The steam from the atole fogged his glasses. The heat from the griddle burned his hands. But he never complained.
« Oaxacan tamales! Nice and hot! » she shouted sweetly among the market stalls.
Sometimes she came home with swollen feet. Sometimes without having eaten a thing. But she always brought something for her children to eat before going to school.
At night, when the electricity went out due to non-payment, Marco and Paolo did their homework by candlelight.
One of those nights, Marco spoke.
—Mom… I want to be a pilot.
Teresa stopped sewing for a moment.
Pilot.
A big word. Expensive. Distant.
« Pilot, son? » he asked gently.
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