cuentos de barro - DSpace Universidad Don Bosco
cuentos de barro - DSpace Universidad Don Bosco
cuentos de barro - DSpace Universidad Don Bosco
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la BruSquITa<br />
El rancho <strong>de</strong> Polo quedaba allá don<strong>de</strong><br />
empieza a trepar el volcán, al pie <strong>de</strong><br />
unos caragos jloridos, al jaz <strong>de</strong> la vereda<br />
que lleva on<strong>de</strong> Meterio Ramos, cerca<br />
<strong>de</strong>l cantón Guaruma. Entre pedrencos<br />
morados, hecho con paja <strong>de</strong> arroz<br />
y palma, el rancho miraba pa bajo,<br />
pa bajo, por encima <strong>de</strong> los gran<strong>de</strong>s<br />
potreros <strong>de</strong>l Derrumba<strong>de</strong>ro, hasta el río<br />
Guachote quiba haciendo así, así, hasta<br />
per<strong>de</strong>rse en la montaña. Encorralado en<br />
un requiebre, entre cocos y platanares,<br />
estaba el pueblo. Eran todas las casitas<br />
blancas y estaban echadas con los<br />
ojos abiertos. Como ganado arisco<br />
en <strong>de</strong>sparpajo, iban allá los cerros<br />
atrompesándose unos con otros, o<br />
encaramándose al dir <strong>de</strong> brama.<br />
La señá Manuela, la partera, <strong>de</strong>jó el<br />
guacal <strong>de</strong> café en la hornilla apagada,<br />
sobre el polvito azul <strong>de</strong> la ceniza, y con<br />
un palito encendido prendió la cabuya<br />
<strong>de</strong> su cigarro. Con un ojo apagado<br />
por el humo, le dijo a Polo para cerrar<br />
plática:<br />
—Ve vos, yo sé lo que te digo: nuai más<br />
dolor quel <strong>de</strong> parir...<br />
Polo asintió, con sencilla nobleza <strong>de</strong><br />
irnorante. Se <strong>de</strong>spidió la vieja y se fue;<br />
125. Cassia grandis: “stinking toe tree.”<br />
126. Hornilla: a combination of brick oven and grill usually kept insi<strong>de</strong><br />
60<br />
SHe aIN’T No<br />
flooZY<br />
Polo’s shack was located where the<br />
volcano begins to rise, nestled among<br />
flowering carao tree 125 and purple<br />
boul<strong>de</strong>rs. It was right off a path that<br />
takes you to the house of Meterio<br />
Ramos, near the Guaruma hamlet.<br />
The shack, contructed of palm and<br />
rice straw, was looking down, down,<br />
over the Derruba<strong>de</strong>ro pastures, with a<br />
view all the way to the Guachote river<br />
that mean<strong>de</strong>red until it got lost in the<br />
mountains. The town was corraled<br />
within the curve of the river, between<br />
coconut groves and plantain forrests.<br />
All the houses were white, and their<br />
windows looked like eyes wi<strong>de</strong> open.<br />
Like stubborn cattle, the hills were<br />
bumbing against each other as if<br />
humping in heat.<br />
Señora Manuela, the midwife, left the<br />
coffee pot on the hornilla 126 over the<br />
blue ash embers. With a small burning<br />
stick, she lit the butt of her cigarette.<br />
Squinting with one eye, because of the<br />
smoke, and to end her conversation<br />
she told Polo:<br />
“Ah know what ah tell ya, <strong>de</strong>r ain’t no<br />
pain like giving birth.”<br />
Polo nod<strong>de</strong>d, with the simple nobility of<br />
the ignorant. The midwife bid farewell