Latin American Fiction
Michael B. Miller
Traducciones español-inglés

An excerpt from:


LOVE AND HEARTACHE IN GRINGOLANDIA

The cosita between Magdalena’s legs, my cosita lured me like the smell of sweet papaya, with the power of passion and affection. My cosita. Mine. Not any of those harsh or clinical words I’ve learned here in Gringolandia, but cosita––the little thing––cute and sweet. Innocent, like Magdalena. To me, her cosita, more precious than a diamond, like a green chili pepper that bit the tip of my tongue and made my lips tingle. Still does in my dreams.
All that’s changed now, for a time anyway. I’m waiting for the day we can be together again.
We met in Gringolandía, at a church picnic arranged by Father Morales. She was young and beautiful, only seventeen. Skin…like smooth mahogany. Hair…lujoso like black silk. Eyes as deep as her soul. Lips, fleshy and pink, lips that begged to be kissed. Breasts that begged to be caressed.
The animalejo in me wanted to make her mine. She turned me into a coyote dog, the kind that would howl in the night outside my family’s stone fence in the foothills of Cerro el Tigre in Usulután. Coyote dog possessed of a spirit. Magdalena. Fire and ice. The air I breathed. Her name burned into my heart like the hot embers of the wood burning fire that heated my mother’s iron skillet. Tortillas and salt, pupusas filled with chicharrón, and some meat if we were lucky.
Our country ripped apart by war, papi and me, we left all that behind, went north to Gringolandía to escape the blood and sorrow, to earn money we could send home. Gringolandía, our salvation, just the way Magdalena became my salvation. Mi ángel. I loved her like I loved no other. I wonder now if she’ll stay with me. She says she will. Palabra she told me. “I promise.” I hold onto it like a man holding onto a life raft.
Things were going great for us, until he showed up. Then everything went bad. Like a tornado that sweeps through a town and takes everything with it. Afterwards, all that’s left are cinders and broken dreams scattered everywhere. I was always a peaceable guy, anyone can tell you that. I still can’t believe what I did. It’s all a blur now. That’s what happens when you let your blood boil and you don’t think straight. But I need to tell you the rest of my story, just so you see how things were for me, how happy I was, before that mean gringo came through on his motorcycle, trying to mess with my Magdalena.