I live in a cheap house, of tin sheet. From my narrow window, without fine curtains, I see the chickens pecking the sun. My house is a simple house.
I have a blanket, a bit of flour, some eggs and an orchard that I water with my sweat.
I have gray hair, the memory of my dreams, and a crippled dog who follows me everywhere I go.
I have all this which is enough for a woman like me.
One day, a man came to my tin sheet house with a bone for my dog and for me a television.
He sat on my only chair and immediately smiled at me:
- Think, kind woman, he said with a sure voice, what I’ve come to offer you is a better future, a house with a heater and money to pay for an emperor’s burial for yourself. Think, kind woman, about the offer I am making and tell me your answer.
Of course I told him no, I took the bone away from my dog and gave it back to him along with the television. The house was mine, the orchard was mine, and I wouldn’t sell it to him not even for a million dollars.
All my neighbors took their television, sold their tin sheet houses, their orchards. Their dogs howled for nights, with their tail between their legs, until someone killed them.
They built in our meager lots- highways, malls, factories, workshops. They bought sky parcels, they contaminated the fresh air, built floors, cathedrals, destroyed mountains, installed alarm systems, surveillance systems. Every neighbor spied on his brother, every brother envied what was not theirs. Everyone had fear, fear of losing their jobs and not being able to pay their bills, fear that someone would steal their absurd possessions, fear of the boss, fear of their peers, fear of pregnancies, of pre-retirement, of God’s punishment, the fear of the child of not being useful as an adult, fear of the future, of the truth, fear of suffering, of dying, of living, fear of fear…and when finally all their fears had been experimented with, they noticed me, because I had a house with no locks, a pair of chickens and a dog. They saw this old lady who smiled since the wake of dawn and had no fear. They wanted, the day they saw me, to be like me again.
Then the suited man came again. That stupid fool. He came into my house escorted and threatened me:
-Do me the favor, he said, with his voice shaking, and don’t show happiness, it’s a crime that is punishable with prison. In this country nobody laughs, do what I am telling you or I’ll send out a troop.
They killed my dog. They said in the newspapers, in the radio, and in the television that he was the mastermind of a dangerous organization. They also said that I was subversive, and the leader of my guerilla, what do I know, that I kept under my mattress a getaway car, a hundred Kalashnikovs, hand grenades and a computer.
All of that made me laugh. It was the first time in history that the fear fabricators were shaking at the sight of a calm, old lady…looking at them head on, sticking out my tongue, shameless, and occasionally giving them the finger.
They were shaking because they knew that by seeing me, there could be one who would desire to, once again own a cheap, tin sheet house, there could be one who would desire to once again own an orchard to water it with their own sweat, and this could be the end of their world of benefit and desperation.
That’s why they came back to kill my crippled dog, but I got a better one.
They burned down my tin sheet house, but I built one out of cardboard.
They demolished my orchard, and tortured me and finally brought doctors who said that I was terminally ill of insubordination.
Now I live somewhat tranquil with my new dog who follows me everywhere I go. Next to my cheap house, a crazy old man has built one of wood without heating.
Every morning we sing with our terrible voices and we laugh until the sun goes down. My neighbor says that soon there’ll be more cheap houses, of tin sheet with narrow windows without fine curtains. My neighbor says that now everyone laughs when they hear someone say that we are dangerous, to not come near us…I also laugh with these things, I am an old woman, I am no longer scared of anything, and much less of those who have in their brain, hay, manure, and lethal doses of submission.
I have a blanket, a bit of flour, some eggs and an orchard that I water with my sweat.
I have gray hair, the memory of my dreams, and a crippled dog who follows me everywhere I go.
I have all this which is enough for a woman like me.
One day, a man came to my tin sheet house with a bone for my dog and for me a television.
He sat on my only chair and immediately smiled at me:
- Think, kind woman, he said with a sure voice, what I’ve come to offer you is a better future, a house with a heater and money to pay for an emperor’s burial for yourself. Think, kind woman, about the offer I am making and tell me your answer.
Of course I told him no, I took the bone away from my dog and gave it back to him along with the television. The house was mine, the orchard was mine, and I wouldn’t sell it to him not even for a million dollars.
All my neighbors took their television, sold their tin sheet houses, their orchards. Their dogs howled for nights, with their tail between their legs, until someone killed them.
They built in our meager lots- highways, malls, factories, workshops. They bought sky parcels, they contaminated the fresh air, built floors, cathedrals, destroyed mountains, installed alarm systems, surveillance systems. Every neighbor spied on his brother, every brother envied what was not theirs. Everyone had fear, fear of losing their jobs and not being able to pay their bills, fear that someone would steal their absurd possessions, fear of the boss, fear of their peers, fear of pregnancies, of pre-retirement, of God’s punishment, the fear of the child of not being useful as an adult, fear of the future, of the truth, fear of suffering, of dying, of living, fear of fear…and when finally all their fears had been experimented with, they noticed me, because I had a house with no locks, a pair of chickens and a dog. They saw this old lady who smiled since the wake of dawn and had no fear. They wanted, the day they saw me, to be like me again.
Then the suited man came again. That stupid fool. He came into my house escorted and threatened me:
-Do me the favor, he said, with his voice shaking, and don’t show happiness, it’s a crime that is punishable with prison. In this country nobody laughs, do what I am telling you or I’ll send out a troop.
They killed my dog. They said in the newspapers, in the radio, and in the television that he was the mastermind of a dangerous organization. They also said that I was subversive, and the leader of my guerilla, what do I know, that I kept under my mattress a getaway car, a hundred Kalashnikovs, hand grenades and a computer.
All of that made me laugh. It was the first time in history that the fear fabricators were shaking at the sight of a calm, old lady…looking at them head on, sticking out my tongue, shameless, and occasionally giving them the finger.
They were shaking because they knew that by seeing me, there could be one who would desire to, once again own a cheap, tin sheet house, there could be one who would desire to once again own an orchard to water it with their own sweat, and this could be the end of their world of benefit and desperation.
That’s why they came back to kill my crippled dog, but I got a better one.
They burned down my tin sheet house, but I built one out of cardboard.
They demolished my orchard, and tortured me and finally brought doctors who said that I was terminally ill of insubordination.
Now I live somewhat tranquil with my new dog who follows me everywhere I go. Next to my cheap house, a crazy old man has built one of wood without heating.
Every morning we sing with our terrible voices and we laugh until the sun goes down. My neighbor says that soon there’ll be more cheap houses, of tin sheet with narrow windows without fine curtains. My neighbor says that now everyone laughs when they hear someone say that we are dangerous, to not come near us…I also laugh with these things, I am an old woman, I am no longer scared of anything, and much less of those who have in their brain, hay, manure, and lethal doses of submission.
Translated by: me
Read the original: http://tizone.wordpress.com/2007/12/09/el-cuento-de-la-especulacion/
