Bunuel_Luis_My_Last_Breath

everyone sang the "Jota oliverera," the men climbed ladders and beatthe branches with sticks, and the women gathered the fallen fruit.(In curious contrast to the brutal power of the typical Aragoniansong, the 'Jota oliverera" has a delicate, lilting melody.)I remember, too, another song from that period, which oftencomes to me halfway between waking and sleeping. (It's probablyvanished by now, since to my knowledge it's never been writtendown, only transmitted orally from generation to generation.) The"Song of Sunrise" was sung every day during the harvest season bya group of boys running through the streets to rouse the workers atdawn. Perhaps some of these singers are still alive and would rememberthe words and the melody; it was a magnificent song, halfsacred, half profane, a relic from the distant past. I remember wakingto it as a child in what seemed to me to be the middle of the night.During the rest of the year, two night watchmen, armed withoil lamps and small spears, punctuated our sleep."God be praised!" one would cry. "Ahhade sea Dios!""May He be praised forever and ever," the other replied. "Parsiempre sea alabado, "Or, "Eleven o'clock, fair weather. Las once, sereno."Much more rarely-what a joy!-"It's cloudy." And every oncein a while~a miracle-"It's raining!"There were eight mills in Calanda for making olive oil; one wasoperated hydraulically, but the others still functioned exactly as theyhad in Roman times-a massive conical stone, turned by horses ormules, which ground the olives on another heavy stone. Indeed, itseemed pointless to change anything at all in Calanda. The samegestures and desires were repeated from father to son, mother todaughter. Progress, a word no one seemed to have heard, passedCalanda by, just like the rain clouds.Every Friday morning would find a dozen old men and womensitting with their backs against the church wall opposite our house;they were the poorest of the poor, /of pobres de solemnidad. One of ourservants would give each of them a piece of bread, which they kissed