When it rains, fish will appear, part 9

Door San Daniel gepubliceerd in Verhalen en Poëzie


We drove away from the building that housed the unfortunate ones. "His mother is neatly stowed away," I thought, but wisely, I kept my mouth shut. We were, both, wrapped in our own thoughts. Chris was the first to break the silence. "She looked happy," he began, and I nodded, although I did not really think she had looked like anything at all "She ate well," he continued, "she likes fruit." 'Oh my God,' I thought, we buried her in nonsense-like sentences.

I had the image before me of just a few years ago, where she had been a lively woman, with sparkling eyes. 'hay much suframiento and esta vida,' I said in the end and I realized that it was a cliché but also a truth like a cow. There is actually a lot of suffering in this life. We drove further and left the hamlet and started the long descent to the lower villages.

It was a beautiful day, the sultry warmth surrounded everything and I put the air conditioning a bit higher. I wondered if thoughts were still being formed in the minds of those whom we had left behind. No observation, I assumed, at least not the kind that registers, when a bite of peach appears, you open the mouth, because  years-long command of the same action commands it.

'Basic instincts', I thought, 'they live on instincts and that only in a limited way.'

The road dropped further and I had to brake and switched back, in the slight bend the tires screamed and I braked a bit more.

'Yes,' I agreed, 'she looked happy' and that ended that chapter. I just did not really want to speak, but I knew that silence would weigh and expose the lie. So I gave the conversation another turn.

"I liked to see where you came from," I began, and with my right hand I put the radio on, which immediately performed a soft background conversation. It was political in nature and became the frame of our thoughts. 'Oria is a beautiful village,' my neighbor thought, 'but it is getting older, all young people are leaving and the fields are deserted.' I had seen that, we had driven past overgrown fields along the road that finally ended at the town hall.                 


It was an authentic town hall and a doorman had asked us what he could do for us. 'The registery,' Chris had answered, 'where can we find that.' "First door on the right," said the doorman, pointing up the stairs, "but knock first," he added. "He does not waste a word too much," I thought, and we walked up the marble staircase. My neighbor knocked on the first door, and under the opening of it he said 'buenas'. "Also a good day," said a man who was tucked between piles of paper, he looked at us over his glasses. "What can I do for the gentlemen?" "My father died," Chris had said, and I came to get a copy of his birth certificate. He reached out with the identity proof of his father.

"I sincerely regret that," said the man who expressed it emotionlessly. 'Why are administrators always dusty little men,' went through me and why did they all speak in such a downy tone. "Hmm," the man continued and he pointed to two chairs, "just sit down and this may take some time. He glanced at the Id proof of Chris' father and took two large bookworks from a filing cabinet. "Dear heaven," I thought, "they are not automated yet."

I looked at the big book from a distance and saw that everything was in a gracefully curly handwriting. The ink was discolored, you could see that the books were very old.

past the bent over man who searched with his finger along sections, I saw through the window a large tractor climbing up a mountain with a plow that drew deep furrows. 'That is something else,' I thought, 'than an' arado Romana, 'the Roman plough that had been pulled over the fields by Chris' mother. You hadveto go along with the time, I realized, because standstill is deterioration and the amount of harvest determines your possibilities and that nowadays includes a tractor.

"Yes," the man said aloud, "this is getting closer" and he kept his finger on a line. "This is the marriage registration. Your mother came from Boca de Oria and your father from the outlying areas. ' He glanced at him for a moment and then back on proof of identity, 'then he was 25 years and two months old.' "Do you have the certificate of my father," Chris asked? "This is the marriage registration," the man said unperturbed, "just look," and he turned the book half a turn. 'His birth certificate is probably in the previous book. "Beautiful handwriting," I said, simply because it was the case and on the other hand to fill the time. The man smiled, "my father's handwriting," he explained and closed the book and walked to the bookshelves

The tractor now bellowed black soot and toiled in creep speed against the mountain. "Did your father also marry the people," I asked. "Among other things," the man answered with his head still in the bookcases. " He also collected the tax money and was the death announcer " He turned and placed two new books on the desk. He looked carefully at the headings and let his finger slide over the pages.

"Marriage was fun then," he said, "the bride came into the village on the donkey cart, and the cart was decorated with white ribbons." I listened and saw it happening in my mind's eye. "They always had flowers in their hair," the man went on, not taking his eyes off the pages, "and they'd put on the nicest clothes that could have been borrowed from a sister or aunt, but the prettiest of the prettiest was that day for her. " I saw Antonia from the residencia standing on the cart, beaming with happiness with flowers in her hair and uncle and aunts and nieces and cousins ​​and neighbors who walked with the cart. Also all on their Easter best. Happy with the day that would end a feast with food and drink in abundance.


"Was the groom not there," I wanted to know, ' I mean on the cart'. 'Que va,' the man laughed, 'well', 'of course not, he was waiting with the men from his family for his future wife, here at the door. Then when the cart entered the village the brass band joined and the cart first made a round through the village and the people stood in front of the houses and waved and then walked along to the town hall. You got married outside, you know, in front of everyone. "

"I have it," he interrupted, and walked to the copy machine with the page. A short flash of light followed and a little later we were back in the car and drove away from the village birth certificate richer.

But in front of my mind's eye I saw tables in the square with country wine and bread and white ribbons around two chairs and people full of expectations to welcome the cart on the big day of the bride. She would be someone's señora and later mother and boss of the house.

"Beautiful habits," I said out loud. "What do you mean," my neighbor asked. The languid day had brought my thoughts back to Oria. " I thought of your mother and her wedding day, "I explained," what the man from the register told me about the donkey cart and everything. " "Yes," Chris said simply, and we drove back into our village. 'A lot has been lost,' I thought, 'a whole village celebrated and that was for you and your partner. That did have something nice to it. It broke the monotomy of daily life and everyone forgot about the daily decision-making and was happy. '

"My father," Chris said, "had married the most beautiful girl in the region." I saw her standing, beaming with happiness, a wreath of flowers in her hair. The fanfare played wildly exuberant and in the distance, in a borrowed suit, her husband was waiting, he turned around and smiled and her heart swelled in pride, her husband stood there waiting for her!

"Park here," Chris said, "then we'll go to the Shandy for a beer," and somewhere far away was the echo of a distant past on a chair, staring at the wall with hollow eyes and said "booh."

San Daniel 2019

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04/01/2019 06:57

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