Perfecto Flores Quotes in Under the Feet of Jesus
The silence and the barn and the clouds meant many things. It was always a question of work, and work depended on the harvest, the car running, their health, the conditions of the road, how long the money held out, and the weather, which meant they could depend on nothing.
She lifted the pry bar in her hand, felt the coolness of iron and power of function, weighed the significance it awarded her, and soon she came to understand how essential it was to know these things. That was when she began to read.
He had given this country his all, and in this land that had used his bones for kindling, in this land that had never once in the thirty years he lived and worked, never once said thank you, this young woman who could be his granddaughter had said the words with such honest gratitude…
After confronting the nurse and leaving the clinic, Estrella and her family drive to the nearest hospital, where Estrella lifts Alejo out of the car and prepares to shepherd her in. Looking back, she thanks Perfecto sincerely, acknowledging the effort and risk he’s incurred in order to get here. Perfecto’s comment that America has “never once said thank you” in all the time he’s worked here echoes Estrella’s epiphany outside the clinic, when she recognized both how essential her work is to keeping American society afloat and how unlikely her society is to acknowledge that fact. Here, Perfecto simultaneously enjoys a moment of sincere connection in a relationship that is often prickly and contrasts that connection to the callousness with which he’s treated by the outside world. For both Perfecto and Estrella, realizing one’s own worth goes hand in hand with renewed sadness at the experience of social indifference.
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Perfecto Flores Quotes in Under the Feet of Jesus
The silence and the barn and the clouds meant many things. It was always a question of work, and work depended on the harvest, the car running, their health, the conditions of the road, how long the money held out, and the weather, which meant they could depend on nothing.
She lifted the pry bar in her hand, felt the coolness of iron and power of function, weighed the significance it awarded her, and soon she came to understand how essential it was to know these things. That was when she began to read.
He had given this country his all, and in this land that had used his bones for kindling, in this land that had never once in the thirty years he lived and worked, never once said thank you, this young woman who could be his granddaughter had said the words with such honest gratitude…
After confronting the nurse and leaving the clinic, Estrella and her family drive to the nearest hospital, where Estrella lifts Alejo out of the car and prepares to shepherd her in. Looking back, she thanks Perfecto sincerely, acknowledging the effort and risk he’s incurred in order to get here. Perfecto’s comment that America has “never once said thank you” in all the time he’s worked here echoes Estrella’s epiphany outside the clinic, when she recognized both how essential her work is to keeping American society afloat and how unlikely her society is to acknowledge that fact. Here, Perfecto simultaneously enjoys a moment of sincere connection in a relationship that is often prickly and contrasts that connection to the callousness with which he’s treated by the outside world. For both Perfecto and Estrella, realizing one’s own worth goes hand in hand with renewed sadness at the experience of social indifference.
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