Crooked Plow
"Bibiana, can't you see the potatoes are burning?" I became aware of a smell of burnt potatoes mingling with the smell of metal and the blood wetting our dresses.
There was a curtain separating Grandma Donana's room from the kitchen, and when she opened it, l'd already picked up the knife from the floor and wrapped it haphazardly with the soggy cloth, but I'd not yet pushed the leather suitcase back under the bed. I saw my grandmother's startled eyes, before her heavy hand struck the side of my head and Belonísia's in turn. I heard her ask what we were doing there, why her suitcase was out from under the bed, where did all that blood come from? "Say something!" she demanded, threatening to tear out our tongues. Little did she know that one of us was holding her tongue in her hand.
