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"They were trash, is what you’re telling me"

"No Just different"

I followed behind her as she plodded along, dodging headstones She was as intransigent, in her way, as Doc Homer "So how come one of them has practically the same name as my father?"

"You better ask him that," she said "It’s his na hitme around the knees It was Mason

"Where have you been, pachuco? Your mama orried to death about you," Viola said Mason had an enornizing Viola’s scoldings as a bald-faced lie

"I was at a birthday party," he lied back

It took a while to coax him back to the fold There were an infinity of distractions: Calaveras, little skull-shaped candies for children to crack between their teeth The proirls and boys played " on tiptoe with their eyes closed and their arrownup used a old pollen Golden children ran wild over a field of dead great-grandrandfathers, and the bones ether and rattle with joy I have never seen a town that gave so much-soelse I wished I belonged to one of these living, celebrated faround for roots I wanted pollen on my cheeks and one of those calcium ancestors to decorate as old froreat-aunt Pocha, ouldn’t miss it I ran back to lay it on Homero Nolina, just in case

Chapter 15

HOMERO

15 Mistakes

He has to look at her for a long tiirl? His daughter Codi, but which Codi? He thinks