"Get up, son," said mother gently shook the girl's arm, who slept on a cojinillos. Dawn had not broken and to the side of high mountains, the night was a long yawn. As the girl. But soon to follow the order of the mother stood up to it, because it would be the day of the trip to town. Seven, maybe eight years, thin but strong enough to go to get water to the stream, lifting the bucket with the rope of the depleted reservoir, herding the goats. An active and willing girl, despite the lean foods. Rufino Cuevas preparing the cart: a drawer would be used to carry vegetables, perhaps, with two wheels that he had cut and fitted into a shaft in the same timber. They travel the girl, because the journey was long and could get tired. And then the cart would serve to bring some things, perhaps flour, oil, some sausage. That, hopefully. While preparing, Rufino was recalling how, as a boy, the river roared. Therefore, once the settlement was, and not drowned or plague were sleepwalking never to return, never again. The ranch Rufino's father was at the top and was the furthest from the river to fetch water uncomfortable but safe. And there had been, with a few goats and a few chickens, too, a cow and a horse that finally died of starvation. A Rufino had been on the nose the smell of death land when, down the stream, only survived the filth. But then had come the dry season, and lasted for years, many years. Now we just had, in addition to the goats, some hens that survived on the little corn that could be harvested. And two of the seven children who had been with the Dauphine. Four women and three men. Two of the boys are twins, Francis and Peter, the elderly, had been without direction, would then thirteen years, with a harness that had happened by chance, because no one was passing by except at election time, and did not know Rufino although most of them down to the people and asked everyone who crossed his if he had seen his boys, and begged him crying Mansilla dotor who found them, but the boys did not return for years and nobody knew that I had seen, the other, but to justify Rufino named as the father, had drowned in the dam, many, many miles to the north. That they were told, the boy was sullen and disobedient, and had gone right in the truck that came to fetch the documents Rufino and women, and then (always a Sunday) they were taken to them, with or without breeding put them in a shed at the edge of town, and were taking from a few to upload to the truck and take them to vote (they were given the ballot, course), then back at them and long documents with a few pesos and a bag of food. The elections were good for them. For the kids had not documented. The eldest daughter, assumed, must have now sixteen years or less. And that was, Rosarito, fourteen or fifteen. Long ago, for one reason or another, not seen. They had made the trip together, a large amount of years ago. They were now Rita, and two years, because no name was called Chiquita. At that nobody had baptized, the other self, a young priest who was aging with the glare as he passed from time to time by mule, and not married parents because they had civil papers.
not yet clear when the trip began with a fried cake the day before the mother had settled in the bag with two plastic bottles (one of the prized possessions) with the clearest water that Delfina was able to achieve. The trip would be a lonely and silent running, tired feet Rufino it would not issue a complaint, then blazing sun, the odd comment made almost monosyllabic, Rita desire to know the people, the dry brush and uprooted by the wind swirling over hills Rufino numb and something that was what he had been in the Dauphine, a reluctance of the soul that did not reach to be sad because even that long ago that they had been.
arrived in the late morning. Rita put her eyes looking at the huge settlements first, then paved streets and well-painted houses and trees that provided shade and the windows of business and did not know letters, large and of all colors, from advertisements, and the man who was with a machine called Rufino bike and sold something that was frozen, as the winters in the mountains, but some guy was coming, gave something to the vendor and go from there taking the paper color thing licked and licked then. Rita said "I can?" Noting the ice cream maker and wealth. Rufino said yes, but then, when they came to the dotor. There were, what the dotor Mansilla. Would have to call up the side, not the front door of the office. I wish I were, I thought Rufino, but had agreed two weeks ago that this day would find. Rufino had asked a calendar, and was crossing every day, in the mountains did not matter the day, but in this case yes. And since he could read little something I could recognize what day was Monday, and what Thursday, for example. A dazzling Rita still neat houses, summer in the hut so hot and so nice there, the flowers than ever before had seen the dogs, all different, they barked and made him agree to Hardy, who was the pooch that Rufino had ever been to the house and had died as everything in that place, because up there is dying plants , flowers, dreams, words, and small, that despite the famine was intelligent, perceived these trips, slow and persistent, to nowhere. Luckily for
Rufino, the Doctor Mansfield was, and I was going to receive, as he said the employee of the garage, which was the place where Rufino should go. As before, the Doctor would receive in a small room there, near the car. And it was. The man was treated as usual distant, cold, wrinkling his nose because -. Rufino was no fool, "he bother the smell of sweat and old clothes and washed only with water from the stream. But I would not be much there. He remembered the order of Rita and asked the owner of the tobacco if you could buy an ice cream. "Just so, Doctor," he said with a choked voice that he alone in his throat. The lord of the manor sent to the employee that if I passed a seller, will buy the ice cream to the child. Encouraged by the gesture, Rufino were encouraged to ask Asunta and Rosarito. "They're fine. They are good workers, "was the terse response. "Can you see?" Said Rufino with a voice. "No, man, you say, they are on the farm." Of course, there, far from town, on the plantation would be. "He is very skinny," Mansilla said, pointing to Rita. "But it is strong, and will see" Rufino said, fearing to be sent home with Rita in tow. "Well, I'll feed you. Hold on here, they're going to bring some things. " Sure, he thought Rufino, as before with both Gurises. At least Rita was going to eat well, and Delfina and he would have for several days. "And stay tuned, soon there are elections," said the Doctor as he disappeared through a side door. Then, go without looking ago, the cart loaded with food and without Rita, the uphill, the sun hot and merciless, the dry brush, the night would come mounted on a beautiful sunset.
. ROSITA
Fasolis
(Argentina, 1946)
. Fasolis ROSA was born in Rosario (Santa Fe), Argentina, in 1946. Teacher and writer of poetry, fiction and essays. He won numerous awards at local, provincial, national and international. Coordinated writing workshops (including the Casa de la Cultura, UNR). Has numerous publications in newspapers (The Capital and The Coast), magazines and anthologies, two books edited by the award: "After" stories, and "Patterns and Construction", of poetry. In 1994 the book "Sacramento and ashes" of poetry, won honorable mention in contest triennial José Pedroni, Province of Santa Fe's story "The Journey of Rita" was published in http://gacetaliterariavirtual . blogspot.com. He currently lives in Rosario.
