Pig's Foot Read Online Free PDF

glance and spat on the ground, waiting for the reactions of the other workers. The first to speak was Señor Jabao, who said Oscar was right, that the macheteros at La Villas were paid three pesos a month while those they worked for were exploiters. Someone named Matías said that he was tired of revolution, that he had spent his whole life fighting war after war and now that he had his own house he simply wanted a little peace.
    ‘Your house doesn’t belong to you any more than mine belongs to me, or have you forgotten who owns the land? The war is still raging, but when it’s over, you’ll see, they’ll throw you off this land. Oscar here says that if we had a little more money in our pockets, we’d be better off. Why don’t we just make our protest and see what happens?’
    José’s words were met with utter silence. One of the macheteros moved into the centre of the circle. A tall, black, broad-shouldered giant of a man with powerful arms, who looked as though he had been lifting weights since the day he was born. He was shirtless, and the muscles of his chest and abdomen were unusually chiselled. He wore the same sackcloth trousers worn by all the macheteros. Grandpa looked into his eyes and said they were unfocused, as though he was not actually seeing, but rather hearing voices no one else could hear.
    ‘Bravo, bravo,’ said the man, clapping his hands slowly as he stepped into the middle of the group, ‘Fine work from brothers Oscar and José. I can imagine what their wives will say when they come home empty-handed. With no job, no money, but their honour intact – because I think that’s what all these fine speeches are about. Now, I don’t know about the rest of you, but a man cannot feed his family with honour. And how many men here have children to feed?’ A forest of hands shot up. ‘Raise your hand, José, too; go on, Gertrudis is still a child. And we know your friend the dwarf here has no kids. He might have a wife, but the way he’s going he won’t have her long, nor will the rest of you if you listen to the shit that . . .’
    He did not have time to finish his sentence. Oscar hurled his machete and, had the other man not ducked, it would have hit him square in the forehead. Instead the machete sailed past, wounding the machetero standing behind him. Before José could react, Oscar hurled himself on the man, grabbing his throat. The man was a giant and Oscar looked like a small boy climbing a coconut tree. ‘I’ll kill you, you bastard,’ screamed the Kortico. José and four of the other workers waded in to separate them. After a long struggle they finally managed to pull Oscar off.
    ‘You see what I mean? This man is an animal. That’s what you’ll all be if you carry on the way you’re going,’ said the big man, rubbing his neck. José told him to leave before the situation turned ugly. Then he walked back to the crowd of macheteros and told them to forget everything that had been said. Let each man go his own way. In the tense atmosphere, slowly, one by one, the workers headed off to the canebrakes to begin their eight hours of backbreaking labour.
    ‘Where did he come from?’ asked José on the road back to Pata de Puerco. The infamous Mozambique was the most hated man for miles around. He too lived in Pata de Puerco, on the outskirts of the village, though no one ever saw him. He never came out of his house, not even for a breath of fresh air. ‘One day we’ll pay that son of a bitch a visit, hey, Oscar,’ said José, whipping the mare to get her to move faster. Oscar simply stared out at the horizon. Señor Jabao told José to forget the idea because El Mozambique had seven vicious dogs that would not let anyone come near the house.
    ‘He really had it in for you! Are you sure you don’t know him?’ asked Aquelarre. Still Oscar stared into the middle distance. Then Abel Santacruz interjected to remark that while he hadn’t wanted to say anything, a bird in the hand was