They all came from other lands and in the town they called them "the rabble." It was not long ago that they began to exploit the mines of the slopes of Big Lagoon, and those miner people invaded the town. The majority were families composed of numerous children, and they lived in the old part of town in primitively furnished barns: crowded, noisy, known for their fights. In reality they were peaceful people, even apathetic, resigned. Except on pay day, on which they went to Guayo's tavern, or Pinto's, or María Antonia Luque's with the new money, and where they got drunk and ended the night with knife fights.
The men, naturally, spent their day in the shafts or in the washing room of the mine. Meanwhile, their women ran around busily whether sun or rain, surrounded by kids of all ages; or they bartered with the store to get a tab for the oil, the potatoes or the bread; or they washed themselves in the river, outside, in the pools that formed beneath the roman bridge; or they cried loudly when any calamity afflicted them. This last one happened quite frequently.
Among those of "the rabble" was a family they called the "Greyhounds." They weren't any different from the others, except, maybe, in that, generally, the father didn't usually get drunk. They had nine kids, from two to sixteen years old. The two oldest, that were named Miguel and Félix, were also employees at the mine. Later, Fabián, who was my age, followed them.
I don't know, really, how my friendship started with Fabián. Maybe because he too liked to hang out in the afternoons, in the sun, near the back wall of the old cemetery. Or because he loved stray dogs, or because he also collected rocks softened by the river: black, round, and shiny like coins from some remote time. Fabián and I usually found each other, in the afternoon, next to the peeling wall of the cemetery, and then we chatted there time and time again. Fabián was a very dark and peaceful child, with wide cheekbones and a slow voice, almost complaining. He coughed very often, which I didn't find strange, but one day a maid from my grandfather's house, saw me with him and chided me:
"You go with care, that the ailment doesn't get you! And so that your grandfather doesn't find out!"
With this, I understood that this company was prohibited, and I should keep it hidden.
That winter it was decided that I would stay in the country, with my grandfather, which made me very happy. In part because I didn't like going to the high school, and in part because the earth attracted me in a profound and mysterious way. My strange friendship with Fabián continued, like in the summer. But it was the case that it was just an "afternoon siesta" friendship, and that the rest of the day we ignored one another.
In the town, the people didn't eat any fish other than the trout from the river, and some carp. However, Christmas Eve, some men mounted on some donkeys and loaded with large baskets arrived by the high pass. That year we saw them arrive between the snow. The maids of the houses ran out toward them, with wicker baskets, shrieking and laughing as was custom for anything out of the norm. The men of the path brought in the baskets - who knows from where - something unusual and wonderful in those lands: fresh fish. Above all, what shined was the sea bream, in large quantities, of a reddish-gold color, shining in the sun between the snow, in the cold morning. I followed the maids jumping and yelling like them. I liked to hear their haggling, see their grabbing, the jokes, and the rumors that were carried with those men. In those lands, so far from the ocean, fish was something wonderful. And they knew that it was enjoyable to celebrate Christmas Eve eating roasted sea bream.
"We sold the biggest sea bream in the world," said one of the fishermen. "It was a piece like from here to there. You know to who? To a miner. It was to one of those black rats."
"To who?" asked the women, finding this strange.
"To one they call 'Greyhound' answered the other. "He was there, with all his kids around. They'll have a good celebration tonight! I swear to you that all those kids could mount that sea bream on its back, and the tail would still be free."
"I can't believe it's with the 'Greyhounds'!" said Emiliana, one of the girls. "Those starving people!"
I thought of my friend Fabián. It had never occurred to me, until that moment, that starvation could happen.
That night my grandfather invited the town doctor to dinner, because he didn't have relatives and lived alone. The school teacher also came, with his wife and two kids. And in the kitchen at least fifteen of the girls' relatives got together.
The doctor was the first one to arrive. I knew very little of him, and I'd heard tell from the maids that he was always drunk. He was a tall and fat man, with reddish hair and black teeth. He smelled strongly of the earth, and wore a very frayed suit, although one could tell it had recently been taken out of the wardrobe, because it smelled like mothballs. His hands were large and brutal and his voice rough (from the liquor according to the maids). He spent the whole time complaining about the town, while grandfather listened as if distracted. The teacher and his family, all of them pale, skinny and very timid, hardly dared to say a word.
We still hadn't sat down to the table when they called the doctor. One maid gave us the message, holding back her urge to laugh.
"Sir, it's that, you know? Some people they call the Greyhounds... from that rabble of miners, well sir, they bought sea bream to eat for dinner, and something happened to the father, and he's choking... You know? A spine has gotten stuck in his throat. If you could go, they say, Mister Amador..."
Mister Amador, who was the doctor, reluctantly got up. They had interrupted his hors d'oeuvres, and it was noticeable how he was grinding his teeth as he put his hat on. I followed him to the door, and I saw Fabián in the hallway, crying. His chest lifted, filled with sobs.
I approached him, and upon seeing me he said "Father's choking, do you know?"
It gave me great sorrow to hear him. I saw them walk off into the dark, with their hurricane lamp, and I returned to the dining room, with my heart in knots.
A long time passed and the doctor didn't return. I noticed that my grandfather was impatient. Finally, the wait was so long, that we had to sit down to eat. I don't know why, I was sad, and it also seemed that I was surrounded by sadness. On one side, it could not be said that my grandfather was a happy or talkative man, and from the teacher one could expect even less.
The doctor returned when they were about to serve dessert. He was very happy, flushed and boastful. It seemed as if he had been drinking. His happiness had a strange result: it was as if a current of air had come from some place and chilled us down. He sat and ate everything, with voracity. I watched him and I felt a strange uneasiness. My grandfather was also serious and silent, and the teacher's wife was looking at her fingernails as if ashamed. The doctor served himself many helpings of different varieties of wine and did the same with as many dishes as there were. We already knew he was rude, but until that moment we had tried to ignore it. He ate with his mouth full, and every bite seemed to swallow up the whole earth. Little by little he got into a better and better mood, and finally he explained:
"It was a good thing. Those 'Greyhounds'... Hahaha!"
And he told it. He said:
"They were there, all around, the entire family, damn! Disgusting rabble! How they spoil things! And how they reproduce! Ringworm and misery, is where they are headed! Well they were like this: 'Greyhound,' with is mouth wide open, turning purple... I, as soon as I saw the spine, I said to myself: 'This is a good time.' And I say: 'Do you all remember that you owe me two-hundred and fifty dollars?' They got as white as paper. 'Well until you pay me I won't take out the spine.' Hahaha!"
He still was telling more. But I didn't hear him. Something was coming up my throat, and I asked Grandfather to excuse myself.
In the kitchen they were commenting on what the doctor had said.
"Oh, poor things," said Emiliana. "With this snowy night, the little kids went from house to house for that money..."
Brothers of Teodosia, the cook, had just arrived for the dinner, still with snow on their shoulders. "That bad-hearted man, how he left poor 'Greyhound,' with his mouth open like a basket, I don't know how much time..."
"And did they get the money together?" asked Lucas, the oldest friend.
Teodosia's little brother nodded: "Some... They've been collecting..."
I left with a bitter and new sensation. The voice of Mr. Amador could still be heard, telling his story.
It was very late when the doctor left. He had gotten completely drunk and while crossing the bridge, over the risen river, he tumbled and fell into the water. Nobody knew or heard his screams. He came up drowned, on the other side of Tinted Valley, like a knocked-down tree, stuck between some rocks, under the blackish and rushing waters of the Agaro river.
