She ... thought of Soledad Ordonez, the stooped old shapeless woman from the San Miguel barrio who didn't speak to her husband for twenty-two years because he sold their pig in San Andrés and was drunk for a week on the proceeds. He was dying, stretched out on his deathbed with the priest and their three sons and four daughters there and all their seventeen grandchildren and his brother too, and he could barely croak out the words, "Soledad, talk to me," and her face was stone and the priest and the brother and all the grandchildren held their breath, and she said one word, "Drunkard," and he died.
(from The Tortilla Curtain, by T.C. Boyle)
2*/10. The full review is here.
.
No comments:
Post a Comment