cuentos de barro - DSpace Universidad Don Bosco

El camino estaba como el día, y la arenita
fresca acariciaba los pies. Iban los ocho
de la escolta distrayéndose con los
luceros; y el cabo, montado, jumando
su puro, se agachaba dormilón. Sólo los
presos conversaban. El cabo les oiba,
perdonero.
Llegado que hubieron a las ruinas del
obraje, hubo un descanso. El cabo
López se acercó amigable a Miguel y le
dijo:
—Esa ña Pabla Portillo de que hablaba
usté, joven, ¿ónde vive?
—En Las Isletas. Es mi mama...
—¿Tiene hermanas su mama?
—La ña Dolores Portillo, de San Juan.
—Es la mía...
—Entonce, usté es Remigio López, el
marido de la Felicia.
—El mesmo.
—¡Ah, ya jodimos!...
—Me vuá quedar con vos atrás, y te
golvés...
Miguel sonrió apenado y se miró las
manos.
106. Town in La Paz, Central El Salvador.
53
The road was bright as day, and the
fresh sand caressed their feet. All eight
members of the squad were distracted
by the moon. The corporal on his horse,
smoking his cigar, almost nodded
off. Only the prisoners chatted. The
corporal listened as if he were hearing
confessions.
When they arrived at the place called
Ruins of “el obraje,” they took a break.
Corporal López approached Miguel in
a friendly manner and said:
“Young man, I heard you speak about
Señora Pabla Portillo, where does she
live?”
“In Las Isletas 106 . It’s my ma.”
“Does your ma have any sisters?”
“Señora Dolores Portillo, from San
Juan.”
“She’s my woman.”
“Then you must be Remigio López,
Felicia’s man.”
“Exactly.”
“Who woulda thought!”
“Let everyone go ahead. I’ll stay back
here with you then you can go back
home.”
Miguel smiled, embarrassed, and
looked at his hands.