The Rubber tapper of the neighborhood.

by Eleazar R. Crespo (Venezuela)

Making a local connection Venezuela

The sun was already setting in the middle of my head, when on my shoulders I felt the tingling of the complaint of my toasted skin and thus a few drops of sweat competed to reach the waist first, suddenly the trembling of the handlebar of the motorcycle begins, the front rubber already with its smoothed cover accepts the penetration of an enemy nail, which completely makes it useless, without hesitation, I take the path of thirsty land of water, via the Cauchero of the neighborhood, which they call, El Paisano, as soon as I get up his face tanned by the wrinkles of time, his eyes sprouted, sunk in that face that cries out the compassion of a life lived in hardships and hunger, drops the tool, slowly rises to extend his arm to greet me, I felt the rough, thick, callused and dry skin that covers his skeletal and very strong hand, when the boy, his grandson of just 5 years says: _ What happened grandpa, because you get up ... _ Look at him, to greet the friend who just came, you don't see ... _ jokingly, or through the rubber, that cannot stand anymore... _ This is my old friend, we check ... _ Yes sure, give me a chance and I finish this other rubber that I have mounted ... you are in the queue ... Already at lunchtime, it was close, I felt the smell of a soup, which on the coals of wood, boiled happily, to the rhythm of the compass of a small and dilapidated radio that kept company with its low-volume music to those we were there, three other boys, a lady all with torn clothes, discolored, stained, hovered around that smoking stove that gave off a range of smells of rancid fat chicken, coriander and indescribable steamers. _ the woman says: the soup will be ready. I asked, and what does Mrs. prepare? _ And the Countryman answers me. _ What I get to buy for today 5 chicken legs, with that we eat, you accompany us ... My body jumped, my mind could not decipher, I could know that the answer did not come out, immediately and with doubt and without choice I replied: _Thankful old man, I just ate something along the way, eat you, calm down. That scene does not disappear from my memories, all gathered around the pot, Mrs., Serving in pewter dishes, two tablespoons for each of client water, clear and tasteless accompanied by the occasional piece of Yuca and half a chicken leg they made lunch for the family, the children blew the spoon before bringing it to their mouths, and swallowed with pleasure and despair, moving the tongue around the lips, again and again, my dark glasses hid my feelings of deep sadness, helplessness and desire crying, was all that their bellies would receive that day. After a while, after finishing eating, he prepared to take out the inopportune nail, and repair the gut. I turn on the motorcycle and before saying goodbye I ask: _ How much do I owe you, old friend? _ He responds, laughing with a happy face, his sweaty forehead for the effort made: _ You know what you want to give me ... I could not leave immediately, one more look around the patio, the mango bush, the tools on the ground, everything as in slow motion was stored in my memory, when suddenly as if waking up from a dream, a dirty little hand, pulls me out of my pants, looking at his black eyes, his white teeth, his mischievous and smiling face tells me: _ Friend, when are you coming back? I wait for you tomorrow. Yes, go and give me a motorcycle ride. Without hesitation I replied: _ Of course, it does …