Read Online The Carpenter's Pencil by Manuel Rivas - Free Book Online

man and woman had to be free, with no rings of any kind other than love and responsibility. That … That … That it’s no crime to steal from a thief, and dumb is the sheep that goes to the wolf for confession. He was a handsome man, and the gale tousling his habit and romantic locks gave him the magnificent air of a prophet. After the odd initial murmur, there was silence and part of the audience, the young women in particular, began to nod their agreement and view him with devotion. And then Pepe, who was in full swing by now, as if he held the stage at the village fête, sang that bolero he liked so much.
    A girl was so brimming with happy thoughts
    she carved her name in the trunk of a tree.
    The tree was so shaken by what it saw
    it dropped a flower at the little girl’s feet.
    The mission was a success.
    Pepe Sánchez was shot one rainy dawn in the autumn of ’38. The day before, all the words disappeared from the prison. Nothing wasleft of them but scraps in the seagulls’ scream. The lament of a bolt being drawn. The gasps of the drains. And then Pepe burst into song. He sang the whole night, accompanied from their cells by the musicians of the Five-Star Orchestra on their wind instruments. As he was taken away, with the priest behind murmuring a prayer, he had enough sense of humour to shout along the corridor, “Heaven is ours! I’m sure to get in by the eye of the needle!” He was lithe as a willow, you see.
    “No, there were no volunteers for the firing squad that time,” said Herbal to Maria da Visitação.

12

    TWICE DOCTOR DABARCA CONQUERED DEATH. AND twice death almost conquered him, cornering him in the cell and hurling him on to the mattress.
    This occurred when Dombodán and Pepe Sánchez were shot.
    “He was always in high spirits, but twice he went to pieces,” Herbal told Maria da Visitação. “When The Kid and the singer died. Then, he spent various days crashed out on the mattress in a long sleep, as if he had injected himself with a barrel of valerian.”
    The second time he went into shock, Genghis Khan kept watch by his side.
    When he woke up, he said to him, “What are you doing here, LP?”
    “Getting rid of the lice, doctor. And keeping the rats at bay.”
    “Have I slept for so long?”
    “Three days and three nights.”
    “Thank you, Genghis. I’m going to buy you lunch.”
    “And yousee,” Herbal told Maria da Visitação, “he had the power of the look.”
    At lunchtime, in the dining hall, Doctor Da Barca and Genghis Khan sat down opposite one another and all the prisoners were astonished witnesses of that banquet.
    “You’re going to start with a seafood cocktail. Lobster with mayonnaise, served on a heart of lettuce from the Barcia Valley.”
    “And to drink?” Genghis Khan asked incredulously.
    “To drink,” Doctor Da Barca said very seriously, “a white Rosal.”
    He was staring at him, drawing him into his eyes, and something was happening because Genghis Khan stopped laughing, hesitated for a moment as if he were at a height and suffering vertigo, and then fell into a daze. Doctor Da Barca stood up, went around the table and gently closed his eyelids as if they were lace curtains.
    “Is the cocktail good?”
    Genghis Khan nodded with his mouth full.
    “And the wine?”
    “Ju … just right,” he stammered ecstatically.
    “Well, take it slowly.”
    Afterwards, when Doctor Da Barca served him a main course of rump steak and creamed potatoes, washed down with a red Amandi, Genghis Khan slowly changed colour. The pale, lean giant exhibited now the healthy glow of a gluttonous abbot. He gleamed with expansive, country abundance, in a sweet revenge on time, affecting everyone present. A hush of tongues on palates and fabled eyes fell over the dining hall, silencing the stirring of spoons during the meal, an unfathomable soup they called
water for washing meat
.
    “Now,Genghis,” Doctor Da Barca said solemnly, “the promised dessert.”
    “Treacle