Brother Torrico has always been a good friend of mine during his lifetime. Maybe they weren't likable in Sapotland, but to me, they were always good friends, and until the moment they died, we were good friends. The people of Zapotland don't like them, and it doesn't matter now because the people there don't like me either. I also understand that for those of us who live in Comadrespo, the people of Zapotland are never good-looking. It was like this a long, long time ago.
Also, in Comadres Po, the Torrico brothers and all the people are bad. There are always unpleasant things. In addition, I will nag a few more words, the land here, and the houses on the land, are all theirs. All of them. When the land was first divided, most of the land in Comaderes was divided equally among our sixty households, and they, the Torrico brothers, were given only a piece of mountainous land with agave, but almost all the houses were built there. Although the land was divided, Comadres Po belonged to the Torrico brothers. The land I ploughed also belonged to them: Odilon Torrico and Remigio Torrico. A dozen or so green hills in the distance below the slope were also theirs. There's no need to get to the bottom of it, everyone knows what's going on.
However, from that time on, Comadres Po was slowly deserted. Every now and then someone moved away, and they disappeared into the oak forest through the barrage with high stakes, never to return. They're gone, that's all.
I wanted to run over and see what was behind the mountain that never came back, but I still liked the little piece of land on the slope of Comadres, and I was still a good friend of the Torrico brothers.
My piece of land is on the top of the slope, where the hillside descends to a cliff called the "bull's head." Every year I sprinkle some corn in the field, harvest some tender corn cobs, and plant some beans.
It's not a bad place, but when it rains, the soil becomes sparse, and then a patch of hard, sharp stones will appear, and they will grow taller and taller like trees. However, the corn is still firmly sucked in the ground, and the corn cob that produces it is still quite sweet. The Torrico brothers add stone salt to whatever they eat, but they don't add salt when they eat my corn; When they ate my corn, they never intended or said that they were going to sprinkle salt on it, because it was corn grown on the "head of a cow."
Still, although the soil of the green mountain pack below was better, the man slowly ran out. They were not going to the other side of the Sapotland, they were going in the other direction, where there was a constant breeze blowing, filled with the smell of oak and the sound of the mountains. They walked away with their mouths closed, not saying a word, not saying anything, and not fighting with anyone. They must have wanted to fight the Torrico brothers, to take a breath of anger for all the harm they had suffered; But they didn't have the courage to come.
It must be so.
In fact, after the death of the Torrico brothers, no one returned. I've been waiting. But no one returned. I started by taking care of the house. He also repaired the roofs for them, and put branches in the holes in the walls. But seeing that they had not returned, I had to leave these houses behind. The only ones that are never late are the heavy rains that blow every year between June and July, and the strong winds that blow hard every February, which occasionally lift the cloak on the person's body. And then there are these crows that fly from time to time, they fly low, "wah-wah" chirping, as if they think they have really come to a place where no one is around.
After the death of the Torrico brothers, it was still the same.
Once upon a time, from where I was now sitting, I could see Sapotland very clearly. At any time of the day or night, you can see the white area of Sapotland, in the distance. But now, the bushes had grown so thickly that they could not be seen in spite of the wind blowing them from side to side and with them in their way.
I remember that the Torico brothers used to come here and squat on the ground for hours until it was dark, looking at it with their eyes as if it would clear their minds and think about things, or imagine the excitement of walking around in Sapporland. I later learned that they weren't thinking that. They were just here to see the way: the wide, sand-covered mountain trail where one end could be seen, winding its way until it disappeared into the pine forests of Crescent Mountain.
I've never seen anyone as far as Remigio Torrico. He only has one eye. But this black eye, which was always squinting, seemed to be able to pull things close, as if they could pull things close to him. So, he knew what was shaking on the road, as if it were in front of him. So, as soon as his eye was willing to rest on someone, the two of them got up from their position of watching and left, disappearing for a while in Comadrespo.
At that time, in our place, everything was different. People took their livestock out of the cave and tied them to the corrals. You can see that there are lambs, and there are turkeys. When I wake up in the morning, I can see a lot of corn and yellow pumpkin stalls in the yard to bask in the sun. The wind that travels between the hills is colder than at other times; But, for some reason, all of them said the weather was good. You can hear the roosters crowing in the morning, just like in any peaceful place. All this makes one feel that Comadresspo has never been too peaceful.
Then the Torico brothers returned. Before they arrived, everyone knew they were coming back, because their dogs would run out barking so hard that they didn't stop barking until they saw them. With the sound of the dog barking, you can estimate how far away they are and which direction they will come from. Then everyone hurriedly hid their things again.
When the Torrico brothers were alive, every time they returned to Comadres Po, it was terrifying.
But I've never been afraid of them. I'm a good friend of them, and sometimes, I wish I could be less old and do something for them. However, I don't use it much. I realized this for the first time that night when I was helping them rob a horseman. At that time, I realized that I was missing something, because my best years had been consumed and I couldn't stand any more toss. I finally felt it.
About halfway through the rainy season, the Torrico brothers came to me and asked me to help them carry a few bags of sugar. I was a little apprehensive about going. First of all, because it was raining heavily, it was raining like water arching up from under a person's feet. Secondly, because I don't know where to go. Anyway, I've realized that I can't do it, I can't afford to toss anymore.
The Torrico brothers told me that we were not far from where we we're going. "It's about a quarter of an hour." That's what they told me. However, by the time we walked the road to Crescent Mountain, it was already dark. By the time we got to where the horsemen were, it was already late at night.
The horsemen did not stand up to see who had come. He must have been waiting for the Torrico brothers to come, so he wasn't surprised to see us. That's what I thought. However, while we were busy carrying the sacks of sugar, the horsemen remained quietly in the grass. So I told the Torrico brothers about it. I told them:
"That guy lying there, dead or something?"
"No, it's just asleep." They told me, "We let him look here, and he must have gotten tired of waiting and went to sleep." ”
I stepped forward and kicked him in the chest, trying to wake him up; But the man continued to lie there.
"It's dead." I told them again.
"No, don't think he's dead, he's just fainted, because Odilon gave him a stick on the head. He's going to get up, you see, as soon as the sun comes out, as soon as he feels the heat, he'll get up and hurry home. Pick up that bag of candy and let's go! "That's what they told me.
I kicked the dead man one last time, and it sounded like kicking a dead tree trunk. Then I carried the sugar bag over my shoulders and walked to the front. Brother Torico followed me. I heard them singing until dawn. At dawn, I couldn't hear them anymore. The wind that blew at dawn took away their singing. I don't know if they're still following me, and then I hear their dogs coming together and barking around.
That's how I found out what the Torrico brothers were looking at every afternoon as they sat on the edge of my house in Comadres Po.
Remigio Torrico was killed by me.
At that time, there were very few people in the village. First they moved away one by one, and in the past few years, they have left almost in droves. They harvested their crops and then left, before the frost arrived. In previous years, when frost came, it could destroy all the crops planted in the field overnight. It's the same this year, so they're gone. They must have felt that it would be like this next year, as if they were no longer willing to endure the natural disasters that befell every year and the man-made disasters that the Torrico brothers had perennially caused.
So, by the time I killed Remigio Torrico, there were no more occupants in Comadres Po and the surrounding mountain rooms.
This happened in October. I still remember that night the moon was big and bright, because I was sitting in front of my house with such good moonlight and sewing a big cloth bag full of holes. At this time, the man surnamed Torico came.
He must have come all the way drunk. He swayed up to me at once, swaying from side to side, sometimes covering the moonlight I needed, sometimes giving it back to me.
"It's not good to be secretive," said him to me after a long time, "I like to do things in the right way, and if you don't like it, whatever you want, I'll do justice." ”
I continued to mend my cloth bag. My eyes only filled the holes, and the needles illuminated by the moonlight went very smoothly. Probably because he saw me like this, he felt that I didn't take his words seriously:
"I'm talking to you!" He yelled at me, and now he was really angry, "You know very well, what am I here for!" ”
He threw himself up to me, yelling, and opened his mouth as big as the mouth of a jug, and I was slightly startled. Still, I'd rather look at his face and see how angry he is. I stared straight at him, as if to ask him what he was here for.
It worked. He didn't shout, but he still kept babbling that he had to make a surprise attack against someone like me.
"I'll come back to you after the accident, and I'll talk about it all dry," he said to me, "but my brother is as good as you are, and that's why I'm coming to you, and I want to see how you can make Odilon dead." ”
Now I hear what he means. I put the bag aside and listened to him.
I know he thinks I killed his brother. But I didn't do it. I remember who did it, I could have told him, but it seems like he didn't give me a chance to explain things to him.
"Odilon and I, we brothers fight a lot," he continued to tell me, "he doesn't have a big brain, he likes to play against everybody, but he doesn't go too far." After a few punches, he was settled. All I want to know is: did he tell you something, or did he want to rob you of something, or what happened. It's possible that he wanted to hit you, but you did it first. It's always this kind of thing. ”
I shook my head and told him, no, I had nothing to do with it......
"Listen," said Torico, who intercepted me, "Odilon had fourteen pesos in his shirt pocket that day. I searched him as I lifted him up, but I couldn't find the fourteen pesos. Then yesterday I heard that you just bought a blanket. ”
This is true. I just bought a blanket. Seeing that the weather was getting cooler soon, and the cloak I had used was already rotting into a pile of rags, I went to Zaportland and bought a blanket and came back. For this I sold my two little goats, which I did not buy with the fourteen pesos of Odilón. He could see that my sack was full of holes, because I had to stuff the little goats in and take them on the road, because they couldn't run as much as I wanted.
"I'll tell you once that I'm going to avenge Odilon whoever killed him. I know who it is. He was almost talking to me on top of my head.
"So, you think I did it?" I asked him.
"Who else could it be? Odilon and I are shameless things, and I can't guarantee that we've never killed anyone, whatever you may say; But we never kill for a small thing. I want you to understand that. ”
The big moon in October lit up the whole yard, and Remigio's shadow stretched all the way to the walls of my house. I saw him walking towards a hawthorn tree and grabbed the machete I was hanging there with. Then, I saw him come over with a machete in his hand.
As he walked away from me, the needle I had stuck in the sack glittered in the moonlight. I don't know why, but I suddenly had a great faith in that needle. So, when Remigio Torrico came up to me, I removed the thread from the needle and, without saying a word, inserted it into his stomach, near his navel. I inserted the needle all the way in before I let go.
Then, as if in an attack of colic, he bent down, began to convulse, and gradually curled up his legs, and finally sat down on the ground, huddled together, with a look of fear in one eye.
For a moment he seemed to stand up and slash me; But he must have regretted it, or he didn't know what to do, so he put down his machete and twisted again. Then he didn't move.
At this point, I saw his gaze gradually become sad, as if he felt that he could no longer do it. It's been a long time since I've seen such sad eyes, and I'm starting to sympathize with him. So I pulled the needle out of his belly button and inserted it further up, and I thought his heart was there. That's right, right there, he just snorted a few times, like a chick with his head chopped off, and then he didn't make a sound.
He must have died, and I said to him:
"Listen to me, Remigio, you have to forgive me, I really didn't kill Odillon. It was someone from the Alcaraz family who did it. I was there when he died. But I remember very well, I didn't kill him. They did it, it was Alcaraz's family. They pounced on him, and by the time I realized it, Odilon had barely breathed. Do you know what the reason is? First of all, because Odilon shouldn't have gone to Zaportland. You know that. There were so many people in that village who were so worried about him, and sooner or later something was going to happen to him there. The Alcaraz family didn't like him either. Why did he get into trouble with them, you don't know, and I don't know.
"It happened very suddenly. I had just bought my blanket and was about to leave there when your brother spat in the face of one of the Alcaraz family. He's just joking. Everybody could see that he was having fun, because he amused everybody. But everybody was drunk. Odilon and Alcaraz, everyone was drunk. They immediately pounced. They drew the knives they had with them, surrounded him and beat him violently, so that there was no use for Odilon on him. That's how he died.
"You see, it wasn't me who killed him. I want you to understand, it's not ambiguous at all, I didn't cause any trouble. ”
I spoke these words to the dead Remigio.
By the time I returned to Comaderes with the empty basket, the moon had already sunk into the other side of the oak forest. Before putting the basket away, I dipped it in the stream a few times to clean the blood from the residue. I'm going to use this big basket next, and I don't want to see Remigio's blood all the time.
I remember it happening in October, when the holiday was being celebrated in Saportland. I said I remember what happened in those days, because at that time in Zapotland, people were firing artillery battles. Every time the cannon fire sounded, a large flock of vultures flew in the spot where I threw Remigio's body.
I remember all of that.
Translated by Zhang Weijie
# Writer Bio
Juan Rulfo (1917-1986), full name Juan Nepo, Muceno Carlos Berez Rulfo Viscaino, was a Mexican writer. Born in Jalisco, Mexico. His main works include "The Burning Field", "Pedro Baramo" and "Golden Rooster". Together with Nooctavio Paz and Carlos Fuentes, he is known as the "troika" of Mexican literature in the second half of the 20th century.
"An in-depth understanding of Juan Rulfo's work has finally led me to find the path I need to find in order to continue writing my book. His work is only 300 pages long, but it is almost as vast as Sophocles's work, and I believe it will be as enduring as it is. —García Márquez