TE19 Iberian Adventure

Manuel Astur

Maybe the children will play and shout with joy. The wonderful unison between the cowbell behind the stable and the bells of the small church resounding all over the valley. The crickets and the frogs in the river and the cuckoo and the dogs that bark because they are afraid that the day will end and not come back. The cries and the loud bangs from the men playing dominoes on the other side of the puppet theatre that are the yellow squares of the bar windows, where the shadows of their heads, projected on the wall by the lamp, seem to want to escape. The women’s conversations, going over the latest mundane gossip at the doors of their houses. Perhaps everything and everyone is still there, perhaps they remain because she is still there to remember them. Look at her, sitting on a little wicker chair in front of what used to be her house. She says that when she dies, she wants to be buried there, where her loved ones and their children have abandoned hope. A grandson has suggested cremating her and taking the ashes to the cemetery. Perhaps even scattering some of them in the town square. They haven’t mentioned this to her, but that’s what they’ve decided.

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