The night was cold that cold that pierces to the bone, getting down in among the clothes, which slides into the tissues of any coat, any clothing and feel like hugging you with frozen hands and arms, the moon in the sky, the starry sky, all combine to make this a night of terror, even the crickets had stopped fearing singing, the frogs had preferred to keep their songs, the silence was absolute.
Agustina was not any woman, had created the most rigid discipline of housework and field, had grown up among the mountains, on the slope of that hill, including coffee, jinicuil, orange, running free, like wind, climbing orange trees, this had been his school, helping with housework, had not had time to play with dolls, girls go to school, to go with youth to dances, that life had never known, his life was work, by friends, dogs, pigs, squirrels, armadillos. Its rustic stone house in the middle of the slope of that hill that gave everything to live, food, water, corn, animals, fruits, that more could I ask, life was simple. Your date of birth was uncertain, his birth certificate was lost in the absence of vital record, kept a piece of foil lined, torn from any notebook in which his brother had written the date of birth, in 1900 six, his life started with the century.
young when his father cut oranges, or any other product, had to accompany to sell, no buses, up walking the trails of the mountain, the stone staircase, holding fast to where you could, with a canvas lie down, moving slowly, reaching the top of the hill and to reach Banderilla sell your products, rest and relaxation, I could not help admiring the beauty of these areas, the air stuck on his face, filling your lungs with the clean air, many times the view was not entirely pleasant, if not a tree hung a swinging body with air, which lay hanged him, sometimes the bodies lay on the path of the gunman dead product of that era, which had among other objectives to get the land or the wife of the dead, and the height of that hill you could see to see the front pair to Naolinco.
That had been his childhood and adolescence, it had grown that way, tall, thin, strong physical and character, travel light, quick, quick, agile as any animal the inhabitants that hill.
had witnessed the bloody battles between Carrancistas Villistas and how at some point in their lives, these mountains have lost their peace, tranquility, the songs of finches, sparrows, primrose, had been replaced and dry sounds, explosions, guns, had witnessed as first one and then others had come to his house to beg for food, driving to all animals in the house, chickens, pigs, and no one could say a word some, forcing her and her family eat tortillas made with banana club made tender, had witnessed how the generals, in the afternoon sent invitations to single women living in these houses scattered through the mountains to the dance they organized for fun and light candles and wind music, where the guitar and violin were the hosts is the party, those poor parents who refuse to take their daughters to the dance, the punishment did not expect to whip lashes on the bare back, others were hanged, they were some of the punishments, even to the execution of arbitrary, like everything happening in this regard was arbitrary.
As an adult, I had to get up very early, when everyone was asleep to bring the nixtamal to the mill, to be ground and to make tortillas, I had to prepare themselves and once the Bastimento was ready to go to reach the men of the house, his brothers and his father to the field, took his machete and hoe, coming to work like them pace, until the day falling out, one after the other day, they were forging the iron will that strong character, that body not only of sun tanning, but also the land of breath, as the roots of trees and of the mountains where she lived, her brown arms were long skinny, which could be seen in his veins, the blood flow to that life force that had acquired many years of work, blood that resembled rivers and streams bathed the slopes of the hill, making a fertile black soil, brown arms, strong, reveals its enormous vitality.
stop there in the vastness of the night and the mountains would not have been possible if not for the life developed, such as believing that a woman, and forties, a widow, was at night, accompanied by their dogs and illuminated as provided by the dim light of a candle, the shadow cast made it more lean, but still retains the physical strength and spirit, there was, not some armadillo hunting, or other animal, no, it was Moaning hunting. She was accustomed to dealing with death, he always said, so sad and so proud, he had buried his parents, brothers, even her husband, " If things go well, I'll also bury Chavela", she was her younger sister and only survivor of that family. Another of her memories, so close to death, was when she went down to fetch water from a spring that was like a mile away from home and in the evening, almost dark, when upon his head a can filled with water, perceived as almost the last two hundred meters to his house a matching shade with her foot, used to say "Once you cross the old farm yard, the shadow began to walk with me, a few yards, could hear their steps in the dry leaves. I had to hurry, for not allowing the shadow that I won to reach the top where he was home. Can filled with water on my head had to hasten my walk. " It was a struggle between life and death, for that life had prepared him to withstand the weight upon his head, for that was his strong legs " if you had let me win to reach the top surely it would have taken "said very smug.
Another of his proximity to death, had taken place, when Caritina sister, was pregnant with her, her sister and her children were picking coffee on a farm near his home in that place there were some large stones, his sister, tired sat down to rest in a cave too near large bushes of coffee, that was, when you hear a groan, then another and another, which made Caritina get up hastily, seized by fear, Grandma came to feel for the place-no bother, nobody will take anything, "another whine-only was rested. Those were his encounters with death, very friendly, she would say, beware of the living. Years later, farm owners, aware of this incident was asked to dig in that place and removed the treasure they would help him and give him a portion of the proceeds, he never accepted, his life was simple did not need the money their aspirations were very simple.
Her husband had been killed very common, as it was in those times, treason and shot dead while working your day, his murderer was someone he knew, because in the crime scene were placed in their footsteps so that victim and perpetrator were in front, two piles of shell Peanut, one side of each pair of traces of sandals, but the murderer was frightened face, wait until you turned around and reached down to continue clearing brush from the earth with his hoe to kill the back, making several shots on her body, her husband still had time to turn around and lay hold of his machete, over longer had the strength to defend themselves, there was leaning against a stone. Surely the murderer left him and pretending to go away. She never remarried, leaving a widow with two children.
I was tired of hearing all night at the police car with its plaintive song, his children were still young and got scared, could not sleep at night and the day I was afraid to go to school, because to reach this had to cross many farms planted with shrubs coffee, and although there were three children who were accompanied to school, they had the same strength So she had been created. His only daughter, one day back in terror, because that, that day on the way to school he realized, a tree full of worms jonote red, black and yellow, which covered a large portion of the tree, snake resembling a giant multicolored and that night armed with his lantern and his dogs were given the task of waiting for the police car there in the middle of those mountains.
wore between his clothes kept a bottle with holy water, plus several crosses made of palm blessed, so I was quiet, like cat stalking its prey, the moonlight reflected the silhouette of the police car and every cry of her grandmother, was and driving a Cross, previously sprinkled with holy water. He had begun this ritual, in the courtyard of the house and around it, continued to pile where they washed clothes, and the first cry of my child to and the followed, was wearing the was watching, his dogs came back full of fear and dread, others were still lying with his head between his hands, came up the stairs was the last stone cross set into the ground, if even be heard the cries of weeping but now they were more distant, fainter, their cries of woe my children could be heard rolling down the slopes, a stone downhill, had thrown the mountains but not if from near his home.
Occasionally who live around here we have listened to their cries, some dare to say they had had meetings with her, leaving terrified, but none had the courage to face it, middle of the night as did the grandmother.
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Jlara. December 2008.
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