My yaya’s house was the brightest spot in the whole colonia.
She painted the walls turquoise herself with a balding brush and though it had grills on the doors and windows like every other house, the gaps behind the iron were stuffed with pots of trailing vines and geraniums and spider plants that tickled my wrists when I reached up with the long necked watering can. Plaster toucans and parrots roosted on the first floor, nodding to smiling suns and moons.
Her living room was snug, cluttered with clasp-handed Virgins, candles and crucifixes, each object draped with cloths or doilies or tied with the florists bows she saved from bunches of gladioli and coxcombs Uncle Arturo brought her each Sunday.
Upstairs, though, behind knotted satin drapes the colour of cayenne pepper, was a mystery.
‘Es un secreto,’ she would say, kissing my forehead with feathery lips.
So it stayed until the day she passed away …
What do you think yaya’s secret was? Rude, lewd, romantic, violent or just plain bizarre? Let me know what you think and maybe we’ll get a sequel.