What a hairbreadth escape they had the day after Saint Thomas

‘Innocent, innocent, the fog’s tail is upright’. How many times had I heard something similar?’-murmured Peru. But he couldn't notice whether someone was lying or not. He couldn't understand the second meaning of the things. He was sure about the following one: if things had two senses, why not three, four or more? In this way he would feel trapped in a labyrinth from which he could not escape.

At least it wasn't as innocent as the little bird he had in a cage at home. That little bird started chirping when he turned on the faucet. The noise of the faucet seemed to it another bird's song and it was chirping without a stop until someone turned off the faucet in the sink.

He did not find it strange that a priest who fled from the Cuban revolution would set up a workshop with money taken from Cuba in the Gazteluondo area. That priest known in the town by the nickname 'Tripitas' (‘Tummies’) did not follow Castro's motto (‘choose: to cut cane or to dance in Spain’) and he went back for doing unspiritual work.

Peru took this act without wondering about, in a literal sense. It was written: With the sweat of your brow you will eat bread. There was no need to look for more meanings.

He had those kinds of thoughts after years when he looked at the street through the window of his house. But if that day he had succeeded…

He wouldn’t have heard at work, at the Union Cerrajera, the stories that Anjel told him. He used to listen to the BBC, La Pirenaica and Radio Paris on his wood-colored valve radio. There was no other source of information during the Franco dictatorship. Once, when he was listening to La Pirenaica, he began to listen to a song in amazement that said: ’Christus vincit, Christus regnat, Christus, Christus imperat’.

’ What a change the communists have had!’- It came out to him from deep inside, stunned. Then he realized that Vatican Radio had gotten into the tune of La Pirenaica, there was no other political change.

Another day a Cuban in Radio Paris, most likely he was Guillermo Cabrera Infante, spoke about the term `Latinoamérica’. Not everything was political in a strict sense on the radio, but it also occurred in a broader sense.  ‘Talking a lot about politics can be boring’-Peru said for himself.

The Cuban said that the term `Latinoamérica’ was typically French. The right term was ‘Hispanoamérica’, because the French did not do much in South America. With that name, as a smokescreen, they hid their lack of participation.

He would not have seen the ‘heir fever’ among the Uribe-etxebarria in Mondragon and surrounding areas. Apparently a very rich Uribe-etxebarria died in Cuba without heirs. In order to claim the right to the legacy they all tried to find the birth certificate that showed their kinship with the deceased.  At that time many people were seen smoking big cigars and full of joy.

But they eventually learned that the Larrino church had suffered a fire in the past and that all the necessary birth certificates had been burned. Hope disappeared like smoke. What a pity!  But if that day he had succeeded…

He would not have heard, also, the night explosion in Bengoa bar. Everyone in the town knew that the reason for that bomb was because Radio Paris was heard loudly there every night. Those at the Bengoa bar paid dearly for the desire to have reliable information. Luckily, that midnight there was no one in the bar.   

Taking advantage of the visit of the Peronist president of Argentina Héctor J. Cámpora to Madrid, he would not have seen the following. Jesús Mari Garai and part of his crew, almost all members of the Communist Movement of Euskadi, entering in Tio Tom bar and crying the following one: ‘Here they are, these ones are, the boys of Peron! Franco kanpora!’ (=Away from us Franco!).

Anjel also told him a strange anecdote that happened at home. One day he ran out of shaving soap. Very angry he threw the razor on the floor saying: ‘I have nothing. Bishop’s soap!' His son Joseba, seeing him in such a predicament, without thinking twice, ran upstairs.

There, his aunt Salvadora opened the door. ‘Have you all, by any chance, Bishop’s soup? ‘-asked her my son. His aunt surprised asked: ‘Soup?’. The son said firmly: ‘No, no, Bishop’s soup’. His uncle Félix Otaduy and his cousin Pilar also came to the rescue.  Everyone wanted to know what his son wanted and he, for his part, asked himself: ‘But, but… how can they not know what such a simple thing is?’.  

In the end Anjel heard the commotion and went up to end that confusing conversation. But if that day he had succeeded…

That day after Saint Thomas, Peru was at his job at Union Cerrajera. Clunk, clunk! He was nailing wooden boxes when Antón appeared, who had still taken a few drinks from the wineskin.

‘Peru, you hadn't bought Christmas lottery?’-asked him with a penetrating look.

 ’Yes, I have the one from the Monte bar’-answered him Peru without paying much attention

’But, but… what are you doing here? Don't you know that the jackpot has hit there? What are you waiting for?’-answered to him Anton pretending to be astonished.

At first it seemed hardly credible, but suddenly he saw the sea bream, the cod fish, the hake, the bottle of wine, the bottle of liquor, the nut cream, the compote, the capon, all on a well-stocked Christmas table.  He felt an intoxicating happiness. He was not a person of big dreams. Something as simple as an abundant Christmas table made him overflowing with happiness.

’ Seriously?’- was able to articulate only.

’ Yes, man, go right now!’- answered him, faking the maximum seriousness he could.

Peru got up and went out into the street. For some unknown reason, he put a large wrench in his overalls pocket.  With his long legs he soon arrived at the Monte bar. There was Joxe Etxagibel, tall, with broad shoulders and a beret much larger than his head.

’ How so soon, Peru? You didn't have work to do, then? -told him Joxe amazed.

’ Work, my foot! Has the jackpot hit here, or not? ’-answered him Peru quite angry.

‘Of course not. As always, Peru, some Madrilenian people has won the prize. Which were you thinking, then? Sometimes I think that this lottery is designed for that.’- Joxe said totally amazed.

‘But, but…’- Peru sputtered, unable to say anything else.

‘Where has you heard such nonsense?’-Joxe said to him frowning with a gesture of curiosity.

Hearing the word “nonsense” something crunched in Peru's head. All his good intentions disappeared like into a dark hole. Instead of them a dark purpose took over his mind. I must end with this bastard kidder!

Joxe Etxagibel stayed there saying to himself: ’I had to be in Argentina in a dairy all the bloody day milking cows. Bored with that job I had to return home.  If this Peru had been like me in Argentina, he would have been lost on some island when returning home. He would be lost and also the island, one of those that don't even appear on the maps. Poor guy! Someone else would have to go to bring him here!'

Peru headed towards the Union Cerrajera. In his head there was only the intention of killing Antón. Something inside him was asking for revenge. Not just any revenge but one that would make all his shame and anger disappear. Any other option was not feasible.  

Innocent, yes, but not a toy in which any fool would satisfy his desire to tease, by no means! This very day he had to get rid of that blemish. He knew that Antón always left Union Cerrajera five minutes before the horn sounded and that he did it alone. He hid quietly behind the first corner on the way to Anton's house.

He picked up the wrench with his right hand and looked at the clock.  ‘Now he will appear’-told to himself. He felt very assured. He was very clear about how he should hit him, straight in the head. By the sound of Antón's feet against the pavement he realized that he was already coming, with his carefree walk. He came whistling.’ Here comes this demon looking like a saint, but today he has done his last mischief’-he thought raising the wrench above his head.

Click-clack! Click-clack! Anton was approaching quickly. When his body was appearing and Peru was going to hit him on the head, Peru noticed that something was holding his right hand tightly. Antón, seeing the difficult situation he was in, took an enormous leap forward. Peru, when he felt his right hand free, launched the blow with the wrench. It was late, by then Anton was about ten meters away. He was running towards his house.

At that moment Antón's body was all feet. Antón said to himself: ‘what a narrow escape! All my visits to the bar were almost over for me’. Peru was left behind. Peru looked behind him and there was no one. ‘Who or what has held my hand?' - he thought, unable to get out of his astonishment.

He knelt down and began to say:’ What I was going to do? I almost ended up in Pamplona prison for life. What a narrow escape! I almost wasted my life for that bloody prankster. I don't know what has taken my hand. But I'm grateful for this 'what'. Peru's vision began to blur, he had some tears in his eyes. He got up, dusted off his overall, and headed home to eat.  ‘Today I have porrusalda to eat. And half a glass of red wine. So delicious! Life goes on!’-murmured Peru.

…

Let it be clear that what is narrated is true.

The participation of Joxe Etxagibel and the names of the prankster and the innocent are the only inventions of this narrative. It was obligatory since I don't know the real names of both.

The rest is authentic and the person writing this would have liked to not be so in the center of the action in some of the anecdotes told.

I want to thank my brother-in-law Juan Mari Murua for reminding me of the name of the Tío Tom bar, which I had forgotten.