SEARCHING ”“ a Serial Novelle CHAPTER 4: Down

By Patrick Cabello Hansel

Angel could have turned west toward the shelter; could have, probably should have. But he was too intoxicated by the smell of bread, by the sure knowledge that he now knew her name. Luz Maria: the light, and the mother of Christ. It was enough for him to just stand there in the wind and breathe in the world. If you asked him later””if he could remember anything””he would have told you that at that moment his life was complete. He had heard the owl and heard the voice. He had smelled the bread. But now, he had seen her, talked to her, he could almost feel her breath on his skin.

He stood there for a few minutes, his eyes toward the gray sky, his skin almost singing. He tasted the first piece of bread right in front of the store on Lake Street. Bread, even day-old, tastes better when given by the hand that is love. Coffee sweetened by a word, the hint of a smile, christens the heart. Angel would remember the taste of that food for a long time””not in his mind, but in his body.

But maybe it was his body that pointed him in the wrong direction.… Read the rest “SEARCHING ”“ a Serial Novelle CHAPTER 4: Down”

SEARCHING ”“ a Serial Novelle CHAPTER 3: Bread

By Patrick Cabello Hansel

Angel walked west. He had fifty cents and hunger in his pocket, and the latter was outgrowing the former. Where could he go with two quarters, with the strange word that rang in his ear: “lotten”? With the sound of the owl?

He smelled it before he saw the light, softly illuminating traces of snow on the sidewalk. The bakery, named for an angel. The conchos and cuernos and his Mom”'s favorite cookies pulled him in by the nose. Mr. Bussey had told him that the bakery had made the Guinness Book of World Records once, for making the World”'s Largest Dog Biscuit. He remembered that a young girl, shy and pretty, sometimes worked the counter.

When he walked in, she was there, taking an order for a birthday cake from a mother with two kids: tres leches, with Dora the Explorer painted on the frosting. She had on a lilac sweater, with one sleeve pulled up higher than the other. A tiny gold cross hung below her neck. Her dark blue apron was softly floured. After the family left he stood in front of the counter for a long time.

“Buenas tardes”, he finally managed to get out.… Read the rest “SEARCHING ”“ a Serial Novelle CHAPTER 3: Bread”

SEARCHING ”“ a Serial Novelle CHAPTER 2

By Patrick Cabello Hansel

Angel stood on the corner of 17th and Lake, smoking. Alone. He wasn”'t used to being alone. He lived with his mother and father, three brothers and three sisters in the upstairs and attic of a house built in 1907. On weekends, he hung out with his friends. He went to the Mall, he went to Block E, he kept moving. The few part-time jobs he”'d had were around men with trucks, unloading wood, shingles, produce, moving from the sweltering heat of the summer to the walk-in cooler: men shouting, boxes of lettuce and avocadoes, hand trucks and ladders, men up on roofs, cash paid at the end of the day, the week, the job. Bowls of pozole and a cold Jarritos on payday, the men telling jokes, wiring money home. Angel didn”'t like being alone.

But this evening was not like all the others. He had heard the owl, and swore he could hear it now, standing under the dark purple awning that advertised “Baraka Rugs”. Baraka””sounded like that guy running for President, he thought. He looked around at the building””how long since it had burned and sat empty here, its windows boarded up with plywood covered with posters: Get Tested for HIV.… Read the rest “SEARCHING ”“ a Serial Novelle CHAPTER 2”