5

The Night Lamp

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One evening after dinner, Felipe and I go upstairs to play pick-up sticks in our bedroom. The electricity is still on. Maybe things are back to normal.

Suddenly we hear loud pow-pows.

I would like to think it is a car backfiring, but I recognize the sound of gunfire now. I don’t know who is shooting at whom and I don’t care. I just want my parents to stop worrying. For things to get back to normal.

The lights go out. Footsteps pound on the staircase.

Mamá appears at the door. She is out of breath.

“Grab your pillow and blanket, Davico. You, too, Felipe. Hurry!”

“Why?” Felipe wails. He is very close to winning the game.

“I want both of you downstairs.”

“That’s no explanation!” he snaps back.

“It’s enough that I say so!”

Felipe grabs his brown dirty dog Chucho by an ear and trudges to the staircase. He couldn’t walk any slower.

I carry Gordito, the pink pig that spends every night on my pillow.

Gordito and Chucho are useless. They can’t stop the blackouts. Or the shooting.

Our parents shout orders to each other. They are running around grabbing blankets and pillows. Their faces are full of sweat.

The gunfire sounds louder than ever.

They use the blankets to make beds for us underneath the big table in the middle of the restaurant. They put the chairs around us like guards.

But I am happy to have the whole family sleeping together, wrapped in blankets. There’s barely enough room for all of us. I only have to stretch my arms to touch a warm body.

I could get used to sleeping like this. Bullets and blackouts make my life more interesting. I would rather sleep under the table than sleep alone in bed with Gordito.

The shooting stops and the electricity comes back on. We are still wide awake. Mamá sends us back to our room. We have to sleep with the lights out.

When the blackouts began, my father bought me a battery lamp so I could sleep with a light on. The lamp has a revolving shade. When it turns, sun, clouds and waves roll across the light. I imagine waves crashing on a beach, sending up sprays of water.

“Are you going to sleep with that stupid lamp on again?” Felipe asks.

“Why do you care?”

“The lamp keeps me awake.”

“But I need it to fall asleep.”

“Because of the shooting? You’re just a big baby.”

I like the lamp, even when Consuelo leaves a shirt hanging on my closet doorknob. When the wind blows through the open window, I see shadows dancing on the white walls. I can’t control my mind. If the wind blows, my shirt billows out like a huge monster trying to snatch at me. Then the scratches on the walls are spiders or snakes. If I hear whistling in the streets, I’m sure that it’s a bat trying to fly into our bedroom.

But I can only fall sleep with the battery light after hearing the shooting.

Later that night I feel tears coming out of my eyes.

“Felipe, are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay.” I can hear him also whimpering.

“Do you want to come into my bed?”

He waits a minute before answering. “If you pee in bed, I will never speak to you again,” he says, stirring.

Felipe and Chucho come into my bed. We fall asleep back to back, both of us hugging our stuffed animals.