Juan Rulfo - Pedro Páramo

I watched the carts creaking by. The slowly moving oxen. The crunching of stones beneath the wheels. The men, seeming to doze.

… Every morning early the town trembles from the passing carts. They come from everywhere, loaded with niter, ears of corn, and fodder. The wheels creak and groan until the windows rattle and wake the people inside. That’s also the hour when the ovens are opened and you can smell the new-baked bread. Suddenly it will thunder. And rain. Maybe spring’s on its way. You’ll get used to the “suddenlys” there, my son.

Empty carts, churning the silence of the streets. Fading into the dark road of night. And shadows. The echo of shadows.

I thought of leaving. Up the hill I could sense the track I had followed when I came, like an open wound through the blackness of the mountains.

Then someone touched my shoulder.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to look for… ” I was going to say the name, but stopped. “I came to look for my father.”

“Why don’t you come in?”

I went in. Half the roof had fallen in on the house. The tiles lay on the ground. The roof on the ground. And in the other half were a man and a woman.

“Are you dead?” I asked them.

The woman smiled. The man’s gaze was serious.

“He’s drunk,” the man said.

“He’s just scared,” said the woman.

There was an oil stove. A reed cot, and a crude chair where the woman’s clothes were laid. Because she was naked, just as God had sent her into the world. And the man, too.

“We heard someone moaning and butting his head against our door. And there you were. What happened to you?”

“So many things have happened that all I want to do is sleep.”

“That’s what we were doing.”

“Let’s all sleep, then.”

My memories began to fade with the light of dawn.

From time to time I heard the sound of words, and marked a difference. Because until then, I realized, the words I had heard had been silent. There had been no sound, I had sensed them. But silently, the way you hear words in your dreams.

“Who could he be?” the woman was asking.

“Who knows?” the man replied.

“I wonder what brought him here?”

“Who knows?”

“I think I heard him say something about his father.”

“I heard him say that, too.”

“You don’t think he’s lost? Remember when those people happened by who said they were lost? They were looking for a place called Los Confines, and you told them you didn’t know where it was.”

“Yes, I remember. But let me sleep. It’s not dawn yet.”

“But it will be before long. And I’m talking to you because I want you to wake up. You told me to remind you before dawn. That’s why I’m doing it. Get up!”

“Why do you want me to get up?”

“I don’t know why. You told me last night to wake you. You didn’t tell me why.”

“If that’s your only reason, let me sleep. Didn’t you hear what the man said when he came? To let him sleep. That was all he had to say.”

It seemed as if the voices were moving away. Fading. Being choked off. No one was saying anything now. It was a dream.

But after a while, it began again:

“He moved. I’ll bet he’s about to wake up. And if he sees us here he’ll ask questions.”

“What questions can he ask?”

“Well. He’ll have to say something, won’t he?”

“Leave him alone. He must be very tired.”

“You think so?”

“That’s enough, woman.”

“Look, he’s moving. See how he’s tossing? Like something inside him was jerking him around. I know, because that’s happened to me.”

“What’s happened to you?”

“That.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I wouldn’t mention it except that when I see him tossing in his sleep like that I remember what happened to me the first time you did it to me. How it hurt, and how bad I felt about doing it.”

“What do you mean, ‘it’?”

“How I felt right after you did it to me, and how, whether you like it or not, I knew it wasn’t done right.”

“Are you going to start that again? Why don’t you go to sleep, and let me sleep, too.”

“You asked me to remind you. That’s what I’m doing. Dear God, I’m doing what you asked me to. Come on! It’s almost time for you to get up.”

“Leave me alone, woman.”

The man seemed to sleep. The woman kept on scolding, but in a quiet voice:

“It must be after dawn by now, because I can see light. I can see that man from here, and if I can see him it’s only because there’s enough light to see. The sun will be up before long. I don’t need to tell you that. What do you bet he’s done something wrong. And we took him in. It doesn’t matter that it was only for tonight; we hid him. And in the long run that will mean trouble for us…. Look how restless he is, as if he can’t get comfortable. I’ll bet he has a heavy load on his soul.”

It was growing lighter. Day was routing the shadows. Erasing them. The room where I lay was warm with the heat of sleeping bodies. I sensed the dawn light through my eyelids.

I felt the light. I heard:

“He’s thrashing around like he’s damned. He has all the earmarks of an evil man. Get up, Donis! Look at him. Look how he’s writhing there on the ground, twisting and turning. He’s drooling. He must have killed a lot of people. And you didn’t even see it.”

“Poor devil. Go to sleep… and let us sleep!”

“And how can I sleep if I’m not sleepy?”

“Get up, then, and go somewhere you won’t be pestering me!”

“I will. I’ll go light the fire. And as I go I’ll tell what’s-his-name to come sleep here by you, here in my place.”

“You tell him that.”

“I can’t. I’d be afraid to.”

“Then go about your work and leave us alone.”

“I’m going to.”

“What are you waiting for?”

“I’m on my way.”

I heard the woman get out of bed. Her bare feet thudded on the ground and she stepped over my head. I opened and closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, the sun was high in the sky. Beside me sat a clay jug of coffee.

I tried to drink it. I took a few swallows.

“It’s all we have. I’m sorry it’s so little. We’re so short of everything, so short…. ”

It was a woman’s voice.

“Don’t worry on my account,” I told her. “Don’t worry about me. I’m used to it. How do I get out of here?”

“Where are you going?”

“Anywhere.”

“There’s dozens of roads. One goes to Contla, and there’s another one comes from there.

One leads straight to the mountains. I don’t know where the one goes you can see from here,” and she pointed past the hole in the roof, the place where the roof had fallen in.

“That other one down there goes past the Media Luna. And there’s still another that runs the length of the place; that’s the longest.”

“Then that may be the way I came.”

“Where are you heading?”

“Toward Sayula.”

“Imagine. I thought Sayula was that way. I always wanted to go there. They say there’s lots of people there.”

“About like other places.”

“Think of that. And us all alone here. Dying to know even a little of life.”

“Where did your husband go?”

“He isn’t my husband. He’s my brother, though he doesn’t want anyone to know. Where did he go? I guess to look for a stray calf that’s been wandering around here. At least that’s what he told me.”

“How long have you two been here?”

“Forever. We were born here.”

“Then you must have known Dolores Preciado.”