Post by DavidMc on Oct 3, 2006 4:58:55 GMT -6
The Good the Bad and the Donkey.
Once upon a time in the Axarquia a man was walking along a dirt road that ran between Velez-Malaga and the East. As night began to fall he reached the brow of a hill and looking down into the valley saw a tiny village lying there like a patch of snow. The man had been walking since day-break and it was time to rest for the night.
Far below In the village of ‘Sagrada’ Maria Farga was busy serving drinks to the men that gathered there each evening, when suddenly the bar door blew open and a stranger entered. Maria knew all the men of the village so she recognised him instantly for the stranger that he was. The Men watched in silent reverence as the stranger crossed the space between himself and Maria.
“Buenos tardes Senora, I am thinking I would like to rest here this night”
The Stranger’s voice was soft and gentle almost a contradiction of his physical presence which was tall and powerful.
Maria looked into the hollow eyes of the stranger. If he had known the history of this place, he would not have wanted to choose it as a refuge. It had been many years since anybody had stayed a night under Maria Farga’s roof.
“Come with me Senor, I will show you.”
The Stranger followed her through the tiny kitchen where an old woman sat beside a stove cracking almonds with a hammer. Then through a narrow passage and up a flight of stairs. The wind was starting to whisper outside in the dusk, and the oil lamps flickered as they passed..
“Here is the room Senor.”
The door opened into a small space. It was sparsely furnished and a large wooden cross hung above the bed. Maria offered to bring the stranger a simple supper of bread and cheese, but he declined. “Then I will serve you breakfast at seven”
The stranger nodded his thanks and Maria left the room.
Once she had left the Man opened the French windows. The wind was blowing from the north and he knew there would be rain before morning. In the distance he could hear the braying of a Donkey. Turning back into the room he began to unpack his few possessions, and placed them in the locker draw beside the bed.
First his Bible which was worn and dog-eared with use; then a thick deck of bank notes totalling many thousands of pesetas, and finally his gun, which once had been his Father’s. Then reaching above the bed he removed the wooden cross and placed it in a corner of the room.
Sometime later, lying on the bed, hands behind his head the Man considered the events of the last thirty six hours. He had been given no choice in his part in the things that had occurred, and tomorrow would see a final resolution.
Meanwhile downstairs in the bar the locals swam in piranha infested water, as much speculation ensued as to the nature of the stranger in their midst.
“I hear there was a robbery on the ‘Velez Road.’ Pepe Gorgonzola spat his cacahuete shell onto the floor. “could be the stranger.”
From behind the bar Maria nailed him with a stare. “He had the voice of a priest I believe him to be a Man of God!”
Pepe leered at her, his single front tooth protruding like a tombstone. He had been womanless now for nearly four years, and Maria had become the object of his lust.
Maria turned away in disgust continuing to polish the wine glasses.
“Maybe he is the one who held up the gold delivery.” Said Old Man Carlos, “I don’t like it when strangers come to town.”
“You’re a stranger in your own house.” Snorted Maria. “what would you know of such things?”
There was cackling from amongst the other Men. They knew that Old Man Carlos had been cuckolded long ago, and the bar room was now his only solace. Carlos downed another fino and stared down at the sawdust floor.
Further down in time a quiet descended on the small gathering, and eyes were cast upwards toward the ceiling….
In his bed the stranger slept peacefully, the rise and fall of his breathing slow and rhythmic, then sometime in the night he awoke, aware of another presence by his side, turning he stared into the raven black eyes of Maria Farga.
Soundlessly her hand began to caress him and the stranger’s breath became ragged and uneven.
In the distance, he could hear the braying of a Donkey.
The little village of ‘Sagrada’ slept on, unaware as two Men dressed in black moved stealthily through their rain washed streets. Dripping they were drawn by the braying of a Donkey and they stopped beside a stable. A place to shelter for awhile.
As Morning dawned fresh and light, Maria sang to herself as she prepared the stranger ‘s breakfast.
“You sound happy this morning.” Rasped her Mother from beside the stove. “Been up to your old tricks again?”
Maria ignored her and continued with her preparations. It was almost seven and the stranger would soon be down to eat. Maria smiled a secret smile. No doubt he would have quite an appetite. But as the minutes decayed she became anxious, until by 7.30 she could wait no more and walking quickly to the stranger’s room, and entered without knocking.
The stranger had gone. Leaving only a letter, attached to a 5000 peseta note.
Maria was starting to read the letter when she heard a commotion down below. Rushing down the stairs she was greeted by the dishevelled Pepe Gorgonzola moaning insanely ‘Mi Burro Ernesto… Ernesto…Mi Burro has gone… By this time a small knot of Men had arrived to try and placate Pepe.. but to no avail.. his litany carried on.
Finally rushing into the street Pepe ran towards his stable, hotly pursued by the townsfolk. Inside the stable lay the gunshot riddled bodies of two men dressed in black, and whilst Pepe continued to wail… mi burro… Maria became aware of the gun dangling from Pepes hand….
High on the brow of the hill overlooking ‘Sagrada’ the man glanced down at the village, and watched the tiny specs of the towns folk, then hoisting up the wooden cross to his shoulder he mounted the braying Ernesto and rode off towards the East.
David McConville 2004
Once upon a time in the Axarquia a man was walking along a dirt road that ran between Velez-Malaga and the East. As night began to fall he reached the brow of a hill and looking down into the valley saw a tiny village lying there like a patch of snow. The man had been walking since day-break and it was time to rest for the night.
Far below In the village of ‘Sagrada’ Maria Farga was busy serving drinks to the men that gathered there each evening, when suddenly the bar door blew open and a stranger entered. Maria knew all the men of the village so she recognised him instantly for the stranger that he was. The Men watched in silent reverence as the stranger crossed the space between himself and Maria.
“Buenos tardes Senora, I am thinking I would like to rest here this night”
The Stranger’s voice was soft and gentle almost a contradiction of his physical presence which was tall and powerful.
Maria looked into the hollow eyes of the stranger. If he had known the history of this place, he would not have wanted to choose it as a refuge. It had been many years since anybody had stayed a night under Maria Farga’s roof.
“Come with me Senor, I will show you.”
The Stranger followed her through the tiny kitchen where an old woman sat beside a stove cracking almonds with a hammer. Then through a narrow passage and up a flight of stairs. The wind was starting to whisper outside in the dusk, and the oil lamps flickered as they passed..
“Here is the room Senor.”
The door opened into a small space. It was sparsely furnished and a large wooden cross hung above the bed. Maria offered to bring the stranger a simple supper of bread and cheese, but he declined. “Then I will serve you breakfast at seven”
The stranger nodded his thanks and Maria left the room.
Once she had left the Man opened the French windows. The wind was blowing from the north and he knew there would be rain before morning. In the distance he could hear the braying of a Donkey. Turning back into the room he began to unpack his few possessions, and placed them in the locker draw beside the bed.
First his Bible which was worn and dog-eared with use; then a thick deck of bank notes totalling many thousands of pesetas, and finally his gun, which once had been his Father’s. Then reaching above the bed he removed the wooden cross and placed it in a corner of the room.
Sometime later, lying on the bed, hands behind his head the Man considered the events of the last thirty six hours. He had been given no choice in his part in the things that had occurred, and tomorrow would see a final resolution.
Meanwhile downstairs in the bar the locals swam in piranha infested water, as much speculation ensued as to the nature of the stranger in their midst.
“I hear there was a robbery on the ‘Velez Road.’ Pepe Gorgonzola spat his cacahuete shell onto the floor. “could be the stranger.”
From behind the bar Maria nailed him with a stare. “He had the voice of a priest I believe him to be a Man of God!”
Pepe leered at her, his single front tooth protruding like a tombstone. He had been womanless now for nearly four years, and Maria had become the object of his lust.
Maria turned away in disgust continuing to polish the wine glasses.
“Maybe he is the one who held up the gold delivery.” Said Old Man Carlos, “I don’t like it when strangers come to town.”
“You’re a stranger in your own house.” Snorted Maria. “what would you know of such things?”
There was cackling from amongst the other Men. They knew that Old Man Carlos had been cuckolded long ago, and the bar room was now his only solace. Carlos downed another fino and stared down at the sawdust floor.
Further down in time a quiet descended on the small gathering, and eyes were cast upwards toward the ceiling….
In his bed the stranger slept peacefully, the rise and fall of his breathing slow and rhythmic, then sometime in the night he awoke, aware of another presence by his side, turning he stared into the raven black eyes of Maria Farga.
Soundlessly her hand began to caress him and the stranger’s breath became ragged and uneven.
In the distance, he could hear the braying of a Donkey.
The little village of ‘Sagrada’ slept on, unaware as two Men dressed in black moved stealthily through their rain washed streets. Dripping they were drawn by the braying of a Donkey and they stopped beside a stable. A place to shelter for awhile.
As Morning dawned fresh and light, Maria sang to herself as she prepared the stranger ‘s breakfast.
“You sound happy this morning.” Rasped her Mother from beside the stove. “Been up to your old tricks again?”
Maria ignored her and continued with her preparations. It was almost seven and the stranger would soon be down to eat. Maria smiled a secret smile. No doubt he would have quite an appetite. But as the minutes decayed she became anxious, until by 7.30 she could wait no more and walking quickly to the stranger’s room, and entered without knocking.
The stranger had gone. Leaving only a letter, attached to a 5000 peseta note.
Maria was starting to read the letter when she heard a commotion down below. Rushing down the stairs she was greeted by the dishevelled Pepe Gorgonzola moaning insanely ‘Mi Burro Ernesto… Ernesto…Mi Burro has gone… By this time a small knot of Men had arrived to try and placate Pepe.. but to no avail.. his litany carried on.
Finally rushing into the street Pepe ran towards his stable, hotly pursued by the townsfolk. Inside the stable lay the gunshot riddled bodies of two men dressed in black, and whilst Pepe continued to wail… mi burro… Maria became aware of the gun dangling from Pepes hand….
High on the brow of the hill overlooking ‘Sagrada’ the man glanced down at the village, and watched the tiny specs of the towns folk, then hoisting up the wooden cross to his shoulder he mounted the braying Ernesto and rode off towards the East.
David McConville 2004
