The newest testament, according to the enlightened San Tronco part 8

Door San Daniel gepubliceerd in Verhalen en Poëzie

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I was greeted by a cozy hustle and bustle. "Hola San," I was greeted by whoring Manolo who sat at a table near the door. "Buenas," I greeted him as I walked past the slotmachines who eagerly devoured the coins and rewarded the gamblers with light flashes and tunes. "How is it possible," I thought, "everyone knows that the slotmachines take more in than they pay out?" It seemed innocent but I knew the men who threw a lot, really poured a lot of money into the machines and only stopped when they ran out of money. "Mas buenas," I said as I approached the bar and so wishing everyone the best, I crossed the bar. In the meanwhile, you touched a shoulder here and you tapped someone's arm there and you gave a clearer friend a hand. That's how it is in the South. Male friendships and respect are important. The moment someone does not greet you or acknowledges your presence, something is wrong, and then you have to think deeply about what it could be, because the village has circles within circles of friends. You never make one enemy, but immediately a whole bunch of them if you are not careful.

Alejo was near the beer pump and stuck his hand out, "Hola San," he greeted me, pumping my hand, "you fancy a wine?" "That's always good," I laughed, "it has got vitamins in it." 'Michel,' called Alejo over the heads of the customers to the bartender, 'Dos vinos del pais.' Michel nodded remotely, signaling that he had heard it and put down two coffees in front of some old farmers and dumped a shot of cognac in them. "Right gents, your carrejillo," he laughed and wiped the two euros from the table in his palm. "I stopped with the carrejillo's," said my friend, too many wheelbarrows are dangerous when you're on the tractor. Many people have ended up under the tractor. "Yes," I admitted, "It's the cognac, it's pure poison," he distills it himself, the coffee takes the sharpness away, but it is and remains 60% proof. "

"San San," it sounded behind me, "Do you have a euro for me?" It was the village fool who now put his hand on my shoulder. "Que cojones you have San," he reported. "Balls like a bull, Richie," I answered. Ricardo stayed there with his hand stretched out. I gave a bit of change to get rid of him and turned to Alejo again.

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Michel now put down the two wines, and Alejo took a thoughtful sip and he rinsed his mouth with it and then swallowed it while breathing in with protruding lips. " It's Antonio's sleeper's wine, "he thought, looking at the color that was more yellow than red, it was wine from a wine-farmer with little Carnage grapes, whose grape skins gave the dark color to a wine. This wine had had a lot of tempranillo grapes in the barrel which explained the yellowish color. I held the glass up, it was clear with some residue at the bottom. Along the edges of the glass, the wine climbed slightly, making the surface in the glass hollow. It was obviously a young wine that was still fermenting. It's a wine from Fuerte, I said while taking another sip, as I ran it around my mouth along the cheekbags where the tastebuds are situated and inhaled with pouted lips. The air mixed with the last residue of wine gave you a clear taste indication.

Fuerte thanked his nickname, to his strength, as a young man he had been extremely strong. He became known as one of the strongest men in the region. He had the bad luck in his life that, at times, someone wanted to see if he was really all that strong and then smacked him in the face, when that person was completely demolished, Fuerte's fame was again reaffirmed. The many blows that he had sustained cost him most of his front teeth, now it was just an old almost toothless man who had lost much of his strength. But old or not he was  still a powerful man that you had to reckon with and everyone always avoided teeth as subject, because that was quite sensitive to friend Fuerte.

"Salud Alejo," I said while taking a sip, "y fuerza a canut," laughed Alejo. "Yes," I said, "because if you lose the strength of you rod, it's done with you." 'Asi es,' mumbled a farmer next to me who probably spoke from experience. "Michel," Alejo asked, "from whom did you buy the wine?" "From the Fuerte," Michel replied, passing a tray and disappearing to the terrace. "Hombre, San," you were right, "said Alejo. "He has his fields close to my fields," I explained, "the ground is the same and the angle of the sun as well. But he mainly has tempranilo grapes and no uva negra and it's the black skins of the black grape that give the color to the wine during fermentation. '

Alejo observed me and smiled. "That's why it's also called" vino tinto, "colored wine,", tainted wine, I continued, "and not red wine. When I arrived here, I thought red wine came from red grapes and white wine of white grapes, now I know better. " A few farmers began to laugh. I continued, "I also thought there were black and green olives, now I know that the black olives are just picked later."

In the doorway a figure appeared with a staff who was difficult to recognize caused by the backlight of the sun that surrounded his form, but I recognized his voice with the first words. "Nothing changed," it sounded. "Hey," I said to no one in particular, "I thought Tronco was sleeping." "Guardians, sons of Enoch," said the figure, "where is my servant," and he tapped the ground with his staff. "Your priest is no longer, he has left us," it was followed with two short taps on the floor.

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It had gone quiet in the bar, the hand of evil had stopped outside the pub. The hand knew that nothing would be the same, everything would change and there was a shiver that ran  over San's back, he did not know who he guardians were nor the son's of Enoch for that matter. However, he felt in his toes that Tronco had not walked to the village for nothing. He came with a message and the message was for those who had not changed, whatever he meant by saying so.

"Where is my priest, my servant," he repeated more clearly now while he took the first steps inside the bar. Alejo looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. Richie moved between Alejo and me at the bar. "Help me," the village fool said with big eyes, "they are coming for me."

Tronco stopped in front of us and he looked  at Alejo from top to toe. "Not changed," he said in a monotonous tone. At that moment the death bell started to toll, the heavy bells that announced a deceased villager. " Hey, "someone said next to me. 'Who has died?' Gaby, the policeman, stepped inside the bar, "just so you know," he said, "our priest, Padre Julio, has passed away, mass is at 6 o'clock, have a nice day and he left again to repeat his message in the other bars.

Evil had come on stocking feet, but gained momentum every second. "There you are," Tronco exclaimed and he pointed at Ricardo with a prickly finger. 'Que cojones Tronco ..', Richie tried, but Tronco silenced him. "You are my priest now," he spoke with flat voice, you will serve me, come here. " Richie took a few hesitant steps forward and was literally shaking in front of  my neighbor Tronco. "On your knees," he ordered, then laying his hand on his head. You could hear a pin drop and I realized I held my breath.

Tronco took his hand away and said, "Get up and serve me forever." After that he turned around and without saying another word he walked to the door, stood in the light for a second, and then stepped away in the direction of Questa de la Mina.

"You've heard it, a drink for Padre Julio," Michel said. But Ricardo got up with nothing more of the fool about him. "Do you not have work to do," he asked, "the fields are waiting, do not let them lie abandoned, do this to my master's glory." He walked passed the slotmachines, "nothing changed," he said, and he stepped into the light.

San Daniel 2017

also read part 9

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for more info concerning San Daniel press the following link/ voor meer info betreffende San Daniel druk op de link a.u.b.:landingspage-san-daniel

en 

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and the page of Dutch authors in Hebban

Author's pages:

Amazon author’s page San Daniel

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Vriendelijke groet en God Bless, kind regards and God Bless!

references:

The Book of Enoch- The Reluctant Messenger. Retrieved 14 June 2014.

The Book of Enoch. "The Book of Enoch as translated into Ethiopic belongs to the last two centuries B.C. All the writers of the NT were familiar with it and were more or less influenced by it in thought"

Nathaniel Schmidt, "Original Language of the Parables of Enoch," pp. 343–345, in William Rainey Harper

John J. Collins in ed. Boccaccini Enoch and Qumran Origins: New Light on a Forgotten Connection 2005 ISBN 0-8028-2878-7, page 346

P. Flint The Greek fragments of Enoch from Qumran cave 7 in ed.Boccaccini Enoch and Qumran Origins 2005 ISBN 0-8028-2878-7,

Nibley, Hugh (December 1975), "A Strange Thing in the Land: The Return of the Book of Enoch, Part 2", Ensign

 

29/05/2017 22:26

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