TE19 Iberian Adventure

San, the Book of Miracles

to go back.

This time, however, it would be for the worst. It definitely would. For days he had been chopping up a plum tree that had fallen during the last storm. His brother appeared, sweaty and red from the effort of walking the path that separated the house from the road, and sat on a stump. He wore a grotesque terylene suit and carried a briefcase with frayed corners. The hair gel had softened from sweat, and the long locks of fringe with which he tried to cover his bald head had been pushed aside, forming a strange tonsure and giving him the appearance of some medieval monk who got a great thrill from burning his balls with a church candle. Without even saying hello, still gasping from the great effort of carrying so much weight, he opened the briefcase, took out some papers stained with a circle of wine, and handed them to Marcelino, who took themand stared at them like a child looking at a dictionary. “Alright, alright, you can’t read, you animal. I can. You don’t even need to,” said his brother, and he got up. He looked again in his briefcase and took out a pen, which he also passed over. “All you have to do is sign here and here and I’ll leave you alone.”

Marcelino held some papers and a pen in one hand, unable to understand.

“How about this, you fucking moron: put together four of those stupid letters you know how to do and that’s it. Or put a cross on it. Do whatever you want. But do it now, I haven’t got all day,” he said, and sat down on the stump again.

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