TE19 Iberian Adventure

Manuel Astur

Lino traced some trembling symbols that were more like a hominid’s handprint on the wall of a cave than writing.

“All right, you idiot. That’ll do.” And he put the documents in the case. He stood up, brushed his hair back, and turned around, ready to leave. But then he stopped, as if he had an idea, and said, “Lino, let me explain. What you have just signed is a document agreeing to take responsibility for the mortgage.” He hesitated. “No, let me put it another way. It’s more like these papers mean that everything you have, that was yours and mine because it was formerly mum and dad’s, the house, the plots, the granary, the orchard, the cows, everything, is no longer yours or mine, but now belongs to some men who will come for it any day now. Do you understand?” But Lino didn’t understand. His brother took a flask from his inside pocket, as if he felt a slight sting of shame or guilt, and took a drink. The odor of alcohol on his breath drowned out the aroma of earth and fresh grass. As if arguing with himself, he plucked up his courage and retorted, settling the matter: “Look, asshole. You have no home, no land, no gardens, no nothing. You don’t have anything anymore. Pack up all your shit and when they come, leave, because they won’t tell you twice and I don’t want any more trouble, understand?” And he took another drink.

And then Lino hits him.

His brother drops the flask, puts his hands to his head, and feels with his fingers, delicately, as if a bow he wore in his hair had come undone. When the penny drops, he looks at Lino as if he were seeing him for the first time, frowning, puzzled but not 198