Caramelo by Sandra Cisneros

Aunty Light-Skin when she was a little girl, her mouth a heart, her hands clasped like Saint Theresa, the brothers standing next to her holding long candles with ribbons. An oval baby photo of Father, his eyes like little houses even then, sausage legs stuffed into old-fashioned leather boots, on his head a big fluted sunflower hat. The Grandfather’s newspapers folded neatly on his nightstand. A clay bowl full of coins. A teacup where the Grandfather sleeps his teeth. Inside the bedside drawers, the Grandfather’s tubes of cigars. On the Grandmother’s side, a thick pile of fotonovelas and a box of chocolates with all the candies half-bitten.
    —Want one? Ito says laughing.
    —Never!
    We look everywhere, even under the cushions of the overstuffed chair, but can’t find a key to the walnut-wood armoire. Are we hot or are we cold?
    —Look what I found, Ito says, crawling out from under the bed with pieces from our Lego blocks, our best double-issue Archie comic book, and my missing jump rope.
    —Holy cow! How’d this stuff get here?
    —Bet I know! Ito says, slapping the dust from his hair. —That big snitch Antonieta Araceli. Who else?
    Before we can find the key, Tikis starts whistling his alarm whistle. We run around like the Three Blind Mice, until Rafa calms down and orders us to be still.
    I try to jerk the door open, but Rafa holds it shut. He opens the door a crack, then pushes us all back in.
    —Oralia’s at the sink. Hold on, he says. Tikis’ whistles sounding more and more urgent. We can hear the green iron gate downstairs creaking open and clanging shut. Pretty soon the Grandfather’s footsteps willbe climbing up the stairs and crossing over the balcony on the other side of the venetian blinds. I feel like crying, but if I say this, Rafa for sure will make up something worse than a donkey-private.
    Again Rafa opens the door.
    —We can’t wait anymore, he whispers. —Men, we’re going to have to make a run for it.
    When Oralia turns to the stove he shoves Ito out first, then me, and then slinks out, shutting the door quietly behind him. The Little Grandfather is just lifting his foot onto the first step when we come colliding downstairs into the courtyard.
    —Mi general , Rafa says, saluting.
    —Coronel Rafael, are my troops ready for inspection? the Grandfather asks.
    —Sí, mi general .
    —Well, then, coronel , call in my troops.
    From a fuzzy string around his neck, Rafa pulls out a metal whistle and lets out a screech loud enough to call in the whole neighborhood. From all corners of the house, rooftop, courtyard, bedrooms and stairs, from nooks under stairwells, from the apartments in front and the apartments in back, from hiding places in pantry and closets, thirteen kids come pouring out into the courtyard and form a straight line from short to tall. We stand as stiff as possible, our eyes straight ahead, and salute.
    The Grandfather struts up and down.
    —Captain Elvis, where are your shoes?
    —I didn’t have time to put them on, mi general .
    —Next time, you make time to put them on. And you there, Lieutenant Toto, quit scratching like a dog. Be dignified. We are not dogs! Remember, you’re a Reyes and a soldier. Coronela Antonieta Araceli, there will be no slouching in my army, do you hear! Private Lala, what are you smirking about? We can’t have you grinning like a clown, this isn’t the circus, is it? Corporal Aristotle, you will not kick your fellow soldiers when in formation, understood? Coronel Rafael, are these all my troops?
    —They are, mi general .
    —And how have they behaved?
    —Like true soldiers, mi general . You’d be proud.
    —Well done, well done, the Little Grandfather says. —That’s what I like to hear. And now … He starts fishing in his pockets. —Andnow … the Little Grandfather says, tossing heavy Mexican coins in the air, —Who loves Grandfather?
    And with that, everyone who has been standing like a statue suddenly is leaping and