Rising Action of Story

“I’m home”, yelled Antonio letting the screen door slam, as he stepped into the white and yellow kitchen. Catching himself just in time to remove his mud caked shoes before stepping onto the white tiles which would save himself from a scolding later.
“Hello...” he called out, “Maria?” Antonio walked through there quant kitchen taking in the dirt free floor and sparkling counter tops. Something was definitely not right, the last time the house had been this clean Maria’s father had died. The memory was so clear in Antonio’s mind it was as if it had happened yesterday. He had been walking through the house just as today, noticing that everything was spotless. Then, as Antonio approached the living room he had heard grief-stricken sobs and there was his wife kneeling over her father’s body. He remembered rushing to Maria’s side trying to comfort her while reaching to move her fathers arms and legs that were splayed out in the wood coffin laying across their black flecked oatmeal carpet. But before Antonio could touch him, Maria had screamed hysterically, pulling Antonio’s hand away and not letting him come close to her now dead father.
Antonio’s body suddenly shivered, not clear whether it was the thought of the memory or the chilly November breeze that had just come throw the open window. Praying that everything was alright, Antonio anxiously stepped over the metal thresh hold in to the small dining room whose walls were covered in thousands of small pictures. The room was the same as the kitchen, the cracked wood table had been polished, the plates in the dark brown cupboard had turned the color of a white egg, matching the pearly white of the dress Maria had worn on their wedding day. This photo hung above the small chestnut shelf, containing old books their covers tattered and ripped but still containing stories that Antonio had read over and over again. The cream colored curtains hanging from the large two windows that looked out into the feathery wheat field looked as if they had been scrubbed vigorously. Antonio was now positive that something was wrong, only when Maria had bad news would she clean the house this obsessively. He had never understood how cleaning would help a person deal with a problem, Antonio preferred to sit on the porch alone, away from the yells of his four year old son, Enrique or the giggles of his 11 year old daughter, Anita. He would sit on the old front steps, light his pipe and think, long past the golden sun had fallen to rest behind the Andes mountains streaking the sky with vibrant colors which Maria liked to call God’s paintbrush.
Finally, Antonio found Maria sitting calmly in the living room, her pale yellow dress blending perfectly with the couch that sat in the corner of the small but cozy room. Her legs were daintily tucked behind her while she stitched what looked to be a shirt for Enrique. Maria’s dark hair was gently swept into a loose bun, making her ears stick out, but not so much that it distracted from her thick eyelashes and beauty mark just below the crease of her left eye.
Antonio approached her cautiously, it didn’t look like anything was wrong, but why was the house so clean then? Well here I go, thought Antonio.
“Hello, I’m home”
Startled Maria Looked up from her sewing. Seeing that it was Antonio who had spoken her face lightened and a huge smile spread across her face. Getting up from the couch and onto her tip toes she gave Antonio a quick kiss on the cheek. How peculiar thought Antonio, now he was really confused.
“Is Anita OK,” asked Antonio.
“Of course,” replied Maria her airy but practical voice whispering in Antonio’s ear.
“Where is Enrique?”
“He is taking the nap he always takes at 4:30 each day.”
“Well, then what is the matter,” Antonio asked again, not knowing what else could be wrong if Maria and the children were both fine.
“Nothing, why are you so worried?” Maria’s nose was crinkled, her face
now puzzled. So then Antonio told her about coming in and finding the house completely clean. “I clean the house every week,” Maria laughed, the sound tinkling in the otherwise silent house. Adding, “you just don’t notice. But guess what,” her tone changing now into a more smug tone, “Haiti gained independence two weeks ago, Alíta found out today and told me when she brought José over to play.”
Antonio was overjoyed, this showed hope for the fight against Spain, if Haiti could win over France surely they could win over Spain too!
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Maria said not waiting for answer before telling Antonio that their family friends Alíta, Daniel and José would be coming over to celebrate and eat dinner with them. This took Antonio by surprise, how was it possible that they could barely feed their own family and Maria had invited another family to eat with them. Antonio wondered what they would be eating, bread crumbs? But he did not mention his thoughts, for Maria looked so happy. Antonio also decided that he would have to save asking about fighting Spain for the next because he did not have the heart to break the joyous atmosphere that had suddenly filled their home.
It was eleven o’clock. Antonio lay in bed beside Maria. Her soft breathing which normally helped Antonio fall asleep now rung in his ears minding him of the wind that had been blowing as he had talked to Raul. Antonio was now overcome by the cool air that surrounded his crops and house outside. He reached for the extra blanket that always rested at the foot of there bed, but it wasn’t there, reminding himself that Maria had sold it last week when they had desperately needed money. Spain was to blame for their money shortage, all their restrictions that had been implied had made life so much harder. Antonio realized again that his thoughts had concluded in thinking about Spain and Raul’s request. It seemed almost impossible to erase the idea from his head. Antonio spent the next half hour trying to not think of Spain, which he failed completely and finally fell asleep, joining Maria in a dreamland where rights were equal and lived an untroubled life.
Antonio woke, the open door of the room and empty place in the bed indicated that Maria was already up. Sitting up in bed, Antonio smiled as Anita walked into the room. The sun hitting her light brown hair making it turn a brilliant auburn as she crossed to were Antonio was sitting.
“Good bye,” Anita said, gone before Antonio could ask her where she was headed.
Then Antonio reminded himself that this was morning he would ask Maria bout going to fight Spain. Quickly getting out of bed Antonio got dressed and headed in to the kitchen were Maria stood. Trying to make his voice sound casual, Antonio began.
“So, I heard that some of our neighbors are setting out to fight Spain.”
“Yes, I have heard talk about that too,” Maria replied shortly, while wiping her hands on a tattered red apron tied around her slender waist. Suddenly the small kitchen was filled with a tense silence. Maria waited, stirring the simmering stew, in a thick metal pot with violent strokes.
“Well, I was…uh...thinking that—
“Antonio, I know what you are thinking and the answer is NO!”
She had become enraged so quickly that Antonio could not speak for a few moments. They stood there just staring at each other as the tea-kettle began to whistle matching the mournful sound of the wind coming through the small window above the stove. Antonio’s gaze shifted to the pale yellow curtains sprinkled with white flowers as they floated silently in the cool breeze. The tea-kettle was still screeching obnoxiously in his ears making his thoughts swim even more. Maria looked as though she had no urge to silence the water, her feet seemed glued to the floor and her eyes stuck in the same harsh glare. So, stepping around Maria to turn off the water, Antonio took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak, but instead of his voice coming out, Maria’s shouting filled the air once more.
“How can you even think about leaving this family? If you left, you would make this family even poorer,” Maria screeched, then she added under her breath “if that is even possible. We are barely able to survive and you are mentioning leaving, what kind of person would do that? Well, I’ll tell you, an Idiot, that’s who. It doesn’t even seem like you remember we have two young children: what will they do without a father?”
Maria had lost control and was now sniffling, her dark chocolate eyes now glistened with tears. She took a shaky breath and continued, her voice quivering uncontrollably. “There would be nobody to farm, the children need you, I need you,” Maria now had tears streaming down her face, falling over her soft scarlet lips and making wet streaks across her chestnut skin.
Suddenly Maria had fallen into Antonio’s arms, her muffled sobs soaking his red tunic with fat, salty tears.
Antonio had not been prepared for this, he could feel the frustration churning in his stomach as his thick eyebrows stitched together making his face so troubled that he had to close his eyes to remove the expression. He hadn’t realized how bad he had wanted the answer to be yes, the thought of just staying home, letting his family get poorer and poorer didn’t even seem like option anymore. Maybe Maria would change her mind, but usually when she gave an answer she meant it and even if her opinion changed, she was too stubborn to admit it.
Her warm body was still tense in Antonio’s arm but was relaxing just a little bit more every time she took a breath inhaling the mixed scent of soil and tobacco which came from Antonio’s body.
Finally drawing away from Antonio’s grasp Maria stood in front of him, wiping her last tears that had streaked down her cheeks. Her eyes were now red and swollen but had not lost the determined look that bore through Antonio. Maria opened her mouth, this time her angry yells did not come out but a small trembling voice.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized, “I just don’t want you to leave, what if you didn’t come back.” Antonio had never heard Maria this minute and helpless.
“Its Ok,” Antonio lied, reaching to tuck a piece of Maria’s hair behind her ear. He wished Maria would just snap out of this weird attitude, and tell then that everything she had said had just been a joke. But instead of this, Maria turned and walked towards the bathroom, shutting the door behind her and within thirty seconds had started crying once more. But this time Antonio made no attempt to comfort her. He stood, now aware that the stew Maria had been stirring had simmered over and was covering the stove, filling his lungs with an overwhelming burnt smell.