Read Online Pig's Foot by Carlos Acosta - Free Book Online Page A

least he died with a beautiful colour.”’
    Juan Carlos’s joke did not elicit the same reaction. José did not laugh at all. He felt his muscles tense and from that moment on he bore Juan Carlos a grudge. The next person to speak was Ignacio el Jabao, the brother of Juan Carlos, and the rudest, most foul-mouthed boy in the village.
    ‘A little boy was sitting under a tree crying and a drunk stopped and asked him what was wrong. The boy said his papá had fallen out of the avocado tree, landed on his dick and now he was in heaven. The drunk looked at the boy, then the avocado tree, then looked up to heaven and said, “Fuck! Your papá must have had a dick like a spring.”’
    Niurka el Jabao leaped from her seat, grabbed Ignacio by the ear and dragged him off, slapping and kicking him. Pablo apologised, explaining that the boy was the spawn of the devil. He asked Juan Carlos to look after the rest of the Jabao brood and make sure they behaved themselves then followed his wife home, cursing his son Ignacio. ‘Boys will be boys,’ said Evaristo. ‘Justino the coalman is still in first place. Would anyone else like to beat him?’
    Now it was Melecio who spoke up.
    ‘I’d like to tell a story,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘What story, Melecio?’ said Betina. ‘You’re a little young to be telling stories.’ She gestured at him to sit down again. The kite-maker said it did not matter, that the game was for all ages. ‘It’s true, Betina,’ said José. ‘Let the boy tell his joke. Maybe he inherited my sense of humour.’ Betina rolled her eyes to heaven. ‘Let him, señora . . .’ everyone chorused, ‘let the boy tell his joke.’
    Betina had no choice but to agree. Melecio clambered on to his stool, stuffed his hands in the pockets of his shorts and in a thin, falsetto voice began:
     
    The squalid reality is the oblivion which enfolds our village
    The squalid reality is that no one cares about the squalid reality
    The squalid reality is hunger, it is the everyday suffering of the outcast, the true existence of the negro
    The squalid reality is Pata de Puerco, the starvation ingrained in the skin of its people, the endless begging
    The endless waiting, the pain of Pata de Puerco: the squalid reality
     
    There was a ghastly silence. No one knew what was happening and though many did not understand Melecio’s words it was clear that his story had delved into their souls. No one laughed. On the contrary, many of those present began to sob and went on sobbing long after Melecio’s little mouth was closed.
    ‘Where did you learn that? Who taught you that? Tell me!’ Betina demanded, shocked.
    ‘No one, Mami. I just thought it up right now. Why is no one laughing?’
    ‘It’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,’ said Abel Santacruz, ‘and it’s true. We can’t go on like this. We have to improve our lives.’
    Everyone agreed; everyone except for Evaristo who carried on insisting that this was a celebration and that they should not allow their joy to die. But no one had the heart to go on celebrating. Their joy, like a rickety shack dragged along by a storm, had been knocked out of true.
    José thanked the kite-maker and all those present, saying that the food and everything had been wonderful but that it was time to go home.
    ‘Don’t go now, caballero . . .’ Evaristo protested. ‘Have you heard the one about the deadly avocado?’ But José, Betina, Gertrudis and Benicio had already set off, carrying on their shoulders little Melecio as though he were some treasure that had suddenly been revealed to them. The wind blew gently, whipping away the dry dust only to bring more, suffused with the smell of horseshit common to country paths. And so night began to draw in, and Pata de Puerco sank into utter silence.

A Trip to El Cobre
    One day, José borrowed the old mare belonging to Evaristo the kite-maker to take his children to El Cobre. Evaristo begged him to bring the mare back with all