He pushed the old man’s body into the hole, but, as it fell, it turned over and lay face down. The boy gave an angry shake of his head. The hole was so narrow that it took him more than half an hour to turn the body over. Then he gave the old man one last glance before covering his face with a scrap of blanket. He filled the hole with earth until it was level with the ground, scattering any excess soil round about and covering the grave with pine needles. Any dampness left after his excavations would evaporate in a few hours and the grave would be invisible. He remained standing for a while, contemplating the spot where the goatherd lay buried, then he went off in search of something. He returned with a couple of twigs no more than a few inches long and placed them on the ground, one on top of the other, to form a cross. He studied that cross, unable to understand what possible significance those two pieces of wood could have in that grim, remote place. He began to say the Lord’s Prayer, but halfway through, the words died on his lips and he stopped. He would have liked to know the old man’s name.
He spent what remained of the afternoon resting. He ate whatever he fancied from the panniers and drank as much milk as he could extract from the goats. Then he lay dozing, his head on the panniers and, before it was completely dark, loaded up the donkey, dismantled the corral and set off again. With the Pole Star as guide, they travelled in the moonlight along the flat, empty roads leading north. Sometimes they lost their way, but sooner or later, they always found a path that brought them back so that they were once again heading in the right direction.
One morning, while taking shelter in a run-down old house intended for itinerant road menders, he heard rain drumming on a fallen sheet of corrugated iron. Standing in the dilapidated doorway, he watched the extraordinary spectacle taking place before him. The sky full of grey clouds in the middle of the morning and a transparent light that lent an unfamiliar clarity to the surrounding objects. The fat drops burst on impact with the dusty ground but did not penetrate. He went back into the house and emerged carrying the water pitcher under his arm. He left the pitcher on the ground a few feet away from the house. Then he went back and stood in the doorway for as long as the rain lasted, watching as God temporarily slackened the screws on his torment.
Author’s acknowledgements
The author would like to thank Raquel Torres, Arantxa Martínez, Elena Ramírez, Juan María Jiménez, Javier Espada, Espartaco Martínez, Verónica Manrique, Francisco Rabasco, Gustavo González, Fátima Carrasco, María Camón, Diego Álvarez, Germán Díaz, David Picazo and Manuel Pavón.
Carmen Jaramillo deserves a special mention. She improved the book with her enthusiastic support and, by her example, improved the author too.
Translator’s acknowledgements
I would like to thank the author for his generosity and patience in answering my many queries and, I am grateful too, as always, to Anella McDermott and Ben Sherriff for all their help and advice.