If I did not look at Ezekiel, it is probable that I was not here writing this book, because my first impulse was to run to coffee and drink it. I picked up the chicha, but the little one kissed my hand as usual, and the sight of him, like the gesture, gave me another impulse that I can hardly say here; but go there, tell yourself everything. Call me a murderer; it will not be me that disdains or contradicts them; my second impulse was criminal. I leaned over and asked Ezekiel if he had already had coffee.
“Already, papae; I’m going to Mass with Mom.
“Have another chicha, half chicha only.
“And Papa?”
“I’ll send more; Come on, baby!
Ezekiel opened his mouth. I came to the chicara, so shaken that I almost tucked it in, but willing to make her fall down the wrist, if the taste disgusted her, or the temperature, because the coffee was cold … But I do not know that I felt that made me back off. Puz had hit her on the table, and I found myself kissing the boy’s head doubtfully.
-Papae papae! exclaimed Ezekiel.
“No, no, I’m not your father!”