cuentos de barro - DSpace Universidad Don Bosco

la rePuNTa
—Mama, mama, el poyo me quitó la
tortiya e la mano!...
—¡Istúpida!
La istúpida tenía siete años. Era gordita
y ñatía; su cara amarilla moqueaba y
su boca despintada, siempre abrida
y triste, mostraba dos dientes anchos
e inexpresivos. Lamiéndole la frente
le bajaba el montarrascal del pelo,
canche y marchito. Vestía mugre larga
y vueluda, torna solada de manteca. Se
llamaba Santíos.
La nana recogió del suelo un olote y se
lo tiró al poyo, con todas sus juerzas de
molendera.
—¡Poyo baboso!... ¡Encaramáte al baúl,
jepuerca! ¡Si tiartan la torti ya, no te doy
más!
La Santíos se encaramó en el baúl.
Venía lloviendo tieso por los potreros.
El cerro pelón, parado en medio de
los llanos, gordo y cobarde, no halló
dónde meterse y se quedó. Llovió
sin pringar, de golpe, a torren tes; con
un viento encontrado, que corría
atropelladamente en todos los rumbos,
como si llevara un tigre agarrado a la
espalda.
133
THe flaSH flooD
“Ma, ma, the chicken snapped the
tortilla out of my hands!”
“Stupid!”
Stupid was seven years old. She was
chubby with a flat small runny nose.
Her face was yellow and her mouth
was colorless, always open and sad.
She was always showing two wide and
inexpressive teeth. The thicket of hair
licked down on her forehead, yellow
and lifeless. She was used to wearing a
long and layered skirt, always filthy and
iridescent with grease. Her name was
Santíos.
Her ma picked up a corn cob from the
ground and hurled it at the chicken
with all the might of a miller
“Stupid chicken! And you, get on your
dresser, little shit! If they eat your tortilla
again, there is no more for you!”
Santíos climbed up her chest. It had
been raining hard all over the pasture
grounds. The bald hill, standing in the
middle of the plains, fat and cowardly
did not find a place to hide and stayed
there. It poured without drizzling, all at
once, in torrents, in a swarming wind
that ran tumultuously in all directions,
as if carrying a tiger on its back.