The House of the Scorpion Read Free

than he. How much older Matt couldn’t tell. They were definitely not adults, though, and they didn’t seem dangerous. Still, Celia would be furious if she found out. Matt decided not to tell her.
    That night she brought him a coloring book the children had thrown away in the Big House. Only half of it had been used, so Matt spent a pleasant half hour before dinner using the stubby crayons Celia had brought on other occasions. The smell of fried cheese and onions drifted out of the kitchen, and Matt knew she was cooking Aztláno food. This was a special treat. Celia was usually so tired when she returned home, she only heated up leftovers.
    He colored in an entire meadow with green. His crayon was almost gone, and he had to hold it carefully to use it at all. The green made him feel happy. If only he could look out on such a meadow instead of the blinding white poppies. He was certain grass would be as soft as a bed and smell like rain.
    “Very nice, chico,” said Celia, looking over his shoulder.
    The last fragment of crayon fell apart in Matt’s fingers.
    “¡Qué lástima ! I’ll see if I can find more in the Big House. Those kids’re so rich, they wouldn’t notice if I took the whole darn box.” Celia sighed. “I’ll only take a few, though. The mouse is safest when she doesn’t leave footprints on the butter.”
    They had quesadillas and enchiladas for dinner. The food sat heavily in Matt’s stomach.
    “Mamá ,” he said without thinking, “tell me again about the kids in the Big House.”
    “Don’t call me ‘ Mamÿ,’” snapped Celia.
    “Sorry,” said Matt. The word had slipped out. Celia had told him long ago that she wasn’t his real mother. The children on TV had mamÿs , though, and Matt had fallen into the habit of thinking of Celia that way.
    “I love you more than anything in the world,” the woman said quickly. “Never forget that. But you were only loaned to me, mi vida.”
    Matt had trouble understanding the word loaned . It seemed to mean something you gave away for a little while—which meant that whoever loaned him would want him back.
    “Anyhow, the kids in the Big House are brats, you better believe it,” Celia went on. “They’re lazy as cats and just as ungrateful. They make big messes and order the maids to clean them up. And they never say thank you. Even if you work for hours making special cakes with sugar roses and violets and green leaves, they can’t say thank you to save their miserable little souls. They stuff their selfish mouths and tell you it tastes like mud!”
    Celia looked angry, as though the incident had happened recently.
    “There’s Steven and Benito,” Matt reminded her.
    “Benito’s the oldest. He’s a real devil! He’s seventeen, and there isn’t a girl in the Farms who’s safe from him. But never mind that. It’s adult stuff and very boring. Anyhow, Benito is like his father, which means he’s a dog in human clothing. He’s going to college this year, and we’ll all be glad to see the last of him.”
    “And Steven?” Matt said patiently.
    “He’s not so bad. I sometimes think he might have a soul. He spends time with the Mendoza girls. They’re okay, although what they’re doing with our crowd would puzzle God Himself.”
    “What does Steven look like?” It sometimes took a long time to steer Celia to the things Matt wanted to know—in this case, the names of the children who’d appeared outside the window.
    “He’s thirteen. Big for his age. Sandy hair. Blue eyes.”
    That must have been the boy , thought Matt.
    “Right now the Mendozas are visiting. Emilia’s thirteen too, very pretty with black hair and brown eyes.”
    That must be the girl , Matt decided.
    “She at least has good manners. Her sister, María, is about your age and plays with Tom. Well, some might call it play. Most of the time she winds up crying her eyes out.”
    “Why?” said Matt, who enjoyed hearing about Tom’s misdeeds.
    “Tom is Benito