My mother slapped me with all her might. My cheek felt as if one of the saints had fallen on it.

“You’re not leaving this room until you eat this. Do you know what kind of women smoke?”

I shook my head.

“The kinds of women who get paid to copulate with men: the women of the night! That’s who!”

I stared at the cigarette in my hand, which Franco had gotten for me with much effort, and I took a bite—it was the only way I could ever leave this place. Once my mother got her mind set on something, there was no contradicting her.

The cigarette tasted as if I’d licked the bottom of a chimney and then chewed a piece of paper. I spat tobacco pieces on the floor. Ignoring my coughs, my mother pushed my hand toward my mouth, making it clear that I had to take another bite. I did just that, eyes shut, breath held. This time I swallowed the moist pieces.

“Are you ever going to do this again?”

I shook my head, swallowing the last piece between coughs. My throat itched. I wanted to throw everything up.

“Now you’re going to take me to your room and give me your entire stash.”

* * *

I’d never thought I’d crave cigarettes so much. I never even knew what they were until Franco offered me one. For as long as I could remember, Franco had been around—a silent boy who alternatively followed his father around the plantation or hunted squirrels, birds, or rabbits with his slingshot. In many ways, he was like me, though, a loner. The other kids in the area always spent time together, including my brother and sister, but Franco and I were younger so we were left out of all the fun and games. Plus, there was the issue of class. Franco was the son of one of my father’s workers, so my siblings didn’t give him the time of day. It wasn’t done on purpose. They just knew that there were implied rules to follow in our micro-society. But I didn’t mind so much.

The first time he’d talked to me I was twelve and he was thirteen, I’d been taking a walk along the stream near my house. He asked me if it was true that I’d seen the Virgin in my room. I avoided the question—I hated talking about that—and asked him if it was true that his mother had magical powers and could see the future.

It seemed like he liked to talk about his mother as much as I liked to talk about the Virgin.