Short Stories 3

 

Short   Stories

 

 

The shotgun

Julio Ardiles Gray

He advanced among the orange trees. The sun was beating down so hard it made him squint. The dove then jumped from one branch to another, and to another, and was lost among the high foliage. With the shotgun raised, Matías approached the trunk of the tree. However, no matter how hard he examined leaf by leaf, he could not find the dove. Surprised, he scratched the back of his neck. Suddenly, above his head he felt a noise. He looked again. Nestled among some branches, there was a bird. It was not his dove; it was a bird of a color between bluish and ashen. Carefully, Matias rested the gun on his shoulder and raised the trigger. "Since it's not the dove," he told himself, "I'm not going to return home empty-handed." Nevertheless, at that moment, the bird jumped onto a pitchfork, flapped its wings and, puffing up the ruff, began to sing. Matias, who had already reached the first break, let go of the trigger and listened. How strange, he told himself. I've never heard a bird like this sing”.

 The trill, in the siesta circle, rose like a golden and rustling tree. To Matias it seemed that more than the song of the bird, what was shed were the sleepy scales of the siesta itself. In addition, a sweet drowsiness began to enter him, a desire to abandon himself to the memories of happy times and to do nothing more than listen to the song of the bird that continued to rise, this time like a bittersweet and green perfum. To hear better, he dropped the shotgun to one side and shuffled over to the tree to lean on the trunk. The bird had disappeared, but its song was still in the air.

 And he could not resist the temptation to look up at the sky and raised his eyes. Up there, amid idle clouds that fluttered gigantic thistle flowers, two great black birds flew in huge languid circles. Matias, then, could not distinguish if the sweetness he felt came from the song of that bird or from the clouds that were fading like drunks in the distance. The singing, then, suddenly ended. The birds and clouds disappeared and he came to. "I'm getting very abrupt," he told himself as he shook his head.

He looked for the shotgun, but could not find it where he thought he had left it.

 He walked further, he came back here, but the weapon had disappeared. -This makes me silly! He yelled aloud. And everything he did afterwards was in vain.

 After an hour, already tired, he said to himself: “I will go home to find my boy. Between the two of us we will find it lighter. I cannot lose such a beautiful weapon like this ”. And she launched herself cutting the field until she reached the alley. Entering the town was when he began to feel something strange. He was somewhat disoriented: he missed some buildings and others seemed to him that he had never seen them in his life. As he progressed, the sensation grew. And when he got home, fear blew into his face a vague but terrible presentiment. He entered the hall. In the courtyard, four boys were playing and singing. When they saw him, they disbanded shouting: -The old…! The old…! A woman came out of a room, brushing the lint from her skirt. Matias stammered with a small voice: -Who are you…? I am looking for Leandro ... The woman looked at him for a long time and frowned. "What do you say, good man?" -said. "I'm looking for Leandro," Matías stammered. To my son Leandro… This is my house. -His house? Said the woman. -Yes. My home! Shouted Matias. Matias Fernandez’s house. The woman made a strange gesture. "It was…" he said, smiling sadly. We bought it twenty years ago when Don Matías disappeared and all his children left this town. -What! Cried Matias, raising his hands as if to defend himself. "Yes ..." agreed the fearful woman. Then, Matias looked at his hands and realized that they were wrinkled, very wrinkled and tremulous like those of a very old man. And he fled in terror with a cry.

End

Nothing moved us so much

Alfredo Armas Alfonzo

 

Nothing moved us so much at fourteen as the death of María, the pure girl from Jorge Isaacs' book. This little volume, bound in red leather, with golden edges and Morocco tafilets, had belonged to Grandfather Ricardo Alfonso's library, and I found it in one of his trunks in the room in front of the tank. Only those walls know how I cried during the process of illness, death and burial of Maria.

 Therefore, when I went to the cemetery above to visit the grave of Edda Eligia, the dead little sister, I seemed to see the same sinister black bird perched on the iron arm of the cross.

 As I approached, the bird took flight squawking gloomily. My greatest happiness then would have been that tuberculosis killed Narciso Blanco's daughter, but the Whites were traditionally a family of healthy people.

 End

A lesson in humility James baldwin One day the Caliph Harun al Raschid organized a great banquet in the main hall of the palace. The walls and ceiling gleamed with gold and precious stones with which they were adorned. And the great table was decorated with exotic plants and flowers. There were the noblest men in all of Persia and Arabia. Many wise men, poets and musicians were also present as guests. After a long time after the party, the caliph turned to the poet and said: -Oh prince maker of beautiful poems, show us your skill, describe in verses this joyous and glorious banquet. The poet stood up and began with these words: Hail, O Caliph, and enjoy under the shelter of your extraordinary palace. "Good introduction," said Raschid. But let us hear more of your speech. The poet continued: -And that in each new dawn a new joy also comes to you. That every evening you see that all your wishes were fulfilled. -Well well! So go on with your poem. The poet bowed slightly in gratitude for the caliph's deferential words and continued: "But when the hour of death comes, oh my caliph, then you will learn that all the delights of life were but fleeting moments, like a sunset." The caliph's eyes filled with tears, and emotion drowned out his words. He covered his face with his hands and began to sob. Then one of the officers who was seated near the poet raised his voice: -High! The caliph wanted them to make him happy with pleasant things, and you are filling his head with very sad things. "Leave the poet alone," Raschid said. He has been able to see the blindness in me and tries to make me open my eyes. Harun al Raschid (Aaron the Just), was the greatest of the Baghdad caliphs. More stories about him can be found in that wonderful book known as Arabian Nights.

End

A lesson in humility

James Baldwin

 

One day the Caliph Harun al Raschid organized a great banquet in the main hall of the palace. The walls and ceiling gleamed with gold and precious stones with which they were adorned. And the great table was decorated with exotic plants and flowers. There were the noblest men in all of Persia and Arabia. Many wise men, poets and musicians were also present as guests. After a long time after the party, the caliph turned to the poet and said: -Oh prince maker of beautiful poems, show us your skill, describe in verses this joyous and glorious banquet. The poet stood up and began with these words: Hail, O Caliph, and enjoy under the shelter of your extraordinary palace. "Good introduction," said Raschid. However, let us hear more of your speech. The poet continued: -And that in each new dawn a new joy comes to you. That every evening you see that all your wishes were fulfilled. -Well! So go on with your poem. The poet bowed slightly in gratitude for the caliph's deferential words and continued: "But when the hour of death comes, oh my caliph, then you will learn that all the delights of life were but fleeting moments, like a sunset." The caliph's eyes filled with tears, and emotion drowned out his words. He covered his face with his hands and began to sob. Then one of the officers who was seated near the poet raised his voice: -High! The caliph wanted them to make him happy with pleasant things, and you are filling his head with very sad things. "Leave the poet alone," Raschid said. He has been able to see the blindness in me and tries to make me open my eyes. Harun al Raschid (Aaron the Just), was the greatest of the Baghdad caliphs. More stories about him can be found in that wonderful book known as Arabian Nights.

End

The unsuspecting master and the innocent servant

Mateo Bandello

 At the time when Maximilian Caesar was with a large army besieging Padua, a gentleman with his family escaped to take refuge in Mantua, and he told me that before the war a young German came to this city, who put himself in the service of a gentleman as a stable boy, because he did not know how to do anything other than look after the horses. He was nice-looking, but so innocent that he could be made to believe how much he wanted. The gentleman in his service had a passion for birds and spent all day hunting. As the German was only taking care of the stable, the master believed that he could entrust him with the care of cleaning his boots and greasing them so that they would be flexible. Arrigo, who was called the German, was between twenty-four and twenty-five years old, but he had not yet experienced what it was to put the devil in hell, and since he ate, worked and drank like a German, he was always with his bow drawn, without know what remedy to find for your illness. He had noticed several times that his master's boots, hard as they were, became soft and flexible after being oiled and put in the sun, and the innocent young man imagined that he would find in the same way the means of softening and making his instrument flexible. Therefore, he unbuttoned his fly and began to rub his member with the fat in the sun, to no avail, because it was always swollen and did not soften at all; but he persevered in the occupation, thinking that by dint of fat he would achieve his purpose. One day, the gentleman's wife went out to the patio to relieve herself and saw Arrigo behind the block with his piece in his hand, in an attitude of rubbing it with the fat. It was white as snow, and it seemed to the lady the most beautiful and sweet thing in the world. She was suddenly seized with a great desire to prove what such service she would do him, because her husband's was not half as thick or as nervous. It did not take her long to call Arrigo to tell her about the service in the block, and she said: -Arrigo, I do not know how to tell you what I think.

 In less than fifteen days, you have used more grease for the master's boots than the other servants in three months. What does this mean? I do not doubt that you make another use of it or that you sell it. Tell me the truth. I need to know it. What are you doing? Arrigo understood well what he was saying, but he did not know how to express his thoughts in Italian. Innocent and simple, he said what was happening to him, and to explain it better he unbuttoned his breeches and presented his piece in his hand in front of the lady, who was shaking with pleasure and her mouth was already watering, and explained to her how he used fat , adding that the remedy did him no good. "I am going," said the woman then, "since you are a faithful servant, to show you that what you are doing is true nonsense, which it is of no use to your illness; I, on the condition that you don't tell anyone, will teach you an excellent remedy. Come with me and you will see, so I will do it for you, how that large piece remains small and soft as a paste. The husband was out of town, and there was no one in the house that the lady might fear would see; thus, he led the young man to his room, and to give himself pleasure with him, he made him rub himself five times in a row in his fat. The remedy seemed admirable to the German, and everything went smoothly between the two. Every time there was ease and he felt his piece straighten, it was softened with the lady's fat. It happened that as Arrigo was more fond of this grease than that of boots, the day came when the gentleman wanted to go hunting and did not find his shoes clean or greased, and he became very angry for this reason. Good old Arrigo did not know what to say. "What do you want me to do now, drunk German?" cried the master, "what do you want me to do, you miserable easy chair?" These boots are so hard and so dry that neither you nor anyone else will be able to put them on. You are lazy and an animal. The boy, trembling with fear of being whipped, replied: "Don't bother yourself, sir; do not bother yourself, in a moment I will make them flexible. Bad stink, you filthy dog!" exclaimed the owner, angrier. Seeing his lord's anger grow, almost beside himself, Arrigo said: -Yes, yes sir. I will do what is necessary, if you have a moment of patience. As soon as I put them once in my mistress's womb, I assure you that they soften. The master wanted to know what recipe that was for such a sudden change, and then the German explained what happened in detail. Seeing that luck had made him Señor de Corneto, the master said nothing for the time being, but a few days later he told the German that he could find another owner since he no longer needed his services.

With affection,

Ruben