cuentos de barro - DSpace Universidad Don Bosco

* * *
Felipe y Chema eran hermanos a la
pura juerza; hubieran deseado no
serlo. Chema era el menor y por tanto
aguantaba más la hermandad. Vivían
solitarios en el rancho de aquella joya y
la fatalidad los había unido al fin en un
solo interés. Estaban enamorados de
dos hermanas y las fuerzas empleadas
en el asedio habían fracasado por
completo. La Chabela no miraba mal
a Chema, pero no lo dejaba pasar de
ciertos lími tes; en cambio, la Lorenza
rechazaba de plano las pretensiones
de Felipe. Ahora iban ellos a quemar el
último cartucho. Felipe había oído una
vez, de labios del brujo Manuel Mujica,
que en cuestión de amores nunca
fallaba la oración del puro, cuando se
ejecutaba de ley. A eso había arras trado
esta noche al hermano, haciéndole
beber cuatro leguas de temor y de
esperanza.
La casa de Manuel Mujica estaba
encumbrada en el hombro del cerro,
entre papayos que iban de romería, en
ringla, bajando la loma con sus alforjas
al hombro. En la inmensidá del mundo,
eran como cirios ver des y grumosos
ante el altar del cielo; altar ennubado,
donde la Virgen del maleficio pone su
pie de plata sobre la luna.
A pie habían llegado hasta allí, por
veredas acharraladas y pedrego sas, tan
empinadas que las bestias no hubieran
podido trepar sin peligro. Habían
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* * *
Felipe and Chema weren’t brothers
by choice. If they had their way, they
wouldn’t be. Chema was the youngest
and thus he tolerated the brotherhood
better. They lived alone in the shack of
that jewel and fate had joined them for
their common interest. They were in
love with two sisters, and their tactics
employed in the siege had completely
failed. Chabela did not think poorly of
Chema, but she woudn’t let him go
beyond certain limits. On the contrary,
Lorenza completely rejected Felipe’s
aspirations. They were now going to
fire their last bullet. Felipe had heard
once from the mouth of Manuel Mujica,
the sorcerer, that in matters of love,
the “cigar prayer” was infallible if done
correctly. To this end, he had dragged
his brother this night, making him drink
four leagues of fear and hope.
Manuel Mujica’s house was stuck in the
shoulders of the hill, among papaya
trees that were on a pilgrimage, in line,
going down the slope carrying their
saddlebags on their shoulders. In the
inmensity of the world, they were like
green and lumpy wax candles placed
before the altar of the sky. A clouded
altar where the Virgin of Witchcraft
steps her silver foot over the moon.
They trekked all the way there,
along bushy and rocky paths, so
steeped that the beasts woudn’t
have been able to climb without
danger. They had climbed on the