we lived on Loomis on the third floor, and before that we lived on Keeler. Before Keeler it was Paulina, and before that I can't remember. But what I remember most is mov ing a lot. Each time it seemed there'd be one more of us. By the time we got to Mango Street we were six-Mama, Papa, Carlos, Kiki, my sister Nenny and me.

The house on Mango Street is ours, and we don't have to pay rent to anybody, or share the yard with the people J downstairs, or be careful not to make too much noise, and there isn't a landlord banging on the ceiling with a broom. But even so, it's not the house we'd thought we'd get.

The HOlde on Mango Street S

'".«,~

We '-d to leave the flat on Loomis quick. The water .... .... and the landlord wouldn't fix them because • t.ouJe was too old. We had to leave fast. We were using * washroom next door and carrying water over in empty .... gallons. That's why Mama and Papa looked for a .... and that's why we moved into the house on Mango Screet. far away, on the other side of town.

They always told us that one day we would move into I. bouse, a real house that would be ours for always so we wouldn't have to move each year. And our house would have running water and pipes that worked. And inside it would have real stairs, not hallway stairs, but stairs inside like the houses on T.V. And we'd have a basement and at 1caSl three washrooms so when we took a bath we wouldn't have to tell everybody. Our house would be white with trees around it, a great big yard and grass growing without a fence. This was the house Papa talked about when he held a lottery ticket and this was the house Mama dreamed up in the stories she told us before we went to bed.

But the house on Mango Street is not the way they told it at all. It's small and red with tight steps in front and windows so small you'd think they were holding their breath. Bricks are crumbling in places, and the front door is so swollen you have to push hard to get in. There is no front yard, only four little elms the city planted by the curb. Out back is a small garage for the car we don't own yet and a small yard that looks smaller between the two build ings on either side. There are stairs in our house, but they're ordinary hallway stairs, and the house has only one washroom. Everybody has to share a bedroom-Mama and Papa, Carlos and Kiki, me and Nenny.

Once when we were living on Loomis, a nun from my school passed by and saw me playing out front. The laun dromat downstairs had been boarded up because it had

.. s-dn Ciuaeroa

I \ !.

been robbed two days before and the owner had painted on the wood YES WE'RE OPEN so as not to lose business.

Where do you live? she ask.ed. There, I said pointing up to the third Hoor.

You live there' There. I had to look to where she pointed-the third

Hoor, the paint peeling, wooden bars Papa had nailed on the windows so we wouldn't fall out. You live there' The way she said it made me feel like nothing. There. I lived

there. I nodded. I knew then I had to have a house. A real house. One

I could point to. But this isn't it. The house on Mango Street isn't it. For the time being, Mama says. Temporary, says Papa. But I know how those things go.

1.(

01"

The HotUe on Mango Street 5

Hairs Everybody in our family has different hair. My Papa's

hair is like a broom, all up in the air. And me, my hair is lazy. It never obeys barrettes or bands. Carlos' hair is thick and straight. He doesn't need to comb it. Nenny's hair is slippery-slides out of your hand. And Kiki, who is the youngest, has hair like fur.

But my mother's hair, my mother's hair, like little \ rosettes, like little candy circles all curly and pretty because she pinned it in pincurls all day, sweet to put your nose J into when she is holding you, holding you and you feel safe, is the warm smell of bread before you bake it, is the I

I I ~

, Suadn CiaDeroa

smell when she makes room for you on her side of the bed still warm with her skin, and you sleep near her, the rain outside falling and Papa snoring. The snoring, the rain, and Mama's hair that smells like bread.

The House on Mango Street

,,,,,i

Boys & Girls The boys and the girls live in separate worlds. The

boys in their universe and we in ours. My brothers for example. They've got plenty to say to me and Nenny inside the house. But outside they can't be seen talking to girls. Carlos and Kiki are each other's best friend ... not ours.

Nenny is too young to be my friend. She's just my sister and that was not my fault. You don't pick your sisters, you just get them and sometimes they come like Nenny.

She can't play with those Vargas kids or she'll turn out just like them. And since she comes right after me, she is my responsibility.

• s-dn Cimeroa

Someday I will have a best friend all my own. One I can tell my secrets to. One who will understand my jokes without my having to explain them. Until then I am a red balloon, a balloon tied to an anchor.

The House OD Mango Street

,,{~

My Name In English my name means hope. In Spanish it means

too many letters. It means sadness, it means waiting. It is like the number nine. A muddy color. It is the Mexican records my father plays on Sunday mornings when he is shaving, songs like sobbing.

It was my great-grandmother's name and now it is mine. She was a horse woman too, born like me in the Chinese year of the horse-which is supposed to be bad luck if you're born female-but I think this is a Chinese lie because the Chinese, like the Mexicans, don't like their women strong.

My great-grandmother. I would've liked to have

10 Sandra Cisneros

known her, a wild horse of a woman, so wild she wouldn't marry. Until my great-grandfather threw a sack over her head and carried her off. Just like that, as if she were a fancy chandelier. That's the way he did it.

And the story goes she never forgave him. She looked I out the window her whole life, the way so many women sit their sadness on an elbow. I wonder if she made the best with what she got or was she sorry because she couldn't be all the things she wanted to be. Esperanza. I have inherited her name, but I don't want to inherit her place by the window.

At school they say my name funny as if the syllables were made out of tin and hurt the roof of your mouth. But in Spanish my name is made out of a softer some thing, like silver, not quite as thick as sister's name Magdalena-which is uglier than mine. Magdalena who at least can come home and become Nenny. But I am always Esperanza.

I would like to baptize myself under a new name, a name more like the real me, the one nobody sees. Espe ranza as Lisandra or Maritza or Zeze the X. Yes. Something like Zeze the X will do.

,..

.... f.

The House on Mango Street 11

".---

Cathy Queen of Cats

She says, I am the great great grand cousin of the queen of France. She lives upstairs, over there, next door to Joe the baby-grabber. Keep away from him, she says. He is full of danger. Benny and Blanca own the comer store. They're okay except don't lean on the candy counter. Two girls raggedy as rats live across the street. You don't want to know them. Edna is the lady who'owns the building next to you. She used to own a building big as a whale, but her brother sold it. Their mother said no, no, don't ever sell it. I won't. And then she closed her eyes and he sold it. Alicia is stuck-up ever since she went to college. She used to like me but now she doesn't.

11 SF lin CUaero8

Cathy who is queen of cats has cats and cats and cats. Baby cats, big cats, skinny cats, sick cats. Cats asleep like litde donuts. Cats on top of the refrigerator. Cats taking a walk on the dinner table. Her house is like cat heaven.

You want a friend, she says. Okay, I'll be your friend. But only till next Tuesday. That's when we move away. Got to. Then as if she forgot I just moved in, she says the neighborhood is getting bad.

Cathy'S father will have to fly to France one day and find her great great distant grand cousin on her father's side and inherit the family house. How do I know this is so? She told me so. In the meantime they'll just have to move a litde farther north from Mango Street, a little far ther away every time people like us keep moving in.

The House on Mango Street IS

.'"r~

Our Good Day If you give me five dollars I will be your friend for

ever. That's what the little one tells me. Five dollars is cheap since I don't have any friends

except Cathy who is only my friend till Tuesday. Five dollars, five dollars. She is trying to get somehody to chip in so they can

huy a hicycle from this kid named Tito. They already have ten dollars and all they need is five more.

Only five dollars, she says. Don', talk to them, says Cathy. Can't you see they smell

like a hroom. But I like them. Their clothes are crooked and old.

They are wearing shiny Sunday shoes without socks. It makes their bald ankles all red, but I like them. Especially the big one who laughs with all her teeth. I like her even though she lets the little one do all the talking.

Five dollars, the little one says, only five. ! Cathy is tugging my arm and I know whatever I do

next will make her mad forever. Wait a minute, I say, and run inside to get the five

dollars. I have three dollars saved and I take two of Nen ny's. She's not home, but I'm sure she'll he glad when she finds out we own a bike. When I get back, Cathy is gone like I knew she would be, but I don't care. I have two new friends and a bike too.

My name is Lucy, the big one says. This here is Rachel my sister.

I'm her sister, says Rachel. Who are you? And I wish my name was Cassandra or Alexis or Ma

ritza-anything but Esperanza-but when I tell them my name they don't laugh.

We come from Texas, Lucy says and grins. Her was born here, but me I'm Texas.

You mean she, I say. No, 1'1)1 from Texas, and doesn't get it. This bike is three ways ours, says Rachel who is think

ing ahead already. Mine today, Lucy's tomorrow and yours day after.

But everybody wants to ride it today because the bike is new, so we decide to take turns after tomorrow. Today it helongs to all of us.

I don't tell them about Nenny just yet. It's too com plicated. Especially since Rachel almost put out Lucy's eye about who was going to get to ride it first. But finally we agree to ride it together. Why not?

Because Lucy has long leW; she pedals. I sit on the

,.... I

.. ,

The House on Mango Street 1514 Sandn Cisneros

back seat and Rachel is skinny enough to get up on the handlebars which makes the bike all wohbly as if the wheels are spaghetti, hut after a bit you get used to it.

We ride fast and faster. Past my house, sad and red and crumbly in places, past Mr. Benny's grocery on the corner, and down the avenue which is dangerous. Laun dromat,junk store, drugstore, windows and cars and more cars, and around the block back to Mango.

People on the bus wave. A very fat lady crossing the street says, You sure got quite a load there.

Rachel shouts, You got quite a load there too. She is very sassy.

Down, down Mango Street we go. Rachel, Lucy, me. Our new bicycle. Laughing the crooked ride back.

16 Sandra Cisneros

.,.--

Laughter Nennyand I don't look like sisters ... not right away.

Not the way you can tell with Rachel and Lucy who have the same fat popside lips like everybody else in their family. But me and Nenny, we are more alike than you would know. Our laughter for example. Not the shy ice cream bells' giggle of Rachel and Lucy's family, but all ofa sudden and surprised like a pile of dishes breaking. And other things I can't explain.

One day we were passing a house that looked, in my mind, like houses I had seen in Mexico. I don't know why. There was nothing about the house that looked exactly like

The HOUle on Mango Street 17

_ ..II [' I remembered. I'm not even sure why I thought ...... it seemed to feel right.

Look. at that house, I said, it looks like Mexico. Rachel and Lucy look at me like I'm crazy, but before

Ihcy can let out a laugh, Nenny says: Yes, that's Mexico all right. That's what I was thinking exactly.

Gil's Furniture

Bought & Sold There is ajunk store. An old man owns it. We bought

a used refrigerator from him once, and Carlos sold a box of magazines for a dollar. The store is small with just a dirty window for light. He doesn't turn the lights on unless you got money to buy things with, so in the dark we look and see all kinds of things, me and Nenny. Tables with their feet upside-down and rows and rows of refrigerators with round corners and couches that spin dust in the air when you punch them and a hundred T.V.'s that don't work probably. Everything is on top of everything so the whole store has skinny aisles to walk through. You can get lost easy.

The House on Mango Street 1918 Sandra Cisneros

'I1Ic owner, he is a black man who doesn't talk much ..-ajmes if you didn't know better you could be in *" a long time before your eyes notice a pair of gold • es Boating in the dark. Nenny who thinks she is smart ..t Wk.s to any old man, asks lots of questions. Me, I never said nothing to him except once when I bought the Statue of liberty for a dime.

But Nenny, I hear her asking one time how's this here and the man says, This, this is a music box, and I turn around quick thinking he means a pretty box with flowers painted on it, with a ballerina inside. Only there's nothing like that where this old man is pointing, just a wood box that's old and got a big brass record in it with holes. Then he starts it up and all sorts of things start happening. It's like all of a sudden he let go a million moths all over the dusty furniture and swan-neck shadows and in our bones. It's like drops of water. Or like marimbas only with a funny little plucked sound to it like if you were running your fingers across the teeth of a metal comb.

And then I don't know why, but I have to turn around and pretend I don't care about the box so Nenny won't see how stupid I am. But Nenny, who is stupider, already is asking how much and I can see her fingers going for the quarters in her pants pocket.

This, the old man says shutting the lid, this ain't for sale.

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Mettle Ortiz. Meme Ortiz moved into Cathy's house after her family

moved away. His name isn't really Meme. His name isJuan. But when we asked him what his name was he said Meme, and that's what everybody calls him except his mother.

Meme has a dog with gray eyes, a sheepdog with two names, one in English and one in Spanish. The dog is big, like a man dressed in a dog suit, and runs the same way its owner does, clumsy and wild and with the limbs flopping allover the place like untied shoes.

Cathy's father built the house Meme moved into. It is wooden. Inside the floors slant. Some rooms uphill. Some down. And there are no closets. Out front there are twenty-

The House on Mango Street 21

-.e.... all lopsided and jutting like crooked teeth (made .. tfaJ on purpose, Cathy said, so the rain will slide off), aDd when Meme's mama calls from the doorway, Meme aoes scrambling up the twenty-one wooden stairs with the dog with two names scrambling after him.

Around the back is a yard, mostly dirt, and a greasy bunch of boards that used to be a garage. But what you remember most is this tree, huge, with fat arms and mighty families of squirrels in the higher branches. All around, me neighborhood of roofs, black-tarred and A-framed, and in their gutters, the balls that never came back down to earth. Down at the base of the tree, the dog with two names barks into the empty air, and there at the end of the block, looking smaller still, our house with its feet tucked under like a cat.

This is the tree we chose for the First Annual Tarzan Jumping Contest. Meme won. And broke both arms.

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Louie, His Cousin &1

His Other Cousin Downstairs from Meme's is a basement apartment that

Meme's mother fixed up and rented to a Puerto Rican family. Louie's family. Louie is the oldest in a family of little sisters. He is my brother's friend really, but I know he has two cousins and that his T-shirts never stay tucked

in his pants. Louie's girl cousin is older than us. She lives with

Louie's family because her own family is in Puerto Rico. Her name is Marin or Maris or something like that, and she wears dark nylons all the time and lots of makeup she gets free from selling Avon. She can't come out-gotta baby-sit with Louie's sisters-but she stands in the doorway

The House on Mango Street 25

a .... aI me time singing, clicking her fingers, the same .-g:

Apples, peaches, pumpkin pah-ay. You're in wve and so am ah-ay.

Louie has another cousin. We only saw him once, but it was important. We were playing volleyball in the alley when he drove up in this great big yellow Cadillac with whitewalls and a yellow scarf tied around the mirror. Louie's cousin had his arm out the window. He honked a couple of times and a lot of faces looked out from Louie's back window and then a lot of people came out-Louie, Marin and all the little sisters.

Everybody looked inside the car and asked where he got it. There were white rugs and white leather seats. We all asked for a ride and asked where he got it. Louie's cousin said get in.

We each had to sit with one of Louie's little sisters on our lap, but that was okay. The seats were big and soft like a sofa, and there was a little white cat in the back window whose eyes lit up when the car stopped or turned. The windows didn't roll up like in ordinary cars. Instead there was a button that did it for you automatically. We rode up the alley and around the block six times, but Louie's cousin said he was going to make us walk home if we didn't stop playing with the windows or touching the FM radio.

The seventh time we drove into the alley we heard sirens ... real quiet at first, but then louder. Louie's cousin stopped the car right where we were and said, Everybody out of the car. Then he took off flooring that car into a yellow blur. We hardly had time to think when the cop car pulled in the alley going just as fast. We saw the yellow Cadillac at the end of the block trying to make a left-hand

Z4 Sandra CisDeros

turn, but our alley is too skinny and the car hashed into

a lamppost. Marin screamed and we ran down the block to where

the cop car's siren spun a dizzy blue. The nose of that yellow Cadillac was all pleated like an alligator's, and except for a bloody lip and a bruised forehead, Louie's cousin was okay. They put handcuffs on him and put him in the back seat of the cop car, and we all waved as they drove away.

The House OD Mango Street 25

Marin Marin's boyfriend is in Puerto Rico. She shows us his

letters and makes us promise not to tell anybody they're getting married when she goes back to P.R. She says he didn't get a job yet, but she's saving the money she gets from selling Avon and taking care of her cousins.

Marin says that if she stays here next year, she's going to get a real job downtown because that's where the best jobs are, since you always get to look beautiful and get to wear nice clothes and can meet someone in the subway who might marry you and take you to live in a big house far

away. But next year Louie's parents are going to send her

r back to her mother with a letter saying she's too much trouble, and that is too bad because I like Marin. She is older and knows lots of things. She is the one who told us how Davey the Baby's sister got pregnant and what cream is best for taking off moustache hair and if you count the white flecks on your fingernails you can know how many boys are thinking of you and lots of other things I can't remember now.

We never see Marin until her aunt comes home from -. work, and even then she can only stay out in front. She is there every night with the radio. When the light in her aunt's room goes out, Marin lights a cigarette and it doesn't matter if it's cold out or if the tadio doesn't work or if we've got nothing to say to each other. What matters, Marin says, is for the boys to see us and for us to see them. And since Marin's skirts are shorte' and since her eyes are pretty, and since Marin is already older than us in many ways, the boys who do pass by say stupid things like I am in love with those two green apples you call eyes, give them to me why don't you. And Marin just looks at them without even blink ing and is not afraid. t

Marin, under the streetlight, dancing by herself, is singing the same song somewhere. I know. Is waiting for a car to stop, a star to fall, someone to change her life.

The House on Mango Street 2726 Sandra Cisneros

Those Who Don't Those who don't know any better come into our neigh

borhood scared. They think we're dangerous. They think we will attack them with shiny knives. They are stupid people who are lost and got here by mistake.

But we aren't afraid. We know the guy with the crooked eye is Davey the BabY's brother, and the tall one next to him in the straw brim, that's Rosa's Eddie V., and the big one that looks like a dumb grown man, he's Fat Boy, though he's not fat anymore nor a boy.

All brown all around, we are safe. But watch us drive into a neighborhood of another color and our knees go shakity-shake and our car windows get rolled up tight and our eyes look straight. Yeah. That is how it goes and goes.

28 SaDdra Cianeroa

There Was .... ,an Old Woman She Had

So Many Children She Didn't Know

What 1:0 Do •Rosa Vargas' kids are too many and too much. It's not her fault you know, except she is their mother and only one against so many.

They are bad those Vargases, and how can they help it with only one mother who is tired all the time from buttoning and bottling and babying, and who cries every day for the man who left without even leaving a dollar for t)()lo~na or a note explaining how come.

The kids benn trees and bounce between cars and dangle upside down from knees and almost break like fancy museum vases you can't replace. They think it's funny. They are without respect for all things living, in duning themselves.

But after a while yOIl ~ct tired of heing worrien about kids who aren't even yours. One day they are playing chicken on Mr. Benny's roof. Mr. Benny says, Hey ain't you kids know better than to he swinging up there? Come down, you come down right now, and then they just spit.

See. That's what I mean. No wonder everybody gave up. Just stopped looking out when little Efren chipped his buck tooth on a parking meter and didn't even stop Refugia from getting her head stuck between two slats in the back gate and nobody looked up not once the day Angel Vargas learned to fly and dropped from the sky like a sugar donut, just like a faIling star, and exploded down to earth without

even an "Oh."

The House on Mango Street 29 30 Sandra Cisneros

, I

whole life in a factory or behind a rolling pin. Is a good girl, my friend, studies all night and sees the mice, the ones her father says do not exist. Is afraid of nothing except

four-legged fur. And fathers. I

r.... ,

Alicia "Who Sees Mice

Close your eyes and they'll go away, her father says, or You're just imagining. And anyway, a woman's place is sleeping so she can wake up early with the tortilla star, the one that appears early just in time to rise and catch the hind legs hide behind the sink, beneath the four-clawed tub, under the swollen Aoorboards nobody fixes, in the corner of your eyes.

Alicia, whose mama died, is sorry there is no one older to rise and make the lunchbox tortillas. Alicia, who inher ited her mama's rolling pin and sleepiness, is young and smart and studies for the first time at the university. Two trains and a bus, because she doesn't want to spend her

The House on Mango Street 31 32 Sandra Cisneros

Darius & the C1oud~

You can never have too much sky. You can fall asleep and wake up drunk on sky, and sky can keep you safe when you are sad. Here there is too much sadness and not enough sky. Butterflies too are few and so are flowers and most things that are beautiful. Still, we take what we can get and make the best of it.

Darius, who doesn't like school, who is sometimes stu pid and mostly a fool, said something wise today, though most days he says nothing. Darius, who chases girls with firecrackers or a stick that touched a rat and thinks he's tough, today pointed up because the world was full of douds, the kind like pillows.

The House on Mango Street 55

You all see that cloud, that fat one there? Darius said, ~ that? Where? That one next to the one that look like popcorn. That one there. See that. That's God, Darius said. God? somebody little asked. God, he said, and made it simple.

And Some More The Eskimos got thirty different names for snow, I

say. I read it in a book. I got a cousin, Rachel says. She got three different

names. There ain't thirty different kinds of snow, Lucy says.

There are two kinds. The clean kind and the dirty kind,

clean and dirty. Only two. There are a million zillion kinds, says Nenny. No two

exactly alike. Only how do you remember which one is

which? She got three last names and, let me see, two first

names. One in English and one in Spanish ...

The House on Mango Street S5S4 Su1dra CUneJ"08

ADd clouds got at least ten different names, I say. Names for clouds? Nenny asks. Names just like you

~mc?

That up there, that's cumulus, and everybody looks up.

Cumulus are cute, Rachel says. She would say some thing like that.

What's that one there? Nenny asks, pointing a finger. That's cumulus too. They're all cumulus today. Cu

mulus, cumulus, cumulus. No, she says. That there is Nancy, otherwise known

as Pig-eye. And over there her cousin Mildred, and little Joey, Marco, Nereida and Sue.

There are all different kinds of clouds. How many different kinds of clouds can you think of?

Well, there's these already that look like shaving cream ...

And what about the kind that looks like you combed its hair? Yes, those are clouds too.

Phyllis, Ted, Alfredo and Julie ... There are clouds that look like big fields of sheep,

Rachel says. Them are my favorite. And don't forget nimbus the rain cloud, I add, that's

something. Jose and Dagoberto, Alicia, Raul, Edna, Alma and

Rickey ... There's that wide puffy cloud that looks like your face

when you wake up after falling asleep with all your clothes on.

Reynaldo, Angelo, Albert, Armando, Mario ... Not my face. Looks like your fat face. Rita, Margie, Ernie ... Whose fat face? Esperanza's fat face, that's who. Looks like Esperan

56 Sandra Cisneros

za's ugly face when she comes to school in the morning. Anita, Stella, Dennis, and Lolo ... Who you calling ugly, ugly? Richie, Yolanda, Hector, Stevie, Vincent ... Not you. Your mama, that's who. My mama? You better not be saying that, Lucy Gue

rrero. You better not be talking like that ... else you can

say goodbye to being my friend forever. I'm saying your mama's ugly like ... ummm ...

... like bare feet in September! That does it! Both of yous better get out of my yard

before I call my brothers. Oh, we're only playing. I can think of thirty Eskimo words for you, Rachel.

Thirty words that say what you are. Oh yeah, well I can think of some more. Uh-oh, Nenny. Better get the broom. Too much trash

in our yard today. Frankie, Licha, Maria, Pee Wee ... Nenny, you better tell your sister she is really crazy

because Lucy and me are never coming back here again.

Forever. Reggie, Elizabeth, Lisa, Louie ... You can do what you want to do, Nenny, but you

better not talk to Lucy or Rachel if you want to be my sister. You know what you are, Esperanza? You are like the

Cream of Wheat cereal. You're like the lumps. Yeah, and you're foot fleas, that's you.

Chicken lips. Rosemary, Dalia, Lily ... Cockroach jelly. Jean, Geranium and Joe ... Cold frijoks. Mimi, Michael, Moe ...

The House on Mango Street 57

Your mama's fTijoles. Your ugly mama's toes. That's stupid. Bebe, Blanca, Benny ... Who's stupid? Rachel, Lucy, [speranza, and Nenny.

58 Sandra Cisneros

r r I

like a salamander's. and these he popped into his mouth whenever he was hungry.

The mother's feet, plump and polite. descended like

I white pigeons from the sea of pillow, across the linoleum roses, down down the wooden stairs, over the chalk hop scotch squares, 5,6, 7, blue sky.

~ Do you want this? And gave us a paper bag with one pair of lemon shoes and one red and one pair of danc f ing shoes that used to be white but were now pale blue. Here, and we said thank you and waited until she went

upstairs. Hurray! Today we are Cinderella because our feet fit

exactly, and we laugh at Rachel's one foot with a girl's grey

The sock and a lady's high heel. Do you like these shoes? But the truth is it is scary to look down at your foot that is no

Fanrily longer yours and s~e attached a long long leg.

Everybody wants to trade. The lemon shoes for the red shoes, the red for the pair that were once white but

of Little Feet • are now pale blue, the pale blue for the lemon, and take them off and put them back on and keep on like this a There was a family. All were little. Their arms were

little, and their hands were little, and their height was not tall, and their feet very small.

The grandpa slept on the living room couch and snored through his teeth. His feet were fat and doughy like thick tamales, and these he powdered and stuffed into white socks and brown leather shoes.

long time until we are tired. Then Lucy screams to take our socks off and yes, it's

true. We have legs. Skinny and spotted with satin scars where scabs were picked, but legs, all our own, good to look at, and long.

It's Rachel who learns to walk the best all strutted in those magic high heels. She teaches us to cross and uncross

The grandma's feet were lovely as pink pearls and dressed in velvety high heels that made her walk with a wobble, but she wore them anyway because they were pretty.

The baby's feet had ten tiny toes, pale and see-through

our legs, and to run like a double-dutch rope, and how to walk down to the corner so that the shoes talk back to you with every step. Lucy, Rachel, me tee-tottering like so. Down to the corner where the men can't take their eyes off us. We must be Crristmas.

Mr. Benny at the corner grocery puts down his im-

The House on Mango Street 39

40 Sandra Cisneros

portant cigar: Your mother know you got shoes like that? Who give you those?

Nobody. Them are dangerous, he says. You girls too young to

he wearing shoes like that. Take them shoes off before I call the cops, but we just run.

On the avenue a boy on a homemade bicycle calls out: Ladies, lead me to heaven.

But there is nobody around but us. Do you like these shoes? Rachel says yes, and Lucy

says yes, and yes I say, these are the best shoes. We will never go back to wearing the other kind again. Do you like these shoes?

In front of the laundromat six girls with the same fat face pretend we are invisible. They are the cousins, Lucy says, and always jealous. We just keep strutting.

Across the street in front of the tavern a bum man on the stoop.

Do you like these shoes? Bum man says, Yes, little girl. Your little lemon shoes

are so beautiful. But come closer. I can't see very well. Come closer. Please.

You are a pretty girl, bum man continues. What's your name, pretty girl?

And Rachel says Rachel, just like that. Now you know to talk to drunks is crazy and to tell

them your name is worse, but who can blame her. She is young and dizzy to hear so many sweet things in one day, even if it is a bum man's whiskey words saying them.

Rachel, you are prettier than a yellow taxicab. You know that?

But we don't like it. We got to go, Lucy says. If I give you a dollar will you kiss me? How about a

The House on Mango Street

dollar. I give you a dollar. and he looks in his pocket for

wrinkled money. We have to go right now, Lucy says taking Rachel's

hand because she looks like she's thinking about that dol1ar. Bum man is yelling something to the air but by now

we are running fast and far away, our high heel shoes taking us al1 the way down the avenue and around the block, past the ugly cousins, past Mr. Benny's, up Mango

Street, the back way, just in case. We are tired of being beautiful. Lucy hides the lemon

shoes and the red shoes and the shoes that used to be white but are now pale blue under a powerful bushel basket on the back porch, until one Tuesday her mother, who is very clean, throws them away. But no one complains.

41 42 Sandra Cisneros

A Rice

Sandwich The special kids, the ones who wear keys around their

necks, get to eat in the canteen. The canteen! Even the name sounds important. And these kids at lunch time go there because their mothers aren't home or horne is too far away to get to.

My home isn't far but it's not close either, and some how I got it in my head one day to ask my mother to make me a sandwich and write a note to the principal so I could eat in the canteen too.

Oh no, she says pointing the butter knife at me as if I'm starting trouble, no sir. Next thing you k.now everybody will be wanting a bag lunch-I'll be up all night cutting

The House on Mango Street 43

bRad into little triangles, this one with mayonnaise, this one with mustard, no pickles on mine, but mustard on one side please. You kids just like to invent more work for me.

But Nenny says she doesn't want to eat at school ever-because she likes to go horne with her best friend Gloria who lives across the schoolyard. Gloria's mama has it big color T.V. and all they do is watch cartoons. Kiki and Carlos, on the other hand, are patrol boys. They don't want to eat at school either. They like to stand out in the cold especially if it's raining. They think suffering is good for you ever since they saw that movie 300 Spartans.

I'm no Spartan and hold up an anemic wrist to prove it. I can't even blow up a balloon without getting dizzy. And besides, I know how to make my own lunch. If I ate at school there'd be less dishes to wash. You would see me less and less and like me better. Everyday at noon my chair would be empty. Where is my favorite daughter you would cry, and when I came home finally at three p.m. you would appreciate me.

Okay, okay, my mother says after three days of this. And the following morning I get to go to school with my mother's letter and a rice sandwich because we don't have lunch meat.

Mondays or Fridays, it doesn't matter, mornings al ways go by slow and this day especially. But lunchtime came finally and I got to get in line with the stay-at-school kids. Everything is fine until the nun who knows all the canteen kids by heart looks at me and says: You, who sent you here? And since I am shy, I don't say anything, just hold out my hand with the letter. This is no good, she says, till Sister Superior gives the okay. Go upstairs and see her. And so I went.

I had to wait for two kids in front of me to get hollered at, one because he did something in class, the other because

44 Sandra Cisneros

he didn't. My turn came and I stood in front of the big desk with holy pictures under the glass while the Sister Superior read my letter. It went like this:

Dear Sister Superior, Please let Esperanza eat in the lunchroom

because she lives too far away and she gets tired. As you can see she is very skinny. I hope to God she does not faint.

Thanking you, Mrs. E. Cordero

You don't live far, she says. You live across the bou levard. That's only four blocks. Not even. Three maybe. Three long blocks away from here. I bet I can see your house from my window. Which one? Come here. Which one is your house?

And then she made me stand up on a box of books and point. That one? she said, pointing to a row of ugly three-flats, the ones even the raggedy men are ashamed to go into. Yes, I nodded even though I knew that wasn't my house and started to cry. I always cry when nuns yell at me, even if they're not yelling.

Then she was sorry and said I could stay-just for today, not tomorrow or the day after-you go home. And I said yes and could I please have a Kleenex-I had to blow my nose.

In the canteen, which was nothing special, lots of boys and girls watched while I cried and ate my sandwich, the bread already greasy and the rice cold.

The House on Mango Street 45

r r for today for dancing and tamales and everyone's kids run nin~ all over the place.

Mama dances, laughs, dances. All of a sudden, Mama

Chanclas It's me-Mama, Mama said. I open up and she's there

with bags and bi~ boxes, the new clothes and, yes, she's got the socks and a new slip with a little rose on it and a pink and-white striped dress. What about the shoes? I forgot.

Too late now. I'm tired. Whew! Six-thirty already and my little cousin's baptism is

over. All day waiting, the door locked, don't open up for nobody, and I don't till Mama ~ets back and buys every

thing except the shoes. Now Uncle Nacho is coming in his car, and we have

to hurry to get to Precious Blood Church quick because that's where the baptism party is, in the basement rented

46 Sandra Cisneros ,

is sick. I fan her hot face with a paper plate. Too many tamales, bUI Uncle Nacho says too many this and tilts his

Ithumb to his lips. Everybody laughing except me, because I'm wearing

the new dress, pink and white with stripes, and new un derclothes and new socks and the old saddle shoes I wear to school, brown and white, the kind I get every September because they last long and they do. My feet scuffed and round, and the heels all crooked that look dumb with this dress, so I just sit.

Meanwhile that boy who is my cousin by first com munion or something asks me to dance and I can't. Just stuff my feet under the metal folding chair stamped Pre cious Blood and pick on a wad of brown gum that's stuck beneath the seat. I shake my head no. My feet growing bigger and bigger.

Then Uncle Nacho is pulling and pulling my arm and it doesn't matter how new the dress Mama bought is be cause my feet are ugly until my uncle who is a liar says, You are the prettiest girl here, will you dance, but I believe him, and yes, we are dancing, my Uncle Nacho and me, only I don't want to at first. My feet swell big and heavy like plungers, but I drag them across the linoleum Roor straight center where Uncle wants to show off the new dance we learned. And Uncle spins me, and my skinny arms bend the way he taught me, and my mother watches, and my little cousins watch, and the boy who is my cousin by first communion watches, and everyone says, wow, who are those two who dance like in the movies, until I forget that I am wearing only ordinary shoes, brown and white, the kind my mother buys each year for school.

And all I hear is the clapping when the music stops. My uncle and me bow and he walks me back in my thick shoes to my mother who is proud to be my mother. All night the boy who is a man watches me dance. He watched

me dance.

II. f

t' ~

i ~

Hips I like coffee, I like tea.

Ilike the boys and the boys like me.

Yes, no, maybe so. Yes, no, maybe so ...

One day you wake up and they are there. Ready and waiting like a new Buick with the keys in the ignition. Ready to take you where?

They're good for holding a baby when you're cooking, Rachel says, turning the jump rope a little quicker. She has no imagination.

You need them to dance, says Lucy.. If you don't get them you may turn into a man. Nenny

The House on Mango Street 49

._-----------_.._... --.

lilY' r.his and she believes it. She is this way because of her age.

That's right, I add before Lucy or Rachel can make fun of her. She is stupid alright, but she is my sister.

But most important, hips are scientific, I say repeating what Alicia already told me. It's the bones that let you know which skeleton was a man's when it was a man and which a woman's.

They bloom like roses, I continue because it's obvious I'm the only one who can speak with any authority; I have science on my side. The bones just one day open. Just like that. One day you might decide to have kids, and then where are you going to put them? Got to have room. Bones got to give.

But don't have too many or your behind will spread. That's how it is, says Rachel whose mama is as wide as a boat. And we just laugh.

What I'm saying is who here is ready? You gotta be able to know what to do with hips when you get them, I say making it up as I go. You gotta know how to walk with hips, practice you know-like if half of you wanted to go one way and the other half the other.

That's to lullaby it, Nenny says, that's to rock the baby asleep inside you. And then she begins singing seashells, copper bells, eroy, ivy, o-ver.

I'm about to tell her that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard, but the more I think about it ...

You gotta get the rhythm, and Lucy begins to dance. She has the idea, though she's having trouble keeping her end of the double-dutch steady.

It's gotta be just so, I say. Not too fast and not too slow. Not too fast and not too slow.

We slow the double circles down to a certain speed so Rachel who has just jumped in can practice shaking it.

50 Sandra Cisneros

I want to shake like hoochi-coochie, Lucy says. She is

crazy. I want to move like heebie-jeebie, I say picking up on

the cue. I want to be Tahiti. Or merengue. Or electricity. Or tembleque! Yes, tembleque. That's a good one. And then it's Rachel who starts it:

Skip, sJcip, snake in your hips. Wiggle around and break your lip.

Lucy waits a minute before her turn. She is thinking.

Then she begins:

The waitress with the big fat hips who pays the rent with taxi tips . . . says nobody in town will kiss her on the lips

because . .. because she looks like Christopher Columbus! Yes, no, maybe so. Yes, no, maybe so.

She misses on maybe so. I take a little while before

my turn, take a breath, and dive in:

Some are skinny like chuken lips. Some are baggy like soggy Band-Aids after you get out of the bathtub. I don't care what kind I get. Just as long as I get hips.

Everybody getting into it now except Nenny who is still humming not a girl, not a boy, just a little baby. She's like

that. When the two arcs open wide like jaws Nenny jumps

The House on Mango Street 51

iD xrws from me, the rope tick-ticking, the little gold earrings our mama gave her for her First Holy Commu nion bouncing. She is the color of a bar of naphtha laundry soap, she is like the little brown piece left at the end of the wash, the hard little bone, my sister. Her mouth opens. She begins:

My mother and your mother were washing clothes. My mother punched your mother right in the nese. What color blood came out1

Not that old song, I say. You gotta use your own song. Make it up, you know? But she doesn't get it or won't. It's hard to say which. The rope turning, turning, turning.

Engine, engine number nine, running down Chicago line. If the train runs off the trat:k do you want your money ba€k1 Do you want your MONEY ba€1c1 Yes, no, maybe so. Yes, no, maybe so ...

I can tell Lucy and Rachel are disgusted, but they don't say anything because she's my sister.

Yes, no, maybe so. Yes, no, maybe so . ..

Nenny, I say, but she doesn't hear me. She is too many light-years away. She is in a world we don't belong to any more. Nenny. Going. Going.

Y-E-S spells yes and out you go!

52 Sandra Cisneros

The First Job It wasn't as if I didn't want to work. I did. I had even

gone to the social security office the month before to get my social security number. I needed money. The Catholic high school cost a lot, and Papa said nobody went to public school unless you wanted to turn out bad.

I thought I'd find an easy job, the kind other kids had, working in the dime store or maybe a hotdog stand. And though I hadn't started looking yet, I thought I might the week after next. But when I came home that afternoon, all wet because Tito had pushed me into the open water hydrant-only I had sort of let him-Mama called me in the kitchen before I could even go and change, and Aunt

The House on Mango Street 55

La1a _~ sitting there drinking her coffee with a spoon. Aunt Lala said she had found a job for me at the Peter Pan Photo Finishers on North Broadway where she worked, and how old was I, and to show up tomorrow saying I was one year older, and that was that.

So the next morning I put on the navy blue dress that made me look older and borrowed money for lunch and bus fare because Aunt Lala said I wouldn't get paid till the next Friday, and I went in and saw the boss of the Peter Pan Photo Finishers on North Broadway where Aunt Lala worked and lied about my age like she told me to and sure enough, I started that same day.

In my job I had to wear white gloves. I was supposed to match negatives with their prints, just look at the picture and look for the same one on the negative strip, put it in the envelope, and do the next one. That's all. I didn't know where these envelopes were coming from or where they were going. I just did what I was told.

It was real easy, and I guess I wouldn't have minded it except that you got tired after a while and I didn't know if I could sit down or not, and then I started sitting down only when the two ladies next to me did. After a while they started to laugh and came up to me and said I could sit when I wanted to, and I said I knew.

When lunchtime came, I was scared to eat alone in the company lunchroom with all those men and ladies look ing, so I ate real fast standing in one of the washroom stalls and had lots of time left over, so I went back to work early. But then break time came, and not knowing where else to go, I went into the coatroom because there was a bench there.

I guess it was the time for the night shift or middle shift to arrive because a few people came in and punched the time clock, and an older Oriental man said hello and

54 Sandra Cisneros

we talked for a while about my just starting, and he said we could be friends and next time to go in the lunchroom and sit with him, and I felt better. He had nice eyes and 1 didn't feel so nervous anymore. Then he asked if 1 knew what day it was, and when I said 1 didn't, he said it was his birthday and would I please give him a birthday kiss. 1 thought I would because he was so old and just as I was about to put my lips on his cheek, he grabs my face with both hands and kisses me hard on the mouth and doesn't

let go.

The House on Mango Street 55

,; ."'........ ,~, J.~<'2~,~;'ii~,'r"""

Papa Who Wakes Up Tired in the Dark

Your abuelito is dead, Papa says early one morning in my room. Esta muerto, and then as if he just heard the news himself, crumples like a coat and cries, my brave Papa cries. I have never seen my Papa cry and don't know what to do.

I know he will have to go away, that he will take a plane to Mexico, all the uncles and aunts will be there, and they will have a black-and-white photo taken in front of the tomb with flowers shaped like spears in a white vase because this is how they send the dead away in that country.

Because I am the oldest, my father has told me first, and now it is my turn to tell the others. I will have to explain

56 Sandra Cisneros

why we can't play. I will have to tell them to be quiet today. My Papa. his thick hands and thick shoes, who wakes

up tired in the dark, who combs his hair with water, drinks his coffee, and is gone before we wake, today is sitting on

my bed. And I think if my own Papa died what would I do. I

hold my Papa in my arms. I hold and hold and hold him.

The HOUIie on Mango Street 57

Born Bad. 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. Lucy and Rachel pray too. For ourselves and for each other ... because of what we did to Aunt Lupe.

Her name was Guadalupe and she was pretty 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 under the 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.

58 Sandra Cisneros

Hard to imagine her legs once strong, the bones hard and parting water, clean sharp strokes, not bent and wrin r kled like a baby, not drowning under the sticky yellow light. Second-floor rear apartment. The naked light bulb. The high ceilings. The light bulb always burning.

!•r

I don't know who decides who deserves to go bad. I -There was no evil in her birth. No wicked curse. One day I believe she was swimming, and the next 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 pointed to 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 hap pened to be walking down the street one day in her Joan , Crawford dress, in her funny felt hat with the black feather, cousin Totchy in one hand, baby Frank in the other.

Sometimes you get used to the sick and sometimes the sickness, if it is there too long, gets to seem normal. Th'is 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 since that day one of us invented it I can't remember who-I think it was me.

You had to pick somebody. You had to think of some one 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,

The House on Mango Street 59

~,~

Marilyn Monroe.... But then somebody thought it'd be better if we chanRed the game a little. if we pretended we were Mr. Benny, or his wife Blanca, or Ruthie, or anybody

we knew. I don't know why we picked her. Maybe we were bored

that day. Maybe we Rot tired. We liked my aunt. She lis tened to our stories. She always asked us to come back. Lucy, me, Rachel. I hated to go there alone. The six blocks to the dark apartment, second-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 ma roon walls, the bottles and sticky spoons. I can't forget the smell. Like sticky capsules filled with jelly. My aunt, a little oyster, a little piece of meat on an open shell for us to look at. Hello, hello. As if she had fallen into a well.

I took my librctry books to her house. I read her sto ries. 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 can't see it, she said, I'm blind. And then

I was ashamed. She listened to every book, every poem I read her.

One day I read her one of my own. I came very dose. I

whispered it into the pillow:

I want to be like the waves on the sea, like the douds in the wind,

but I'm me. One day I'll jump out of my skin.

60 Sandra Cisneros

I'll shake the sky like a hundred violins.

That's nice. That's very good, she said in her tired voice. You just remember to keep writing, [speranza. 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 im itated 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 come and wash those dishes. It was easy.

We didn't know. She had been dying such a long time, we forgot. Maybe she was ashamed. Maybe she was em barrassed it took so many years. The kids who wanted to 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 listened to my poems. And then we began to dream the dreams.

,..

-..

The House on Mango Str~t 61

Elenita, Cards, Palm,Water

Elenita, witch woman, wipes the table with a rag be cause Ernie who is feeding the baby spilled Kool-Aid. She says: Take that cral.y baby out of here and drink your Kool Aid ill the living room. Can't you see I'm busy? Ernie takes the baby into the living room where Bugs Bunny is on T.V.

Good lucky you didn't come yesterday, she says. The

planets were all mixed up yesterday. Her T.V. is color and hig and all her pretty furniture

made out of red fur like the teddy bears they give away in carnivals. She has them covered with plastic. 1 think this is

on account of the hahy.

62 Sandra Cisneros

, Yes, it's a good thing, ) say. But we stay in the kitchen because this is where she

works. The top of the refrigerator busy with holy candles, some lit, some not, red and green and blue, a plaster saint and a dusty Palm Sunday cross, and a picture of the voodoo hand taped to the wall. /

Get the water, she says. ) go to the sink and pick the only clean glass there, a

beer mug that says the beer that made Milwaukee famous, and fill it up with hot water from the tap, then put the glass of water on the center of the table, the way she taught me.

Look in it; do you see anything? But all ) see are bubbles. You see anybody's face? Nope, just bubbles, ) say. That's okay, and she makes the sign of the cross over

the water three times and then begins to cut the cards. They're not like ordinary playing cards, these cards.

They're strange, with blond men on horses and crazy base ball bats with thorns. Golden goblets, sad-looking women dressed in old-fashioned dresses, and roses that cry..

There is a good Bugs Bunny cartoon on T.V.) know, I saw it before and recognize the music and wish) could go sit on the plastic couch with Ernie and the baby, but now my fortune begins. My whole life on that kitchen table: past, present, future. Then she takes my hand and looks into my palm. Closes it. Closes her eyes too.

Do you feel it, feel the cold? Yes, ) lie, hut only a little. Good, she says, Los esp{rittL~ are here. And begins. This card, the one with the dark man on a dark horse,

this means jealousy, and this one, sorrow. Here a pillar of bees and this a mattress ofluxury. You will go to a wedding

The House on Mango Street 63

III

soon and did you lose an anchor of arms, yes, an anchor of arms? It's clear that's what that means.

What about a house, I say, because that's what I came for.

Ah, yes, a home in the heart. I see a home in the heart.

Is that it? That's what I see, she says, then gets up because the

kids are fighting. Elenita gets up to hit and then hug them. She really does love them, only sometimes they are rude.

She comes back and can tell I'm disappointed. She's a witch woman and knows many things. If you got a head ache, rub a cold egg across your face. Need to forget an old romance? Take a chicken's foot, tie it with red string, spin it over yOUT head three times, then burn it. Bad spirits keeping you awake? Sleep next to a holy candle for seven days, then on the eighth day, spit. And lots of other stuff. Only now she can tell I'm sad.

Baby, I'll look again if you want me to. And she looks again into the cards, palm, water, and says uh-huh.

A home in the heart, I was right. Only I don't get it. A new house, a house made of heart. I'll light a candle

for you. All this for five dollars I give her. Thank you and goodbye and be careful of the evil

eye. Come back again on a Thursday when the stars are stronger. And may the Virgin bless you. And shuts the door.

64 Sandra Cisneros

il 1 UWUAll@.I1a9IillJM''i1S••R £ .n _I~D,~~_;;'~""""'""'''''-<_'

Geraldo No Last Name

She met him at a dance. Pretty too, and young. Said he worked in a restaurant, but she can't remember which one. Geraldo. That's all. Green pants and Saturday shirt. Geraldo. That's what he told her.

And how was she to know she'd be the last one to see him alive. An accident, don't you know. Hit-and-run. Marin, she goes to all those dances. Uptown. Logan. Embassy. Palmer. Aragon. Fontana. The Manor. She likes to dance. She knows how to do cumbias and salsas and rancheras even. And he was just someone she danced with. Somebody

she met that night. That's right. That's the story. That's what she said again and again.

The House on Mango Street 65

~:,i~'~;{~Lg.-,.o:k:~&~i·b>;',i:'''4'<:>~':,'

mailto:1UWUAll@.I1a9IillJM''i1S��R
<>ott to the hospital people and twice to the police. No address. No name. Nothing in his pockets. Ain't it a shame.

Only Marin can't explain why it mattered, the hours and hours, for somebody she didn't even know. The hos pital emergency room. Nobody but an intern working all alone. And maybe if the surgeon would've come, maybe if he hadn't lost so much blood, if the surgeon had only come, they would know who to notify and where.

But what difference does it make? He wasn't anything to her. He wasn't her boyfriend or anything like that. Just another brazer who didn't speak English. Just another wet back. You know the kind. The ones who always look ashamed. And what was she doing out at three a.m. any way? Marin who was sent home with her coat and some aspirin. How does she explain?

She met him at a dance. Geraldo in his shiny shirt and green pants. Geraldo going to a dance.

What does it matter? They never saw the kitchenettes. They never knew

about the two-room flats and sleeping rooms he rented, the weekly money orders sent home, the currency ex change. How could they?

His name was Geraldo. And his home is in another country. The ones he left behind are far away, will wonder, shrug. remember. Geraldo-he \iTent north ... we never heard from him again.

66 Sandra Cisneros

r nice duck too. But Ruthie lives here and Edna can't throw her out because Ruthie is her dauRhter.

Ruthie came one day, it seemed, out of nowhere. AnReI Vargas was trying to teach us how to whistle. Then

I we heard someone whistling-beautiful like the Emperor's nightingale-and when we turned around there was Ruthie. .. .. Sometimes we go shopping and take her with us, but she never comes inside the stores and if she does she keeps , looking around her like a wild animal in a house for the first time.

She likes candy. When we go to Mr. Benny's grocery she gives us money to buy her some. She says make sure it's the soft kind because her teeth hurt. Then she promises to see the dentist next week, but when next week comes, she doesn't go.

Ruthie sees lovely things everywhere. I might be tell ing her ajoke and she'll stop and say: The moon is beautiful like a balloon. Or somebody might be singing and she'll

Edna's Ruthie point to a few clouds: Look, Marlon Brando. Or a sphinx winking. Or my left shoe. Ruthie, tall skinny lady with red lipstick and blue ba

bushka, one blue sock and one green because she forgot, is the only grown-up we know who likes to play. She takes her dog Bobo for a walk and laughs all by herself, that Ruthie. She doesn't need anybody to laugh with, she just laughs.

Once some friends of Edna's came to visit and asked Ruthie if she wanted to go with them to play bingo. The car motor was running, and Ruthie stood on the steps wondering whether to go. Should I go, Ma? she asked the gray shadow behind the second-Roor screen. I don't care, says the screen, go if you want. Ruthie looked at the

She is Edna's daughter, the lady who owns the big building next door, three apartments front and back. Every week Edna is screaming at somebody, and every week somebody has to move away. Once she threw out a preg nant lady just because she owned a duck ... and it was a

ground. What do you think, Ma? Do what you want, how should I know? Ruthie looked at the ground some more. The car with the motor runninR waited fifteen minutes and then they left. When we brought out the deck of cards that night, we let Ruthie deal.

There were many things Ruthie could have been if she wanted to. Not only is she a good whistler, but she can

The House on Mango Street 67 68 Sandra Cisneros

""'llIl

sing and dance too. She had lots of job offers when she was young, but she never took them. She got married in stead and moved away to a pretty house outside the city. Only thing I can't understand is why Ruthie is living on Mango Street if she doesn't have to, why is she sleeping on! a couch in her mother's living room when she has a real hOUSe! all her own, but she says she's just visiting and next ~ weekend her husband's going to take her home. But the ~ weekends come and go and Ruthie stays. No matter. We are glad because she is our friend. • I.

I like showing Ruthie the books I take out of the library. Books are wonderful, Ruthie says, and then she runs her hand over them as if she could read them in braille, They're wonderful, wonderful, but I can't read any more. I get headaches. I need to go to the eye doctor next week. I used to write children's books once, did I tell you?

One day I memorized all of "The Walrus and the Carpenter" because I wanted Ruthie to hear me. "The sun was shining on the sea, shining with all his might ..." Ruthie looked at the sky and her eyes got watery at times. ( Finally I came to the last lines: "But answer came there none-and this was scarcely odd, because they'd eaten everyone ..." She took a long time looking at me before she opened her mouth, and then she said, You have the most beautiful teeth I have ever seen, and went inside.

The House on Mango Street 69

The Earl of Tennessee

Earl lives next door in Edna's basement, behind the flower boxes Edna paints green each year, behind the dusty geraniums. We used to sit on the flower boxes until the day Tito saw a cockroach with a spot of green paint on its head. Now we sit on the steps that swing around the basement apartment where Earl lives.

Earl works nights. His blinds are always closed during the day. Sometimes he comes out and tells us to keep quiet. The little wooden door that has wedged shut the dark for so long opens with a sigh and lets out a breath of mold and dampness, like books that have been left out in the rain. This is the only time we see Earl except for when he

70 Sandra Cuneros

comes and goes to work. He has two little black dogs that go everywhere with him. They don't walk. like ordinary dogs, but leap and somersault like an apostrophe and comma.

fAt night Nenny and I can hear when Earl comes home , from work. First the click and whine of the car door open f

~ ing, then the scrape of concrete, the excited tinkling of dog tags, followed by the heavy jingling of keys, and finally the moan of the wooden door as it opens and lets loose its sigh of dampness.

Earl is a jukebox repairman. He learned his trade in the South, he says. He speaks with a Southern accent, smokes fat cigars and wears a felt hat-winter or summer, hot or cold, don't matter-a felt hat. In his apartment are boxes and boxes of 45 records, moldy and damp like the smell that comes out of his apartment whenever he opens the door. He gives the records away to us-all except the country and western.

The word is that Earl is married and has a wife some where. Edna says she saw her once when Earl brought her to the apartment. Mama says she is a skinny thing, blond and pale like salamanders that have never seen the sun. But I saw her once too and she's not that way at all. And the boys across the street say she is a tall red-headed lady who wears tight pink pants and green glasses. We never agree on what she looks like, but we do know this. When ever she arrives, he holds her tight by the crook of the arm. They walk fast into the apartment, lock the door behind them and never stay long.

The House on Mango Street 71

Sire I don't remember when I first noticed him looking at

me-Sire. But I knew he was looking. Every time. All the time I walked past his house. Him and his friends sitting on their bikes in front of the house, pitching pennies. They didn't scare me. They did, but I wouldn't let them know. I don't croSS the street like other girls. Straight ahead, straight eyes. I walked past. I knew he was looking. I had to prove to me I wasn't scared of noOOdy's eyes, not even his. I had to look back hard, just once, like he was glass. And I did. I did once. But I looked too long when he rode his bike past me. I looked because I wanted to be brave, straight into the dusty cat fur of his eyes and the bike

72 Sandra Cisneros

stopped and he bumped into a parked car, bumped, and I walked fast. It made your blood freeze to have somebody look at you like that. Somebody looked at me. Somebody looked. But his kind, his ways. He is a punk, Papa says, and Mama says not to talk to him.

And then his girlfriend came. Lois I heard him call her. She is tiny and pretty and smells like baby's skin. I see her sometimes running to the store for him. And once when she was standing next to me at Mr. Benny's grocery she was barefoot, and I saw her barefoot baby toenails all painted pale pale pink, like little pink seashells, and she smells pink like babies do. She's got big girl hands, and her bones are long like ladies' bones, and she wears makeup too. But she doesn't know how to tie her shoes. I do.

Sometimes I hear them laughing late, beer cans and cats and the trees talking to themselves: wait, wait, wait. Sire lets Lois ride his bike around the block, or they take walks together. I watch them. She holds his hand, and he stops sometimes to tie her shoes. But Mama says those kinds of girls, those girls are the ones that go into alleys. Lois who can't tie her shoes. Where does he take her?

Everything is holding its breath inside me. Everything is waiting to explode like Christmas. I want to be all new and shiny. I want to sit out bad at night, a boy around my neck and the wind under my skirt. Not this way, every evening talking to the trees, leaning out my window, imag ining what I can't see.

A boy held me once so hard, I swear, I felt the grip and weight of his arms, but it was a dream.

Sire. How did you hold her? Was it? Like this? And when you kissed her? Like this?

the House on Mango Street

r. t

I l

II. -- ,

,. \

Four Skinny Trees They are the only ones who understand me. I am the

only one who understands them. Four skinny trees with skinny necks and pointy elbows like mine. Four who do not belong here but are here. Four raggedy excuses planted by the city. From our room we can hear them, but Nenny just sleeps and doesn't appreciate these things.

Their strength is secret. They send ferocious roots beneath the ground. They grow up and they grow down and grab the earth between their hairy toes and bite the sky with violent teeth and never quit their anger. This is how they keep.

Let one foq~et his reason for being, they'd all droop

74 Sandra Cisneros

~ like tulips in a glass, each with their arms around the other. Keep, keep, keep, trees say when I sleep. They teach.

When I am too sad and too skinny to keep keeping, when I am a tiny thing against so many bricks, then it is I look at trees. When there is nothing left to look at on this ~ street. Four who grew despite concrete. Four who reach I and do not forget to reach. Four whose only reason is to , be and be.

The House on Mango Street 75

No Speak English Mamacita is the big mama of the man across the street,

third-floor front. Rachel says her name ought to be Ma masota, but I think that's mean.

The man saved his money to bring her here. He saved and saved because she was alone with the baby boy in that country. He worked two jobs. He came home late and he left early. Every day.

Then one day Mamacita and the baby boy arrived in a yellow taxi. The taxi door opened like a waiter's arm. Out stepped a tiny pink shoe, a foot soft as a rab bit's ear, then the thick ankle, a Rutter of hips, fuch sia roses and green perfume. The man had to pull her,

76 Sandra Cisneros

the taxicab driver had to push. Push, pull. Push, pull. Poof!

All at once she bloomed. Huge, enormous, beautiful to look at, from the salmon-pink feather on the tip of her hat down to the little rosebuds of her toes. I couldn't take my eyes off her tiny shoes.

Up, up, up the stairs she went with the baby boy in a blue blanket, the man carrying her suitcases, her lavender hatboxes, a dozen boxes of satin high heels. Then we didn't see her.

Somebody said because she's too fat, somebody be cause of the three flights of st3irs, but I believe she doesn't come out because she is afraid to speak English, and maybe this is so since she only knows eight words. She knows to say: He not here for when the landlord comes, No speak English if anybody else comes, and Holy smokes. Ldon't know where she learned this, but I heard her say it one time and it surprised me.

My father says when he came to this country he ate hamandeggs for three months. Breakfast, lunch and din ner. Hamandeggs. That was the only word he knew. He doesn't eat hamandeggs anymore.

Whatever her reasons, whether she is fat, or can't climb the stairs, or is afraid of English, she won't come down. She sits all day by the window and plays the Spanish radio show and sings all the homesick songs about her

. country in a voice that sounds like a seagull. Home. Home. Home is a house in a photograph, a

pink house, pink as hollyhocks with lots of startled light. The man paints the walls of the apartment pink, but it's not the same, you know. She still sighs for her pint house, and then I think she cries. I would.

Sometimes the man gets disgusted. He starts scream ing and you can hear it all the way down the street.

~e House on Mango Street 77

r , ~

,"-.. ,

, Ay. she says, she is sad. Oh, he says. Not again. ,Ctuindo, ctuindo, ctuindor she asks. I

I f~ jAy, caray! We are home. This is home. Here I am and

here I stay. Speak English. Speak English. Christ! jAy! Mamacita, who does not belong, every once in a

while lets out a cry, hysterical. high, as if he had torn the only skinny thread that kept her alive, the only road out to that country.

And then to break her heart forever, the baby boy, who has begun to talk. starts to sing the Pepsi commercial he heard on T.V.

No speak English. she says to the child who is singing in the language that sounds like tin. No speak English, no speak English, and bubbles into tears. No, no, no, as if she can't believe her ears.

78 Sandra Cisneros

t ~~~.

Rafaela Who Drinks

Coconut & Papaya Juice

on Tuesdays On Tuesdays Rafaela's husband comes home late be

cause that's the night he plays dominoes. And then Rafaela, who is still young but getting old from leaning out the window SO much, gets locked indoors because her husband is afraid Rafaela will run away since she is too beautiful to look at.

Rafaela leans out the window and leans on her elbow and dreams her hair is like Rapunzel's. On the corner there is music from the bar, and Rafaela wishes she could go there and dance before she gets old.

A long time passes and we forget she is up there watching until she says: Kids, if I give you a dollar will you

The House on Mango Street 79

go to the store and huy me somethin~? She throws a crum pled donar down and always asks for coconut or sometimes papaya juice, and we send it up to her in a paper shopping

bag she lets down with clothesline. J• Rafaela who drinks and drinks coconut and papaya ... juice on Tuesdays and wishes there were sweeter drinks,

not bitter like an empty room, but sweet sweet like the ..

-, a island, like the dance han down the street where women much older than her throw green eyes easily like dice and open homes with keys. And always there is someone of fering sweeter drinks. someone promising to keep them

on a silver string.

80 Sandra Cisneros

~ T r'" . J ~. l. ___ I ~

, ~ ', -e

.-, ~

Sally Sally i!! the girl with eyes like Egypt and nylons the

color of smoke. The boys at school think she's beautiful because her hair is shiny black like raven feathers and when",ws, e.... . she laughs, she flicks her hair back like a satin shawl over her shoulders and laughs.

Her father says to be this beautiful is trouble. They are very strict in his religion. They are not supposed to dance. He remembers his sisters and is sad. Then she can't go oul. Sally I mean.

Sally, who taught you to paint your eyes like Cleo patra? And if I roll the little brush with my tongue and

The House on Mango Street 81

chew it to a point and dip it in the muddy cake, the one in the little red box, will you teach me?

I like your black coat and those shoes you wear, where did you get them? My mother says to wear black so young is dangerous, but I want to buy shoes just like yours, like your black ones made out of suede, just like those. And one day, when my mother's in a good mood, maybe after my next birthday, I'm going to ask to buy the nylons too.

Cheryl, who is not your friend anymore, not since last Tuesday before Easter, not since the day you made her ear bleed, not since she called you that name and bit a hole in your arm and you looked as if you were going to cry and everyone was waiting and you didn't, you didn't, Sally, not since then, you don't have a best friend to lean against the schoolyard fence with, to laugh behind your hands at what the boys say. There is no one to lend you her hairbrush.

The stories the boys tell in the coatroom, they're not true. You lean against the sdioolyard fence alone with your eyes closed as if no one was watching, as if no one could see you standing there, Sally. What do you think about when you dose your eyes like that? And why do you always have to go straight home after school? You become a dif ferent Sally. You pull your sk.irt straight, you rub the blue paint off your eyelids. You don't laugh, Sally. You look at your feet and walk fast to the house you can't come out from.

Sally, do you sometimes wish you didn't have to go home? Do you wish your feet would one day keep walking and take you far away from Mango Street, far away and maybe your feet would stop in front of a house, a nice one with flowers and big windows and steps for you to climb up two by two upstairs to where a room is waiting for you. And if you opened the little window latch and gave it a shove, the windows would swing open, all the sky would

82 Sandra Cisneros

.,..

come in. There'd be no nosy neighbors watching, no mo torcycles and cars, no sheets and towels and laundry. Only trees and more trees and plenty of blue sky. And you could laugh, Sally. You could go to sleep and wake up and never have to think who likes and doesn't like you. You could close your eyes and you wouldn't have to worry what people said because' you never belonged here anyway and nobody could make you sad and nobody would think you're strange because you like to dream and dream. And no one could yell at you if they saw you out in the dark leaning against a car, leaning against somebody without someone thinking you are bad, without somebody saying it is wrong, without the whole world waiting for you to make a mistake when all you wanted, all you wanted, Sally, was to love and to love and to love and ta love, and no one could call that

crazy.

The House on Mango Street 83

,. l' ..

1:1

" ~I

~II

Minerva Writes Poems

Minerva is only a little bit older than me but already she has two kids and a husband who left. Her mother raised her kids alone and it looks like her daughters will go that way too. Minerva cries because her luck is unlucky. Every night and every day. And prays. But when the kids are asleep after she's fed them their pancake dinner, she writes poems on little pieces of paper that she folds over and over and holds in her hands a long time, little pieces of paper that smell like a dime.

She lets me read her poems. I let her read mine. She is always sad like a house on fire-always something wrong.

84 Sandra Cisneros

rShe has many troubles, but the big one is her husband who left and keeps leaving.

I .One day she is through and lets him know enough is

enough. Out the door he goes. Clothes, records, shoes. Out the window and the door locked. But that night he comes back and sends a big rock through the window. Then he is sorry and she opens the door again. Same story.

Next week she comes over black and blue and asks . what can she do? Minerva. I don't know which way she'll II. go. There is nothing 1 can do.

- I.

The House on Mango Street 85

Bums in the Attic

I want a house on a hill like the ones with the gardens where Papa works. We go on Sundays, Papa's day off. I used to go. I don't anymore. You don't like to go out with us, Papa says. Getting too old? Getting too stuck-up, says Nenny. I don't tell them I am ashamed-all of us staring out the window like the hungry. I am tired of looking at what we can't have. When we win the lottery ... Mama begins, and then I stop listening.

People who live on hills sleep so close to the stars they forget those of us who live too much on earth. They don't look down at all except to be content to live on hills. They

M Sandra Cisneros

have nothing to do with last week's garbage or fear of ratS. Night comes. Nothing wakes them but the "'-md.

One day I'll own my own house, but 1 "''00'( forget who I am or where I came from. Passing bulIU w1M ..... Can I come in? I'll offer them the attic, ask them to Slay. because I k.now how it is to be without a house.

Some days after dinner, guests and I will sit in froot of a fire. Floorboards will squeak upstairs. The attic grum

ble. Rats? they'll ask. Bums, I'll say, and I'll be happy.

The HoWIe on Maap Street 87

I Beautiful & Cruel I am an ugly daughter. I am the one nobody comes

for.

Nenny says she won't wait her whole life for a husband to come and get her, that Minerva's sister left her mother's house by having a baby, but she doesn't want to go that way either. She wants things all her own, to pick and choose. Nenny has pretty eyes and it's easy to talk that way if you are pretty.

My mother says when I get older my dusty hair will settle and my blouse will learn to stay clean, but I have decided not to grow up tame like the others who lay their necks on the threshold waiting for the ball and chain.

88 Sandra Cisneros

~ In the movies there is always one with red red lips . who is beautiful and cruel. She is the one who drives the men crazy and laughs them all away. Her power is her own. She will not give it away.

I have begun my own quiet war. Simple. Sure. I am one who leaves the table like a man, without putting back the chair or picking up the plate.

II - I.

The House on Mango Street 89

A Smart Cookie I could've been somebody, you know? my mother says

and sighs. She has lived in this city her whole life. She can speak two languages. She can sing an opera. She knows how to fix a T.V. But she doesn't know which subway train to take to get downtown. I hold her hand very tight while we wait for the right train to arrive.

She used to draw when she had time. Now she draws with a needle and thread, little knotted rosebuds, tulips made of silk thread. Someday she would like to go to the ballet. Someday she would like to see a play. Shf' borrows opera records from the public library and sings with velvety lungs powerful as morning glories.

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