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Authors: Jesús Carrasco
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hens and three piglets. Apart from the bailiff and the priest, no one else in the village kept animals.
Before the drought, his father had been in charge of the crossing-gate and had helped the stationmaster with the points. Four times a day he would work the mechanism that lowered the gate with one hand, while ringing a bell with the other. A few truck drivers would turn off their engines, get out and roll themselves a cigarette while they watched the slow convoys heading off in the direction of the sea. Those were the days when the trucks would arrive empty and leave laden with oats, wheat and barley from the silo. Then the drought came, and the fields gradually languished, then died. The grain stopped growing, and the railway company either scrapped the wagons or simply abandoned them. They closed down the station and despatched the stationmaster somewhere further east. In one year, more than half the families in the village left. Those who survived were the few who had deep wells or had made money out of the cereal crops and others who had neither well nor money, but submitted themselves to the new rules imposed by that drought-stricken land. His family belonged to the latter category and stayed on.
They stopped to rest near some old almond trees. It was a warm night, and they drank nearly all of the little water they had left. It seemed to the boy that, this time, the goatherd knew where they were going. At one point, they reached a wire fence and followed it until they came to an opening through which they passed over to the other side. They crossed a barren field that emerged onto a new path heading west. This sudden change of direction away from the north made the boy think that perhaps the goatherd still had no fixed destination and was merely wandering aimlessly. As long as they kept moving away from the village, that was all the boy cared about.
At first light, they spotted the remains of a large building on the horizon. The undulating ground meant that, as they advanced, the ruin appeared and disappeared behind the withered crops. As they climbed the last steep slope, the details of this elusive edifice were gradually revealed: a high stone-and-mortar wall topped by crenellated battlements and separated from the path by stony ground. This solitary wall, marked by several putlock holes, survived only thanks to the round tower to which it was attached. On top of the tower someone had placed a figure of Jesus holding up his hand to bless the plain. From behind his head emerged three bronze rays of lights. The boy recognised the image and immediately recalled the legend that all the children in the village would have heard at one time or another. According to the most common version, a castle had been built to the north or north-east of the village. It was inhabited by a man who, apart from his fearsome guards, lived entirely alone. This man spent his days and nights standing on the wall with one hand raised, warning travellers not to approach. Others said that he wasnât raising his hand, but wielding a weapon, while still others said that from his head emanated rays of light that swept the plain in all directions. There was also talk of wild dogs and of how the guards would capture children and take them to the man so that he could inflict the most savage tortures on them.
They descended via a gentle slope leading down to the castle and stopped midway to take a closer look. The path continued on a little to join a towpath that ran parallel to an old aqueduct, whose broken pillars shimmered in the hot air rising up from the earth. They could still see the vast ravine along which barges had once travelled, laden with timber and sacks of wheat. They left the path and crossed the area of stony ground, stopping, either out of caution or unconscious fear, at a point where they would not be crushed were the wall to collapse. For a long time, they stood contemplating the ruins, as if they were some rare marvel: the
Before the drought, his father had been in charge of the crossing-gate and had helped the stationmaster with the points. Four times a day he would work the mechanism that lowered the gate with one hand, while ringing a bell with the other. A few truck drivers would turn off their engines, get out and roll themselves a cigarette while they watched the slow convoys heading off in the direction of the sea. Those were the days when the trucks would arrive empty and leave laden with oats, wheat and barley from the silo. Then the drought came, and the fields gradually languished, then died. The grain stopped growing, and the railway company either scrapped the wagons or simply abandoned them. They closed down the station and despatched the stationmaster somewhere further east. In one year, more than half the families in the village left. Those who survived were the few who had deep wells or had made money out of the cereal crops and others who had neither well nor money, but submitted themselves to the new rules imposed by that drought-stricken land. His family belonged to the latter category and stayed on.
They stopped to rest near some old almond trees. It was a warm night, and they drank nearly all of the little water they had left. It seemed to the boy that, this time, the goatherd knew where they were going. At one point, they reached a wire fence and followed it until they came to an opening through which they passed over to the other side. They crossed a barren field that emerged onto a new path heading west. This sudden change of direction away from the north made the boy think that perhaps the goatherd still had no fixed destination and was merely wandering aimlessly. As long as they kept moving away from the village, that was all the boy cared about.
At first light, they spotted the remains of a large building on the horizon. The undulating ground meant that, as they advanced, the ruin appeared and disappeared behind the withered crops. As they climbed the last steep slope, the details of this elusive edifice were gradually revealed: a high stone-and-mortar wall topped by crenellated battlements and separated from the path by stony ground. This solitary wall, marked by several putlock holes, survived only thanks to the round tower to which it was attached. On top of the tower someone had placed a figure of Jesus holding up his hand to bless the plain. From behind his head emerged three bronze rays of lights. The boy recognised the image and immediately recalled the legend that all the children in the village would have heard at one time or another. According to the most common version, a castle had been built to the north or north-east of the village. It was inhabited by a man who, apart from his fearsome guards, lived entirely alone. This man spent his days and nights standing on the wall with one hand raised, warning travellers not to approach. Others said that he wasnât raising his hand, but wielding a weapon, while still others said that from his head emanated rays of light that swept the plain in all directions. There was also talk of wild dogs and of how the guards would capture children and take them to the man so that he could inflict the most savage tortures on them.
They descended via a gentle slope leading down to the castle and stopped midway to take a closer look. The path continued on a little to join a towpath that ran parallel to an old aqueduct, whose broken pillars shimmered in the hot air rising up from the earth. They could still see the vast ravine along which barges had once travelled, laden with timber and sacks of wheat. They left the path and crossed the area of stony ground, stopping, either out of caution or unconscious fear, at a point where they would not be crushed were the wall to collapse. For a long time, they stood contemplating the ruins, as if they were some rare marvel: the
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