![]() ![]() Beside the stove there were wooden sliding doors shutting off an alcove in the wall, that turned out to hold the bed Mama and Rosita shared. At one end there was a dark green enamel stove, with a chimney going up the wall. ![]() I know that Rosita saw a rather long, narrow room (I thought it was big, until I knew it was our whole house), with a concrete floor. I don't remember what I saw when my mother put me down, but I know how our hut must have looked when it was empty. When I realized that my shoes were too thin for the snow, I was frightened because my mama had made a mistake-and Mama never made mistakes! I didn't know what had happened to us, I didn't know what was going on at all. The strangest thing is remembering that I didn't know there was anything wrong. It's as if my life began that day, under the wide blank roaring sky, with the nice guard who smiled, the coldness my cherry red coat. I have been told things, and I've seen photographs, but I can't remember my father's face. I think about it often and I treasure all the details, because I can't remember anything from the time before. (I had to give up my name, I'll explain why when I get to that part.) That tractor ride is my oldest memory. ![]()
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