Sunday, July 31, 2011

The Days of Bananas

"I remember picking them" the old man said in Spanish, sweat collecting on his brow. "I remember picking those goddamn bananas in the heat all day, sweating from all the humidity. It was back-breaking work." The dam broke, and drops of sweat landed on his face. He swatted at them with a yellowed handkerchief. "You know what the worst part was? All the killings. If you started to ask for breaks or paper money they would beat you. Sometimes they beat you too hard."

His grandson looked down at his banana, so nice and yellow in his hand. Suddenly he wasn't so hungry.