Siete minutos by Ismael Camacho Arango (the little red hen read aloud TXT) 📖

Homer saw specks of light shimmering through the darkness, but the child chanted strange words to the night.
“Two and two are seven,” he said.
Homer frowned. “No, it isn’t.”
“I say whatever I want.”
“It’s your mouth.”
Shadows spread around them as more stars appeared in the sky and Jose ran around the tree.
“You have to remember,” he said.
“What do you mean?” Homer asked.
“You’ll see.”
Homer looked at the stars in a world he didn’t understand, where time and space merged into nothingness.
“I’m Jose as you know,” the child said.
Then the backyard looked empty, the shadows spreading everywhere.
On moving through the darkness, Homer stumbled on a few papers his mother must have dropped on the floor. The words didn’t make any sense or they had to be in another language. Homer could take them to Father Ricardo, who knew all about the bible and other things in Latin.
“It must be rubbish,” he muttered to himself.
The adults stopped talking as Homer appeared at the door.
“You must throw those papers away,” his mother said.
“I need them,” Homer said.
“He likes to recycle all kinds all things,” his father said.
Homer spent a boring evening, as his parents counted the money they had earned during the day and Uncle Hugh told them about his life in the USA. The stars burned in the sky like Jose had said, a few shadows dancing by the tree.
“Mum,” he said.
“You must be tired,” she said.
“Don’t have bad dreams,” Uncle Hugh said.
Homer rushed upstairs after wishing them goodnight. Once in his room, he counted all the pesos he had collected over the weeks, but his uncle’s coin was the prettiest. Homer put it in his bag before going to sleep.
Uncle Hugh slept in the guest room, next to the marks on the wall undergoing some kind of transformation. Homer imagined his uncle fighting the spirits of the night, while retreating into a world of fantasy, dreams and nightmares. Jose had to be real if he had played with his toy cars but he had to remember something...


Maria
Jose’s last words didn’t make any sense as Homer danced around the tree of life chanting to the stars, scaring the squirrels and stepping on centipedes.
“Where are you?” he asked.
The breeze moved his hair and the birds looked for worms in the grass. Jose had to be on the other side of the garden, where the bushes formed a green mass of plants and hedges around the pond.
“Hi,” someone said.
A pretty girl, wearing a blue dress had appeared by his side. At first Homer thought he imagined her, but then she showed her perfect teeth in the most beautiful smile of his life.
“You’re real,” he said.
The girl’s laughter interrupted the silence of his world, while he played with his clothes. Then she looked serious.
“I’m Miguel’s daughter,” she said.
The man helping in his parent’s shop had to be Miguel and this wonderful creature his daughter. The sound of a dog interrupted his reverie.
“I don’t like dogs,” she said.
They ran back into the kitchen where a cluttered table stood by a sink full of saucepans. On tidying away some of the chaos, he found the tricycle Uncle Hugh had given him a long time ago.
“My parents came here in a big ship,” Homer said.
She frowned. “They must be rich.”
“It had many floors, and windows.”
He explained how they had bought the shop after borrowing money from Uncle Hugh but the business had been slow during the last few months.
“Dad showed me the seagulls chasing the ship.”
“Seagulls?”
“They catch flying fish.”
He showed her a magazine with pictures of the seagulls catching their fish. Those birds reminded him of their trip, when father had lots of herbal tea to cure his sea sickness.
“This is not my country,” he said.
“I don’t think it matters.”
On longing for that other place he had never known, he felt sad, but then crumbs fell between the infinity of her breasts while she ate a biscuit. He had to be strong for his future.
“Your parents should sell coca leaves,” she said.
“Coca?” he asked.
She nodded. “The Indians will travel long distances to buy it.”
Homer’s eyes rose from her breasts to her face. He would keep her by his side forever, even if he had to get whatever she wanted.
“Father buys coca from Coconucos in the central cordillera,” she said.
After rummaging in her bag, she found a few crushed leaves without any smell.
“Put them in your mouth,” she said.
He followed her instructions, tasting the leaves while hearing of the Indians chewing their coca on their journeys through the Andes. Homer imagined them queuing outside the shop, bringing the spells of the jungle to his business. She touched the palms of his hands, making his hairs stand on end.
“Your life will end with the sun,” she said.