Black rain
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Chapter IX: The girl and the mango tree
San Miguel de Allende, Guanajuato, México
While Grandmother and I were decorating the altar (which had a small-scale replica of the Cerro Negro), she began to talk about the ash fall-outs. It seemed like ancient history, but even so, I was interested in what she had to say.
“When the ashes were falling in León, I still lived in Honduras,” she was saying, “and I was a kid at the time…just like you are now!”
She laughed, looking at me eye to eye. “The truth is that I was younger still, only five years old, so I really don’t remember that much about it; but later when I was older, I do indeed remember my mother talking about how León was having a hard time because of the ashes. She talked about how the red-tiled roofs of the houses would collapse under the weight of so many ashes they gathered. The streets, my dear, they say it was near impossible to walk those streets covered in ashes.”
At that moment, I caught this exquisite fragrance in the air. For some reason or other, it reminded me of Christmas.
In the land of volcanoes’ Chapters Purchase the book