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House Made of Dawn
by
N. Scott Momaday
At a few minutes past one, the bus came over a rise far down in the plain
and its windows caught for a moment the light of the sun. It grew in the old
man’s vision until he looked away and limped around in a vague circle
and smoothed the front of his new shirt with his hands. “Abelito, Abelito,”
he repeated under his breath, and he glanced at the wagon and the mares to
be sure that everything was in order. He could feel the beat of his heart,
and instinctively he drew himself up in the dignity of his age.
He heard the sharp wheeze of the brakes as the big bus rolled to a stop in front of the gas pump, and only then did he give attention to it, as if it had taken him by surprise. The door swung open and Abel stepped heavily to the ground and reeled. He was drunk, and he fell against his grandfather and did not know him. His wet lips hung loose and his eyes were half closed and rolling. Francisco’s crippled leg nearly gave way. His good straw hat fell off and he braced himself against the weight of his grandson. Tears came to his eyes….
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