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The Happy Sheep
Quiz by Stacy Eleczko
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Rent a Llama When Marcos slept, he dreamed. He dreamed of Ecuador. He dreamed of riding among sheep and llamas. When Marcos woke, he worried. Life was so different in America. Would it ever feel like home? Marcos's mother worried, too. She wanted him to be happy. "Marcos, today is your class trip to a ranch," she said one morning. Marcos said, "We used to live on a ranch, MamĂĄ." "An American ranch will be different," she said. "Yes, just like everything else here," Marcos sighed. When Marcos got to school, he saw students excited about the trip. Mr. Perkins chose seat partners for the bus ride. Marcos sat with a boy named Ben. "Have you ever been to a ranch?" asked Ben. "Only in Ecuador," Marcos replied. "I go to this ranch every week to care for Mabel," said Ben. Marcos asked, "Who is Mabel?" "You'll see," said Ben. Soon they arrived at the ranch. The class met Ms. Vega, the owner. "Hello, everyone," said Ms. Vega. "And hi there, Ben," she added. Everyone looked at Ben. How did Ms. Vega know him? "Ben takes care of Mabel, one of our cows," said Ms. Vega. "I am in City to Farm," Ben explained. "It is a club where grownups help city kids learn about farms," he added. Ben continued, "I want to learn about cows, but I live in an apartment." "I can't keep a cow there," he joked. The class laughed. Ben added, "Ms. Vega rents Mabel to me for free, and I care for her." "Let's meet Mabel," said Ms. Vega. Ben led the class into a large barn with many stalls. When Marcos looked around, he got a surprise. In the second stall was a llama. Marcos spoke softly to the animal in Spanish. The llama stretched its long neck toward Marcos as if it understood. Marcos stroked its fur. Ms. Vega watched Marcos. "Do you like Ilamas?" she asked. Marcos nodded. "SĂ. I mean, yes," he replied shyly. "My grandfather had llamas in Ecuador," he added. "Đ Đ°ŃĐŸ Ńame from Ecuador, too," said Ms. Vega. She smiled and asked, "Would you like to help care for him?" "Like Ben takes care of Mabel?" Marcos asked. Ms. Vega said, "Exactly." Marcos's heart sang. Ranches were different herebut llamas were the same!Rainy Day Game Happy, happy, happy Playing outside makes the children happy. Sad, sad, sad The broken bike makes Cindy sad. OK, OK, OK Timmy is ok in the snowy weather. Timmy: Hello,Cindy. How are you? Cindy: I am OK. How about you? Timmy: I am not very happy. Rainy days make me sad. Cindy: I don't like rainy days either, but I am OK. Timmy: Why is that? Cindy: Well, I have many things that make me happy. Timmy: What makes you happy, Cindy? Cindy: I have a bed to sleep in and food to eat. Some people don't have that. Timmy: Yes, you are right, Timmy. Cindy: How about we play a game? Games always make me happy. Timmy: Yes, I think that games are fun. Cindy: Great. Let's play a rainy day game.She went by the name of Belisa Crepusculario, not because she had been baptized with that name or given it by her mother, but because she herself had searched until she found the poetry of "beauty" and "twilight" and cloaked herself in it. She made her living selling words. She journeyed through the country from the high cold mountains to the burning coasts, stopping at fairs and in markets where she set up four poles covered by a canvas awning under which she took refuge from the sun and rain to minister to her customers. She did not have to peddle her merchandise because from having wandered far and near, everyone knew who she was. Some people waited for her from one year to the next, and when she appeared in the village with her bundle beneath her arm, they would form a line in front of her stall. Her prices were fair. For five centavos she delivered verses from memory, for seven she improved the quality of dreams, for nine she wrote love letters, for twelve she invented insults for irreconcilable enemies. She also sold stories, not fantasies but long, true stories she recited at one telling, never skipping a word. This is how she carried news from one town to another. People paid her to add a line or two: our son was born, so-and-so died, our children got married, the crops burned in the field. Wherever she went a small crowd gathered around to listen as she began to speak, and that was how they learned about each others' doings, about distant relatives, about what was going on in the civil war. To anyone who paid her fifty centavos in trade, she gave the gift of a secret word to drive away melancholy. It was not the same word for everyone, naturally, because that would have been collective dece it. Each person received his or her own word, with the assurance that no one else would use it that way in this universe or the Beyond. Belisa Crepusculario had been born into a family so poor they did not even have names to give their children. She came into the world and grew up in an inhospitable land where some years the rains became avalanches of water that bore everything away before them and others when not a drop fell from the sky and the sun swelled to fill the horizon and the world became a desert. Until she was twelve, Belisa had no occupation or virtue other than having withstood hunger and the exhaustion of centuries. During one interminable drought, it fell to her to bury four younger brothers and sisters, when she realized that her turn was next, she decided to set out across the 2 plains in the direction of the sea, in hopes that she might trick death along the way. The land was eroded, split with deep cracks, strewn with rocks, fossils of trees and thorny bushes, and skeletons of animals bleached by the sun. From time to time she ran into families who, like her, were heading south, following the mirage of water. Some had begun the march carrying their belongings on their back or in small carts, but they could barely move their own bones, and after a while they had to abandon their possessions. They dragged themselves along painfully, their skin turned to lizard hide and their eyes burned by the reverberating glare. Belisa greeted them with a wave as she passed, but she did not stop, because she had no strength to waste in acts of compassion. Many people fell by the wayside, but she was so stubborn that she survived to cross through that hell and at long last reach the first trickles of water, fine, almost invisible threads that fed spindly vegetation and farther down widened into small streams and marshes. Belisa Crepusculario saved her life and in the process accidentally discovered writing. In a village near the coast, the wind blew a page of newspaper at her feet. She picked up the brittle yellow paper and stood a long while looking at it, unable to determine its purpose, until curiosity overcame her shyness. She walked over to a man who was washing his horse in the muddy pool where she had quenched her thirst. "What is this?" she asked. "The sports page of the newspaper," the man replied, concealing his surprise at her ignorance. The answer astounded the girl, but she did not want to seem rude, so she merely inquired about the significance of the fly tracks scattered across the page. "Those are words, child. Here it says that Fulgencio Barba knocked out El Negro Tiznao in the third round." That was the day Belisa Crepusculario found out that words make their way in the world without a master, and that anyone with a little cleverness can appropriate them and do business with them. She made a quick assessment of her situation and concluded that aside from becoming a prostitute or working as a servant in the kitchens of the rich there were few occupations she was qualified for. It seemed to her that selling words would be an honorable alternative. From that moment on, she worked at that profession, and was never tempted by any other. At the beginning, she offered her merchandise unaware that words could be written outside of newspapers. When she learned otherwise, she calculated the infinite possibilities of her trade and with her savings paid a priest twenty pesos to teach her to read and write, with her three 3 remaining coins she bought a dictionary. She poured over it from A to Z and then threw it into the sea, because it was not her intention to defraud her customers with packaged words. One August morning several years later, Belisa Crepusculario was sitting in her tent in the middle of a plaza, surrounded by the uproar of market day, selling legal arguments to an old man who had been trying for sixteen years to get his pension. Suddenly she heard yelling and thudding hoofbeats. She looked up from her writing and saw, first, a cloud of dust, and then a band of horsemen come galloping into the plaza. They were the Colonel's men, sent under orders of El Mulato, a giant known throughout the land for the speed of his knife and his loyalty to his chief. Both the Colonel and El Mulato had spent their lives fighting in the civil war, and their names were ineradicably linked to devastation and calamity. The rebels swept into town like a stampeding herd, wrapped in noise, bathed in sweat, and leaving a hurricane of fear in their trail. Chickens took wing, dogs ran for their lives, women and children scurried out of sight, until the only living soul left in the market was Belisa Crepusculario. She had never seen El Mulato and was surprised to see him walking toward her. "I'm looking for you," he shouted, pointing his coiled whip at her, even before the words were out, two men rushed her -- knocking over her canopy and shattering her inkwell -- bound her hand and foot, and threw her like a sea bag across the rump of El Mulato's mount. Then they thundered off toward the hills. Hours later, just as Belisa Crepusculario was near death, her heart ground to sand by the pounding of the horse, they stopped, and four strong hands set her down. She tried to stand on her feet and hold her head high, but her strength failed her and she slumped to the ground, sinking into a confused dream. She awakened several hours later to the murmur of night in the camp, but before she had time to sort out the sounds, she opened her eyes and found herself staring into the impatient glare of El Mulato, kneeling beside her. "Well, woman, at last you've come to," he said. To speed her to her senses, he tipped his canteen and offered her a sip of liquor laced with gunpowder. She demanded to know the reason for such rough treatment, and El Mulato explained that the Colonel needed her services. He allowed her to splash water on her face, and then led her to the far end of the camp where the most feared man in all the land was lazing in a hammock strung between two trees. She could not see his face, because he lay in the deceptive shadow of the leaves and the indelible shadow of all his years as a bandit, but she imagined from the way his 4 gigantic aide addressed him with such humility that he must have a very menacing expression. She was surprised by the Colonel's voice, as soft and well-modulated as a professor's. "Are you the woman who sells words?" he asked. "At your service," she stammered, peering into the dark and trying to see him better. The Colonel stood up, and turned straight toward her. She saw dark skin and the eyes of a ferocious puma, and she knew immediately that she was standing before the loneliest man in the world. "I want to be President," he announced. The Colonel was weary of riding across that godforsaken land, waging useless wars and suffering defeats that no subterfuge could transform into victories. For years he had been sleeping in the open air, bitten by mosquitoes, eating iguanas and snake soup, but those minor inconveniences were not why he wanted to change his destiny. What truly troubled him was the terror he saw in people's eyes. He longed to ride into a town beneath a triumphal arch with bright flags and flowers everywhere, he wanted to be cheered, and be given newly laid eggs and freshly baked bread. Men fled at the sight of him, children trembled, and women miscarried from fright, he had had enough, and so he had decided to become President. El Mulato had suggested that they ride to the capital, gallop up to the Palace, and take over the government, the way they had taken so many other things without anyone's permission. The Colonel, however, did not want to be just another tyrant, there had been enough of those before him and, besides, if he did that, he would never win people's hearts. It was his aspiration to win the popular vote in the December elections. "To do that, I have to talk like a candidate. Can you sell me the words for a speech?" the Colonel asked Belisa Crepusculario. She had accepted many assignments, but none like this. She did not dare refuse, fearing that El Mulato would shoot her between the eyes, or worse still, that the Colonel would burst into tears. There was more to it than that, however, she felt the urge to help him because she felt a throbbing warmth beneath her skin, a powerful desire to touch that man, to fondle him, to clasp him in her arms. All night and a good part of the following day, Belisa Crepusculario searched her repertory for words adequate for a presidential speech, closely watched by El Mulato, who could not take his eyes from her firm wanderer's legs and virginal breasts. She discarded harsh, cold words, words 5 that were too flowery, words worn from abuse, words that offered improbable promises, untruthful and confusing words, until all she had left were words sure to touch the minds of men and women's intuition. Calling upon the knowledge she had purchased from the priest for twenty pesos, she wrote the speech on a sheet of paper and then signaled El Mulato to untie the rope that bound her ankles to a tree. He led her once more to the Colonel, and again she felt the throbbing anxiety that had seized her when she first saw him. She handed him the paper and waited while he looked at it, holding it gingerly between thumbs and fingertips. "What the shit does this say," he asked finally. "Don't you know how to read?" "War's what I know," he replied. She read the speech aloud. She read it three times, so her client could engrave it on his memory. When she finished, she saw the emotion in the faces of the soldiers who had gathered round to listen, and saw that the Colonel's eyes glittered with enthusiasm, convinced that with those words the presidential chair would be his. "If after they've heard it three times, the boys are still standing there with their mouths hanging open, it must mean the thing's damn good, Colonel" was El Mulato's approval. "All right, woman. How much do I owe you?" the leader asked. "One peso, Colonel." "That's not much," he said, opening the pouch he wore at his belt, heavy with proceeds from the last foray. "The peso entitles you to a bonus. I'm going to give you two secret words," said Belisa Crepusculario. "What for?" She explained that for every fifty centavos a client paid, she gave him the gift of a word for his exclusive use. The Colonel shrugged. He had no interest at all in her offer, but he did not want to be impolite to someone who had served him so well. She walked slowly to the leather stool where he was sitting, and bent down to give him her gift. The man smelled the scent of a mountain cat issuing from the woman, a fiery heat radiating from her hips, he heard the terrible whisper of her hair, and a breath of sweetmint murmured into his ear the two secret words that were his alone. "They are yours, Colonel," she said as she stepped back. "You may use them as much as you 6 please." El Mulato accompanied Belisa to the roadside, his eyes as entreating as a stray dog's, but when he reached out to touch her, he was stopped by an avalanche of words he had never heard before; believing them to be an irrevocable curse, the flame of his desire was extinguished. During the months of September, October, and November the Colonel delivered his speech so many times that had it not been crafted from glowing and durable words it would have turned to ash as he spoke. He travelled up and down and across the country, riding into cities with a triumphal air, stopping in even the most forgotten villages where only the dump heap betrayed a human presence, to convince his fellow citizens to vote for him. While he spoke from a platform erected in the middle of the plaza, El Mulato and his men handed out sweets and painted his name on all the walls in gold frost. No one paid the least attention to those advertising ploys; they were dazzled by the clarity of the Colonel's proposals and the poetic lucidity of his arguments, infected by his powerful wish to right the wrongs of history, happy for the first time in their lives. When the Candidate had finished his speech, his soldiers would fire their pistols into the air and set off firecrackers, and when finally they rode off, they left behind a wake of hope that lingered for days on the air, like the splendid memory of a comet's tail. Soon the Colonel was the favorite. No one had ever witnessed such a phenomenon: a man who surfaced from the civil war, covered with scars and speaking like a professor, a man whose fame spread to every corner of the land and captured the nation's heart. The press focused their attention on him. Newspapermen came from far away to interview him and repeat his phrases, and the number of his followers and enemies continued to grow. "We're doing great, Colonel," said El Mulato, after twelve successful weeks of campaigning. But the Candidate did not hear. He was repeating his secret words, as he did more and more obsessively. He said them when he was mellow with nostalgia; he murmured them in his sleep; he carried them with him on horseback; he thought them before delivering his famous speech; and he caught himself savoring them in his leisure time. And every time he thought of those two words, he thought of Belisa Crepusculario, and his senses were inflamed with the memory of her feral scent, her fiery heat, the whisper of her hair, and her sweetmint breath in his ear, until he began to go around like a sleepwalker, and his men realized that he might die before he ever sat in the presidential chair. "What's got hold of you, Colonel," El Mulato asked so often that finally one day his chief broke 7 down and told him the source of his befuddlement: those two words that were buried like two daggers in his gut. "Tell me what they are and maybe they'll lose their magic," his faithful aide suggested. "I can't tell them, they're for me alone," the Colonel replied. Saddened by watching his chief decline like a man with a death sentence on his head, El Mulato slung his rifle over his shoulder and set out to find Belisa Crepusculario. He followed her trail through all that vast country, until he found her in a village in the far south, sitting under her tent reciting her rosary of news. He planted himself, spraddle-legged, before her, weapon in hand. "You! You're coming with me," he ordered. She had been waiting. She picked up her inkwell, folded the canvas of her small stall, arranged her shawl around her shoulders, and without a word took her place behind El Mulato's saddle. They did not exchange so much as a word in all the trip; El Mulato's desire for her had turned into rage, and only his fear of her tongue prevented his cutting her to shreds with his whip. Nor was he inclined to tell her that the Colonel was in a fog, and that a spell whispered into his ear had done what years of battle had not been able to do. Three days later they arrived at the encampment, and immediately, in view of all the troops, El Mulato led his prisoner before the Candidate. "I brought this witch here so you can give her back her words, Colonel," El Mulato said, pointing the barrel of his rifle at the woman's head. "And then she can give you back your manhood." The Colonel and Belisa Crepusculario stared at each other, measuring one another from a distance. The men knew then that their leader would never undo the witchcraft of those accursed words, because the whole world could see the voracious-puma eyes soften as the woman walked to him and took his hand in hers. Copyright © 1989 by Isabel Allende From The Stories of Eva Luna, Translated by Margaret Sayers PedenBums in the Attic I want a house on a hill like the ones with the gardens where Papa works. We go on Sundays, Papa's day off. I used to go. I don't anymore. You don't like to go out with us, Papa says. Getting too old? Getting too stuck-up, says Nenny. I don't tell them I am ashamed -all of us staring out the window like the hungry. I am tired of looking at what we can't have. When we win the lottery . . . Mama begins, and then I stop listening. People who live on hills sleep so close to the stars they forget those of us who live too much on earth. They don't look down at all except to be content to live on hills. They 86 Sandra Cisneros have nothing to do with last week's garbage or fear of rats. Night comes. Nothing wakes them but the wind. One day I'll own my own house, but I won't forget who I am or where I came from. Passing bums will ask, Can I come in? I'll offer them the attic, ask them to stay, because I know how it is to be without a house. Some days after dinner, guests and I will sit in front of a fire. Floorboards will squeak upstairs. The attic grum- ble. Rats? they'll ask. Bums, I'll say, and I'll be happy. Minerva is only a little bit older than me but already she has two kids and a husband who left. Her mother raised her kids alone and it looks like her daughters will go that way too. Minerva cries because her luck is unlucky. Every night and every day. And prays. But when the kids are asleep after she's fed them their pancake dinner, she writes poems on little pieces of paper that she folds over and over and holds in her hands a long time, little pieces of paper that smell like a dime. She lets me read her poems. I let her read mine. She is always sad like a house on fire-always something wrong. 84 Sandra Cisneros She has many troubles, but the big one is her husband who left and keeps leaving. One day she is through and lets him know enough is enough. Out the door he goes. Clothes, records, shoes. Out the window and the door locked. But that night he comes back and sends a big rock through the window. Then he is sorry and she opens the door again. Same story. Next week she comes over black and blue and asks what can she do? Minerva. I don't know which way she'll go. There is nothing I can do. Whereâs the Joey? What's a Joey? A joey is a baby marsupial (mar-SOO-pee-ul). A marsupial is an unusual type of animal. Its babies are carried in a pouch, or pocket, on the mother's belly. As it grows, the little joey stays hidden inside the pouch. Safe inside, the tiny joey drinks milk and grows while it is carried around. Even after it can walk, the joey may still ride in mom's pouch. There are over three hundred types of marsupials. Most of them live in Australia (aw-STRAYL-yuh) and eat plants. Let's look at a few kinds of marsupials and their joeys. A Jumping Joey This joey stays in its mother's pouch for eight months while it grows very tall. Its feet and tail grow very long. too. Can you guess what it is? It's a red kangaroo! A red kangaroo is the largest marsupial. It can stand over six feet tall and weigh 200 lbs (91 kg). It can jump 30 feet (9 m) with each leap! A Joey That Lives in a Tree When grown, this little joey will look like a furry teddy bear with big ears. It will live most of its life sitting in trees and eating leaves. Can you guess what it is? It's a koala! A koala lives, eats, and sleeps in eucalyptus (yoo-kuh-LIP-tus) trees. It is happy just to sit anp eat lots of leaves every day. A koala usually only walks around at night. Joey the Screamer This marsupial mom might carry three or four noisy joeys in her pouch at one time. Her little joeys can scream very loudly. What are they? They are Tasmanian devils! The Tasmanian devil gets its name from its loud screams, sharp teeth, bad smell, and wild look. It is a meat-eater, and lives only on the island of Tasmania (taz-MAY-nee-uh). Protecting the Marsupials Most marsupials eat plants, and many, like the koala, live quietly in forests. When those forests are cut down, their homes, food, and safety are lost. Other marsupials have lost their sources of food to herds of grazing cows or growing cities. Marsupials Are Special Animals Most marsupials and their joeys live in only one place on Earth. We need to protect their special habitats and food sources-so we will always know where the joeys are.Vocabulary Adventure Quiz Question,Option A,Option B,Option C,Option D,Correct Answer The class waited in expectancy when the teacher said, "I have a surprise!" What does expectancy mean?,excited waiting,anger,sleepiness,fear,A Expectancy means...,feeling something will happen soon,being tired,being confused,being lost,A He tried to mimic the teacher's voice and everyone laughed. What does mimic mean?,copy someone,hide something,break something,forget,A Mimic means...,to copy,to sleep,to shout,to run,A The hero stared into a dark abyss and stepped back slowly. What is an abyss?,deep hole,small box,chair,window,A Abyss means...,deep endless space,bright light,loud noise,soft sound,A She wore rainbow boots and a superhero cape to school. Everyone said it was bizarre. What does bizarre mean?,strange,perfect,normal,quiet,A Bizarre means...,very strange or unusual,clean and neat,boring,small,A After eating everyoneâs snacks, he was shunned at lunch. What does shunned mean?,ignored,celebrated,invited,praised,A Shunned means...,avoided or ignored,helped loudly,welcomed warmly,followed,A Old food in the locker created a terrible stench. What is a stench?,bad smell,fresh air,perfume,flowers,A Stench means...,strong bad smell,sweet perfume,clean air,light breeze,A Rain, homework, and no Wi-Fi made the day dreary. What does dreary mean?,gloomy and dull,exciting and fun,loud and busy,bright and happy,A Dreary means...,sad or gloomy,happy and bright,fast and loud,funny,AStarry Night Josie and Ling were good friends. Ling was happy Josie was her neighbor. Josie was happy Ling lived nearby, too. Josie and Ling couldn't wait for the school day to end. They planned a sleepover at Josie's house. They were going to sleep in a tent in Josie's backyard. As the class was leaving, Mr. Cortes said, "Your weekend homework is to look at the nighttime sky and explain what you saw on Monday." The class grumbled. "Why the unhappy sounds?" Mr. Cortes asked. "It will be fun looking at the sky at night." The girls arrived at Josie's house and were delighted to be sleeping outdoors. Josie said, "I'm so happy that we get to sleep in the tent. It will be lots of fun." Then Ling said, "I'll get the sleeping bags and flashlights. I brought flashlights so we can play games in the tent." Josie's dad poked his head inside the tent. "Girls, it is a good time to do your homework now because it is getting dark," he said. "Awww," they both complained. "Dad," said Josie, "Do we have to, now?" "Yes, I already set up the telescope." Ling said, "I hope this won't take too long." Josie looked up and spotted a crescent moon. "Did you know the moon's light comes from the sun?" said Josie. "It's funny that it's called moonlight." "Yes," said Ling, who was still thinking about playing in the tent. Josie's dad smiled at the girls and said, "See the stars in the sky? Those points of bright light can form shapes." "You can see the Big Dipper," he said. "It's a group of stars that look like a giant spoon in the sky." Josie's dad showed her how to look through the telescope. "Wow, that's more stars than I ever dreamed of. I never imagined there could be so many." It was Ling's turn to look. Ling cried out, "I see a bright light moving in the sky!" "That's a shooting star!" said Josie's dad. "This is fun," said Ling. "I really enjoy looking at the stars." "I think we've seen enough of the nighttime sky," said Josie's dad. "You girls can go play now." "Aw, Dad, can't we keep looking?" asked Josie. "This is really fun." "Yes," said Ling. "We have had an adventure already, and we haven't even played in the tent yet!" "You're right, Ling," said Josie. "This has been one exciting night."Gorillas Gorillas. Gorillas are members of the great ape family. They live in the forests of Africa. Gorillas have strong, heavy bodies. They can walk on two legs like people do. Most of the time they walk on their feet and hands. Gorillas eat leaves, stems, bark, fruits, flowers, and wood. They also eat insects and snails. Most gorillas do not hunt. Gorillas make faces to show how they feel. Their faces tell if they are happy, sad, or upset. Gorillas can cry, and they laugh when they are tickled. Gorilla Families. A gorilla family is called a troop. A troop eats, sleeps, and plays together. Family members play tag, catch, and dress-up with leaves. A gorilla baby nurses and stays close to its mother for a few years. It rides on her back to move around. When a male gorilla grows up, the fur on its back turns silver. It is called a silverback. The silverback's job is to protect the troop. Learning to Talk. Gorillas are very smart. A woman named Penny taught a gorilla to use sign language. The gorilla's name is Koko. Koko uses signs to tell Penny what she wants and how she feels. Gorillas in Danger. Many gorillas have been killed by hunters. Their forest homes are being cut down. Gorillas are now endangered. Many people are trying to save these great apes.