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go.”
    â€œAnd what about the mark, Jamilet? I can’t bear to think that we’ll have to explain it to a whole new group of people…people who won’t understand.”
    Jamilet places an envelope on the table.
    â€œWhat is this?”
    â€œI received it yesterday, Mama.”
    â€œShould we find someone to read it for us? Maybe if we call Rolando’s son Pepe, down the road…”
    Jamilet takes up the envelope, unfolds the letter, and begins to read in a loud, clear voice. She reads about an appointment next week with a well-known doctor in the north who is certain he can remove the mark in a matter of hours, or three days at the most. The procedure will be painless and the cost can be paid off over time.
    Tears are streaming down Lorena’s face. “Jamilet, I have never heard such wonderful news. And when did you learn to read? I had no idea.”
    â€œI just figured it out one day while I was waiting for you to wake up. I had that little book in my lap and I prayed like Abuela told me, and suddenly all the lines on the pages began to speak to me with their own voices. They came together like pictures and it all made sense to me, just like that.”
    â€œIt’s a miracle.”
    â€œThe world is full of miracles, Mama. All we have to do is find the ones that belong to us.”
    Â 
    Jamilet was awakened by the sound of weeping, and her beautiful vision vanished all at once. Gabriela was on her knees by Lorena’s bed, her hands clasping a rosary and her forehead pressed against them. “Keep her near you always, sweet merciful Father. Grant her the rest and peace she never knew here on Earth. She was beautiful and not meant for such suffering.” Sensing that Jamilet had awakened, she turned and scowled through her tears. “Get on your knees and pray, child. Your mother is dead.”

3
    J AMILET DECIDED it would be best to cut her hair to just above the ears. She performed this task with little ceremony, as she did when trimming the stems from the tomatoes when they were ripe and ready for the table. Next, she flattened her breasts by wrapping her torso with the fine white fabric she found under her mother’s bed. Gabriela told her it was sacrilegious to use fabric intended for her mother’s wedding dress in such a manner. But Jamilet paid no attention, and noted that although it was uncomfortable, she could still breathe, and the layers under her shirt would provide her with additional warmth during the night. She appraised herself critically, using the only mirror in the house. Wearing a pair of loose slacks and a broad-rimmed hat low on her brow, she appeared to be an underfed adolescent boy with weak shoulders and smallish feet. And if she lowered the pitch of her voice a bit when she spoke, the transformation was complete.
    Gabriela tried to discourage Jamilet from leaving as she swept up thick tendrils of black hair from the kitchen floor, but she chose a different argument from the one she’d employed with Carmen years earlier. “Who’s going to look after my garden?” she wailed into her hands, careful to leave enough space between her fingers to peek through. “Relying on charity is a slow death in these parts.”
    Jamilet’s expression remained smooth and unyielding. “Tía Carmen sends you money every month and I will too. Everybody knows that money is easy to earn in the north. And remember, I speak English.”
    Gabriela lowered her hands and stared at her granddaughter through eyes weakened by cataracts. Even with her hair chopped off above the ears, she was lovely. “Life isn’t like one of your stories you can twist around in your head so the endings are always happy. There’s no cure for your mark, not even in the north. I’ve known this is true since the day I walked on my knees to God’s holy altar after you were born. I never told your mother about it because I knew she