It was nearly half-past two.
No wonder our aunt had been annoyed at us for making noise.
For five long minutes, I heard my aunt belabor poor Felipe with that spoon and, his resolve broken, I heard him cry out, “Ow! Ow! Ow!” near the end.
At last, the sound stopped, and I heard my aunt say, “Fetch your sister.”
Felipe came in, limping, his eyes wet with tears and clutching his rear end.
“Go on,” was all he managed to say.
I entered the living room, my heart about to burst.
There was a lump in my throat and I willed myself not to cry.
“Right, there is no favouritism in this house.
You will be treated the same as your brother. I want you bent over these arms on your knees.”
And she tapped the chair arms with the spoon.