百度搜索 芒果街上的小屋 天涯 或 芒果街上的小屋 天涯在线书库 即可找到本书最新章节.很可能我会去地狱，很可能我该去那里。妈妈说我出生的日子不吉利，并为我祈祷。露西和拉切尔也祈祷。为我们自己也为相互之间……为我们对卢佩婶婶做的事情。
她的全名叫瓜达卢佩<span class="" data-note="Guadalupe，也是墨西哥圣母的名字。每年12月12日的瓜达卢佩圣母节（Guadalupe Day）是墨西哥最重要的宗教节日。"></span>。她像我妈妈一样漂亮。暗色皮肤。十分耐看。穿着琼·克劳馥式的裙子，长着游泳者的腿。那是照片上的卢佩婶婶。
你得挑选一个人。你得想出大家都知道的一个人，一个你可以模仿，而别人都能猜出来的人。先是那些名人：神奇女侠<span class="" data-note="上世纪七十年代非常流行的一部由漫画改编的电影《神奇女侠》中的主人公，是美国漫画史上第一位漫画女英雄。"></span>、披头士、玛丽莲·梦露……后来有人认为我们稍稍改变一下，如果我们假装自己是宾尼先生，或者他的妻子布兰卡，或者鹭鸶儿，或者别的我们认识的人，游戏会好玩点。
我把从图书馆借的书带到她家里。我给她读故事。我喜欢《水孩子》<span class="" data-note="《水孩子》（The Water Babies），查理·金斯莱（1819—1875）的一部童话经典，讲述小烟囱工汤姆在仙女的帮助下，逃离危险的苦役，去到一处安宁清洁的水下世界，做了个水孩子。后来，经过一连串的奇遇，他习得了各种美德，完成了自己的成长之路，回到陆地，成为一个仁爱正直的人。国内早有周煦良的译本。作者金斯莱是牛津、剑桥的历史学教授，还曾做过维多利亚女王的牧师。学识渊博的他，写出的童话却清新优美，寄寓着对所有稚嫩心灵的爱惜与期望。"></span>这本<s>.99liｂ?</s>书。她也喜欢。我从来不知道她病得有多重，直到那天我想要指给她看书里的一幅画，美丽的画，水孩子在大海中游泳。我把书举到她眼前。我看不到。她说。我瞎了。我心里便很愧疚。
<h3 class="ter">Born Bad</h3>
Most likely I will go to hell and most likely I deserve to be there. My mother says I was born on an evil day and prays for me. Lud Rachel pray too. For ourselves and for each other……because of what we did to Aunt Lupe.
Her name was Guadalupe and she retty like my mother. Dark. Good to look at. In her Joan Crawford dress and swimmer's legs. Aunt Lupe of the photographs.
But I knew her sick from the disease that would not go, her legs bunched uhe yellow sheets, the bones gone limp as worms. The yellow pillow, the yellow smell， the bottles and spoons. Her head thrown back like a thirsty lady. My aunt, the swimmer.
Hard to imagine her legs orong, the bones hard and parting water, sharp strokes, not bent and wrinkled like a baby, not drowning uhe sticky yellow light. Sed-floor rear apartment. The naked light bulb. The high ceilings. ></a>The light bulb always burning.
I don't know who decides who deserves to go bad. There was no evil in her birth. No wicked curse. One day I believe she was swimming, and the day she was sick. It might have been the day that gray photograph was taken. It might have been the day she was holding cousin Totchy and baby Frank. It might have been the moment she poio the camera for the kids to look and they wouldn't.
Maybe the sky didn't look the day she fell down. Maybe God was busy. It could be true she didn't dive right one day and hurt her spine. Or maybe the story that she fell very hard from a high step stool, like Totchy said, is true.
But I think diseases have no eyes. They pick with a dizzy finger anyone, just anyone. Like my aunt who happeo be walking dowreet one day in her Joan Crawford dress, in her fun hat with the black feather, cousin Totchy in one hand, baby Frank iher.
Sometimes you get used to the sid sometimes the siess, if it is there too long, gets to seem normal. This is how it was with her, and maybe this is why we chose her.
It was a game, that's all. It was the game we played every afternoon ever sihat day one of us ied it——I 't remember who——I think it was me.
You had to piebody. You had to think of someone everybody knew. Someone you could imitate and everyone else would have to guess who it was. It started out with famous people：Wonder Woman, the Beatles, Marilyn Monroe……But then somebody thought it'd be better if we ged the game a little, if we pretended we were Mr. Benny, or his wife Blanca, or Ruthie, or anybody we knew.
I don't knoe picked her. Maybe we were bored that day. Maybe we got tired. We liked my aunt. She listeo our stories. She always asked us to e back. Lucy, me, Rachel. I hated to go there alohe six blocks to the dark apartment, sed-floor rear building where sunlight never came, and what did it matter? My aunt was blind by then. She never saw the dirty dishes in the sink. She couldn't see the ceilings dusty with flies, the ugly maroon walls, the bottles and sticky spoons. I 't fet the smell. Like sticky capsules filled with jelly. My aunt, a little oyster, a little pieeat on an open shell for us to look at. Hello, hello. As if she had fallen into a well.
I took my library books to her house. I read her stories. I liked the book The Waterbabies. She liked it too. I never knew how sick she was until that day I tried to show her one of the pictures in the book, a beautiful color picture of the water babies swimming in the sea. I held the book up to her face. I 't see it, she said, I'm blind. And then I was ashamed.
She listeo every book, every poem I read her. One day I read her one of my own. I came very close. I whispered it into the pillow：
I want to be
like the waves on the sea，
like the clouds in the wind，
but I'm me.
One day I'll jump
out of my skin.
I'll shake the sky
like a hundred violins.
That's hat's very good, she said iired voice. You just remember to keep writing, Esperanza. You must keep writing. It will keep you free, and I said yes, but at that time I didn't know what she meant.
The day we played the game, we didn't know she was going to die. We pretended with our heads thrown back, our arms limp and useless, dangling like the dead. We laughed the way she did. We talked the way she talked, the way blind people talk without moving their head. We imitated the way you had to lift her head a little so she could drink water, she sucked it up slow out of a green tin cup. The water was warm and tasted like metal. Lucy laughed. Rachel too. We took turns being her. We screamed in the weak voice of a parrot for Totchy to e and wash those dishes. It was easy.
We didn't know. She had been dying such a long time, we fot. Maybe she was ashamed. Maybe she was embarrassed it took so many years. The kids who wao be kids instead of washing dishes and ironing their papa's shirts, and the husband who wanted a wife again.
And then she died, my aunt who listeo my poems.
And then we began to dream the dreams.
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