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Bitter Sorrows
- University of Wisconsin Press
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Bitter Sorrows Darío Ruiz Gómez The girl appeared to be afraid. She hesitated for a moment—not sure, it seemed, which way to go. But then she reached down, picked up the small suitcase by her side, and crossed the street. The truck was still there. From the back of the truck a man handed bundles down to another man on the street; both of them smiled at her and one of them started to whistle, but the girl seemed to be indifferent to them and to the roguish smile of a well-dressed man in a white jacket standing at the door to a café. Probably a doctor. The girl stopped when she reached the corner. Instead of crossing the street, she turned left. She started to walk up a rather steep hill. From time to time, the girl coughed. Her skirt was short, rumpled. Probably from sitting for so long. From time to time, too, she stopped and took out a pink handkerchief. Then the girl blew her nose. She walked up the narrow sidewalk, which was made of small stones in some parts, and in others of brick. And also, here and there, neither of stones nor brick, but simply dirt. The street was also of cobblestone. Tufts of grass grew in between the stones and right through the middle of the street ran a channel of dirty water. And only the magnified and intermittent sound of the water broke that vast and torturous silence. From time to time the girl stopped, for just a moment, and she rested. When she arrived at the next corner, she again seemed to be disoriented . Nonetheless, instead of stopping, she crossed the street. 107 This one wasn’t so steep, but it appeared to be more desolate. Ahead was a large lot full of weeds and garbage, nearly spilling out into the sidewalk. The humid air that blew into the girl’s face did not bother her very much. Above the rooftops you could see the heaps of passing fog and also, here and there, bits and pieces of mountain. Very few bits and pieces. The girl carefully observed the doors and windows. But none of them were open. No vestibules in sight. Not a sound came from inside those houses. All of a sudden, a mule appeared. The mule looked at the girl as if surprised to find her emerging from that prevailing silence. But then it went back to nibbling on the grass that grew between the stones on the street. The mule was too skinny. It barely had what you could call a tail. It looked like a kind of stump, which moved comically back and forth in a vain attempt to shoo away the swarm of flies that hovered over the large wounds on its back. You could hear the murmur of the water, the liquid prattle, and also the weary snorting of the mule and perhaps some vague and faraway noise. But nothing else could be heard: no voices or distinct sounds. Then the street was no longer cobblestoned and it turned into a kind of path. There were two houses on the right and three on the left, and then further on, on the right, a mud wall that extended down to a kind of small bridge. The girl blew her nose. She rested and occasionally looked behind her. But the street was still deserted. Then, when she reached the bridge, she saw a mule, and then another. Then she could see a man whistling, heading toward her. The mules were towing some large planks that, as they dragged along the fine sand, produced a dull and continuous noise. The girl stepped to the side. The man stopped whistling and when he reached the spot where the girl stood, he removed his hat and greeted her. “Hey, is this the way to the ‘Barrio’?” The man raised his eyebrows and emitted a guttural sound. Then 108 Darío Ruiz Gómez [44.215.110.142] Project MUSE (2024-03-29 01:21 GMT) 109 Bitter Sorrows he said, “Yeah, just around the corner there. Right after the cemetery ,” he pointed. “Then you’ll see the houses.” The man lifted his hat again as he continued on his way, and every so often he looked over his shoulder. The girl, when she reached the cemetery, stopped for a moment. A kind of path led up to a dilapidated wooden door. On the...