Andalucia: when it rains the fish will appear29 (the wolves)

Door San Daniel gepubliceerd in Verhalen en Poëzie

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It was still early and the heat had done its sleep-destroying work. It stayed above 30 degrees even at night and if you were lucky you could sleep about five hours, if at all. But it would be  a restless sleep, in which you turned and dozed off without resting.

I decided to start the day and got out of bed. A moment later I closed the outside door. behind me, I pinned my ears and turned my head toward mountains that bordered my land to determine if the wild boars had descended again and were feasting on my grapes that needed only a week or 2 before being harvested.

It was early but the ground was brightly lit, as we are used to in Andalusia. It was full moon and it would take a while before the sun would rise. Every stone was surreallistically and ghastly lit as if a soulless lamp outlined their perimeter and I realized that you only experience these kind of nights in the deep south of Europe ..

Far away over the hills, a howl echoed across the plains and bounced against the mountains and slowly died away and then again scattered out over the valley with new force. "It's deep night now, the wolves are on the prowl," came to my mind, a line of a poem from a long-gone study.

I knew it was true. The wolves were marking out their hunting ground, it was a warning to other packs, "watch out we are here, this is our area."

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I turned on the irrigation and got into my old 'flash'. I left for the village to get my first coffee. Even in the moonlight, I saw the first dead snake that had been run over at snake corner. The old diesel found her way up the questa de la mina, the miner's hill and a moment later I passed the first houses of our village and came to a full stop next to the Shandy bar. The scattered light from the lampposts blocked out the full moon.

"Buenas," I greeted the neighbor farmers at the bar and positioned myself between two friends. "Hola San," Pedro said, "couldn't you sleep?" "It's fatal," I replied, "I have never experienced such an extreme summer before." A few farmers nodded in agreement and Alejo, who was on my other side, said, "next to my cortijo it was 46 degrees yesterday afternoon." "Gambio climatico," someone said and I thought, "that might well be, the earth just warms up disproportionately fast.

"Full moon," I replied to no one in particular, and I pointed to the glasses of Pedro and Alejo when Kissy kissy gave me her attention. "A round here, porfavor," I said, "and I'll  also have a barecha myself." Moments later, the local brewed poison sparkled in the glass that was half filled with wine. The last bits of sugar were 'eaten' away and I took my first sip. It burned down and without an X-ray device or scan I knew exactly where my esophagus ended and my stomach started. "Phew," I said, rubbing my stomach, "that brings a dead man to life."

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At the second sip everything had gone numb and a pleasant feeling of well-being went through my body. "I heard wolves," I said, looking at my neighbor farmers to see how they would respond. "They're coming back," said an old farmer, "there used to be so many of them. Just think of Partaloa. " "Why Partaloa," I asked, thinking about the mountain village not far from us. "Ancient language," the man said, "names mean something here and I thought" he means dialect nothing old language. " Parta is an old word for partir (to leave and Loa comes from Lobos (wolves), "he said." Yes, "I answered and took another sip of poison as I looked questioningly at him.

The old man laughed and moved his wad of chewing tobacco in his mouth, "from the mountains where they departed, their hunting ground extended to the first village, so the parting of the roads became the village of Partaloa. From there on, the area was safe for humans again. "

"Thank you," I said, "I didn't know that." "The world is changing," the man said, and his wad now moved to the other cheek, "it starts with the animals, they are claiming their territory back."

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"Let me tell you something about wolves," Alejo now said, "I used to be a shepherd than you pay attention to your surroundings and what is, or is not out there." "I am listening," I simply said, and I was, because my friends who had lived their entire lives in the deep South taught me daily from their life experiences.

"Wolves don't just howl," Aljeo began, making a gesture with his  index finger over the three glasses to Kissy kissy, who immediately came with the bottle of local poison.

"The Alfa wolves start with the first howling," Alejo said, "those are the low groans, then the others still have to keep quiet. Then the howling of the beta wolf follows, which takes on a higher tone and takes longer and finally the other low-grade wolves can participate. This to give the impression that they are a larger group than they really are. "

"There is more," said Pedro, who was on my other side, "every wolf has their place and station."

"What do you mean," I asked.

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"The sick or old wolves walk up front," he said, looking thoughtfully at his glass. “I've seen that many times.” “Were you a shepherd too,” I wanted to know? "Everyone here was a shepherd in due course of time," laughed Pedro, "if you could read and write your father would take you from school and then you would go herding sheep or goats until you were older and able to do other work."

"Right," I replied, and I realized how your environment molds your life, things like that had never happened to me.

"Behind them are some 5 strong wolves, they are young and formidable hunters, they protect the old ones." "Gee," I said, "I didn't know that." "No, I understand that," my old friend laughed, "life is different in your country." "Then the mother wolves and their cubs follow," he went on, "and behind them another 5 formidable young hunters to protect them ... and the leader walks all the way at the back. That way, he oversees everything and can warn the others and keep them in line. "

"Is that always the case," I wanted to know? "Always, that's the way it is," Pedro agreed, giving me a weary look as if I was feeble minded. "Thank you," I said, and put some change on the bar and gulped my barecha away, "I have to go and see if the irrigation is still going well." When I stepped outside, I heard a high pitched howling in the valley. "Ha," I thought, "those are the beta wolves, the alpha ones have low tones," and satisfied with that knowledge I drove back to my cortijo.

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16/08/2019 20:07

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