Pig's Foot (11 page)

‘People always wondered how I could cut so much sugar cane, how I could hack away all day and never tire. I'll tell you: hatred. It was hatred that drove me to be the best. With every swing of my machete, I vented my fury; I imagined the sugar cane was my enemy and so I hacked at it and sometimes howled with rage and I went on swinging late into the night, long after the other
macheteros
had gone home. Still the hatred would burn inside me and I would carry on until dawn; this is how I came to be the best. Do not fear being hated; hatred is not such a bad thing; it means people leave you in peace.' El Mozambique put the machete back where he had found it. Benicio felt himself relax.

‘But we are not here to speak of unpleasant things, are we? You are wondering why I invited you into my house. Firstly, because no one ever visits me and secondly, because we have a mutual friend. Did you know that?'

‘A friend, señor?'

‘Indeed. It was she who said I should meet you. You know Ester?'

‘No, señor.'

‘Of course you know her! Ester, come out of the kitchen!'

The midwife stepped into the room. She was wearing the clothes she had been wearing the first time Grandpa Benicio ever saw her. She stopped, arms folded, right between them, and from the timid way that she moved it was clear she too was scared.

‘Do you recognise her now?'

‘Yes, señor. I know this lady, but I've only ever seen her once: the time she told me I was a sad child.'

El Mozambique let out a bear-like roar and doubled over. Benicio and the midwife flinched, then Ester smiled and Benicio noticed that all her upper teeth were missing. El Mozambique could not stop laughing. ‘So you told the kid he was a sad child? The things you came out with, Ester. What do you know of sadness? Pay her no heed, Benicio, the weight of her tits has left her addled in the head. We like Ester when she keeps her trap shut, don't we, Benicio? So not another word out of you, Ester, do you hear me? Now go back to scrubbing your pots, we men have things to discuss.'

The midwife pouted and gave Benicio a miserable look. Then, head down, she trudged back whence she had come.

‘Tell me a little about you,' said El Mozambique.

‘About me?'

‘Indeed.'

‘Well, I have a sister and . . .'

‘And a brother named Melecio who recites poetry. All this I know already. Tell me about . . .' The man's eyes had alighted on the amulet around Benicio's neck. He walked over to the boy, took the pig's foot in his hand and did as he had when staring at his face: he studied it as though he were a detective.

‘I should have expected it. Who gave this to you?'

‘It was given to me by my papá, José. I've had it since I was born. My father says it brings good luck.'

‘Given you by your father José? Don't make me laugh. It's very handsome. Why don't we trade? I'll give you one of my puppies in exchange for your necklet.'

‘I can't, señor.'

‘What do you mean you can't?'

‘I told you, it was a gift from my parents.'

The murderous expression returned to the face of El Mozambique. He grabbed the necklet again and began to tug. Benicio started to scream, flailing his thin arms, biting the giant's hand, struggling to stop him from taking the amulet. Just then the dogs began to bark.

‘Benicio! Benicio, are you in there?' called a voice from outside. With a fierce wrench, Benicio managed to prise the giant's hand from the talisman and, like a flash of lightning, bolted outside where he found the whole village gathered. Melecio, Ignacio el Jabao and Geru were standing in front; behind them stood Epifanio Vilo and his brood, followed by a throng of people crowded around José, waiting impatiently for something they had spent years hoping might one day happen.

‘Benicio! What possessed you to go bothering El Mozambique?' roared José, breaking through the crowd encircling him. The dogs were still barking. Abruptly, they fell silent as the imposing figure of their master pushed his way past and faced down the crowd.

‘Uh . . . Mozambique, I apologise for Benicio's intrusion . . .'

‘There was no intrusion. I was just telling him how much I admired his amulet.'

‘He's lying, Papi. He tried to steal it from me,' wailed Benicio in despair.

Among the crowd, indignant voices began to clamour.

‘Did you hear that, José?' said Epifanio Vilo. ‘It's like we've been telling you for years. This man is a menace.' The assembled crowd chorused their support. The clamour rolled around the woods like a thunderclap.

‘That's enough, señores, that's enough. El Mozambique has not harmed anyone. You may not like the way he lives, but every man has a right to live as he pleases. This is the great principle of freedom.'

‘Perhaps, but that same freedom can become catastrophe if not used wisely,' said Abelardo Cabrera. ‘Besides, we all hate the man. It is not merely one or two people, everyone despises him, so there must be some reason. As the old saying goes, when the river roars, there are rocks beneath.'

El Mozambique stood smiling at everyone.

‘Hatred is a harsh word, Abelardo,' said José. ‘When someone hates, he stoops lower than the man he hates, and that is not good. We hate in others that which we hate in ourselves; that is why I believe hatred is too strong a word.'

Everyone fell silent, shaking their heads in disbelief.

‘It's true, Papá . . . El Mozambique tried to . . .'

‘Shut your mouth, Benicio,' said José, taking the boy by the shoulders and moving him to one side. ‘Mozambique, why don't we prove to everyone here that you don't devour people, why don't you come and join us for the feast, hey?'

‘Never,' said El Mozambique categorically, ‘You all decided long ago that I was the devil himself. Let us leave it so.'

‘So you agree with these people?'

‘Since when has anyone cared what I believe? I've already admitted that I am evil, and I am not about to try and change anyone's mind since the only one who needs to remain calm is me. I know that they are all simply waiting for me to die and perhaps one of these days I will give them that satisfaction. Who knows? Now get the hell off my property, all of you, before I throw you to the dogs.'

José stood for a moment, brooding over what El Mozambique had said. The neighbours waited, impatient, each wondering how the Mandinga would react.

‘You know something, Mozambique? You might not realise it, but if that is how you think, then you began dying long ago. If that is how you want to live, well then wallow in your contempt, but don't say we didn't warn you. All right? Let's go,
caballeros
. Let's go back to the fiesta.'

‘But, José,' howled the neighbours in chorus, ‘how can you do this?'

‘Calm down, calm down,' José said firmly. ‘Can't you see the man's a pitiful wretch? Leave him alone, he has enough misery in his life.'

With great misgiving, all did as José insisted. They headed back down the path towards the flame tree and the festivities, shielding their eyes against the dust whipped by the wind. Melecio and Gertrudis hugged their brother.

‘We were scared we'd never see you again. Ignacio said children are El Mozambique's favourite food,' said Geru, giving him a kiss. ‘So, are you going to tell us what happened or not?'

Benicio told them everything that had happened. Then all three glared at Ignacio el Jabao, walking hand in hand with his father, laughing as he pointed at them. Lastly, they glanced back at El Mozambique who was standing where they had left him, staring at them with his pale eyes, cackling malevolently and licking his lips.

The Village Schoolteacher

When they reached home, Betina was sitting waiting angrily in the doorway. She asked Benicio what had happened and Grandfather explained that it had all been Ignacio el Jabao’s fault for saying he was a fucking pussy if he didn’t throw a stone at El Mozambique. Betina’s eyes grew wide with horror. José started to laugh. ‘Don’t laugh, José, this is not funny. Benicio, what kind of language is that? Don’t ever let me hear you say a word like that again or I’ll cut your tongue out. The only one in this house allowed to swear is me. Even your father would not do such a thing, do you understand? And all three of you are forbidden from hanging around with Ignacio. As punishment, you can all go to your rooms.’

Geru slowly headed for her room but Melecio, considering the punishment was unfair, bowed his head, saying that he was to blame for everything. Benicio planted himself in front of Betina and told her not to listen to Melecio, that what had actually happened was that Ignacio had said he was nothing like his father, some man called Oscar.

‘Who is Oscar, Mami?’

Betina and José looked at each other conspiratorially and Betina told Benicio that he shouldn’t listen to that little monster Ignacio and once again told all of them to go to bed.

The children did as they were told, but it did not end there. Every time Ignacio encountered Benicio, under the flame tree, in Chinaman Li’s store, or at the Festival of Birth, he repeated the same taunt: ‘Your papá’s name was Oscar.’ This went on, until one day, unable to bear the insults any longer, Benicio threw a stone that cracked Ignacio’s skull and the poor boy ran home howling, his head streaming blood. His parents immediately went to see Betina and José to find out what had happened.

‘Ignacio won’t leave me alone,’ said Benicio, sobbing. ‘He’s telling everyone that you’re not my parents and it’s driving me mad.’

The four adults decided that the moment had come for the boy to learn the truth. The Jabaos went back to their house and Betina made linden tea for the children and coffee for the adults. Then she sat all the children around the table and told them what had happened to Benicio’s true parents.

‘So Ignacio was telling the truth, you’re not my real parents.’

‘Of course we are,’ said José, putting a hand on Benicio’s shoulder. ‘Parents are not those who give birth to you, they are the people who raise you.’ The boy bowed his head and pressed the amulet to his chest. It was hard for him to accept that his mother had died at the very moment he was born, and that his real father had chosen to take his own life, leaving him in the care of his friends Betina and José. He wondered how an orphan was supposed to feel. He wondered this and as he did so he felt a sharp pain in his head, a pain that made it impossible for him to clearly see the origin of things. He got up from his chair and ran to the flame tree.

‘Let him go, Betina. It’s normal for him to feel this way. He needs time to think.’

Betina closed the door. José put an arm around her shoulders and they went to their room.

Melecio and Gertrudis went looking for their brother beneath the flame tree.

‘I knew it,’ said Melecio. ‘You look nothing like me, and besides your bellybutton sticks out. But it doesn’t matter,’ he added. ‘No one can ever say that we’re not brothers.’

The three children hugged. Benicio ate the cracker Gertrudis had brought him and a few minutes later in the company of his half-siblings he felt much better. The sky grew thick with dark clouds and, in the wink of an eye, the three figures were gathered into the darkness.

The third Sunday came and, as agreed, the villagers discussed who would go to study in El Cobre so they could teach everyone to read and write. They cast votes, a show of hands for each of the various options: Juan Carlos (another Jabao), Anastasia Aquelarre, Ana Cabrera, Silvia Santacruz and Melecio Mandinga. Since everyone voted for their own family, it was logical that the largest family would win, meaning that Juan Carlos would go to El Cobre.

‘One moment, señores,’ said José, rising from his chair. ‘This is not right.’

Pablo, the head of the Jabao clan, protested that the voting had been fair, that no one had cheated.

‘There was no cheating, but in a vote it was inevitable that your family would win because there are more of you. We have to think of another way to decide.’

‘All right. Why don’t we decide by having a sack race?’ suggested El Jabao.

‘Pablo, you know very well that your family would win a sack race as well,’ said José, and all the neighbours agreed.

Everyone began to advocate contests that their family was likely to win.

‘It should be the person who sews best,’ proposed the Santacruz family.

‘The best storyteller should decide it,’ suggested Evaristo.

Juanita the wise-woman continued to insist that she should be the one to go and threatened that a flood lasting three months would descend upon Pata de Puerco if she were not chosen.

Suddenly, a distant rumbling attracted everyone’s attention. It sounded like a carriage moving at great speed. The villagers went out on to the Callejón de la Rosa to witness the miracle: a stranger arriving in the village for the first time. The carriage was moving at great speed, raising clouds of dust that made it impossible to see anything.

‘Didn’t I tell you? I knew that sooner or later it would have to come this way,’ said José.