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Una Taza de Té
Stephen Hoyle
I take a cup of hot English tea, strong and dark. I add three
teaspoons of honey and stir. Then, I put the cup on a little
plate and inhale. I can smell both the sweet honey and the
bitter leaves. I savor it in my hands while I watch the steam
rising from the cup.
Such is life. I wish life could always have the warmth
and comfort given me by tea, the taste of both honey and
leaf. But no. Everything that is hot eventually becomes cold.
Life is given and, like the cup, is taken away.
“Virgilio,” my master calls, “is my tea ready?”
“Yes, sir,” I reply. I walk out of the kitchen into the
courtyard where the boss sits, watching his daughters as they
play in the garden. Long fields stretch like a great carpet,
stopping at the feet of the distant mountains. My master
owns most of the land – bought by dishonest money. I give
the cup to my master.
“Mmm, well done, Virgilio,” the boss says, licking his
lips after a sip. “Now, make sure that Eladio has sold the new
shipment.”
“Of course, sir.” I go, off to see if my boss is going to
have a bigger wallet, if he will be able to buy more land for
his workers to plow, more dolls for his daughters to play with.
Stephen Hoyle is a student
of English at Bridgewater
College with a passion for
writing and a love of medie-
val literature
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