hugged her brother.
    â€œHe scratched a lady,” Joaquín informed her, stroking Lucas’ head gently.
    â€œWell, I’m sick and tired of your blasted cat. Didn’t you see how I ran behind the bus? I almost died . . . What if I’d never seen you again?”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œBesides, they’re not going to let us get on with him. Understand?”
    The child raised his free hand to his eyes, and his lips became round, but he stopped when he heard his sister’s threat:
    â€œLook, if you cry, I’m going to hit you . . . hard, Joaquín.”

4
    They found a solution: put the cat in a plastic bag Cristina got out of a trash can. She would carry it herself, hidden under the coats.
    She waited for a bus that was not too full and put Joaquín on first; he never took his eyes off the swinging bag his sister was carrying.
    â€œHang on really tight to this bar. Here, keep still,” she ordered as she gave