The War of Don Emmanuel’s Nether Parts Read Online Free PDF Page A

the rock, where he dreamed of his mutilated dog and the coarse hairs of the belly of Capitan Figueras where they bulged through the buttons of his shirt.
    When he awoke at midday it was for two reasons; firstly, because the sun had moved over the rock and was so hot that he dreamed he was being turned to ashes, and secondly because a young kid was chewing the leg of his trousers. When he opened his eyes and looked into those of the goat his immediate thought was that the devil had come for him, for there is in the yellow iris and rectangular slot of a pupil in the eye of the goat something that is horrifyingly alien and impersonal. The kid skittered away a couple of metres, and Federico gazed at it a few seconds before deciding to shoot it for meat. With trembling excitement, but also guilt, he stood up, slid the bolt back and firmly forward, and raised the rifle to his shoulder. The crash of the .303 sent him stumbling back with the agony of what felt like a broken collar bone, and he thrashed in the air to regain his balance. When he had done so he was strangely relieved to find that he had missed the goat completely, even from such close range, and that it was looking at him with a kind of comic surprise from behind a citrus tree. He was wondering whether his shoulder could stand another attempt, and was cocking the gun once more, when a voice behind him said ironically, ‘Buena’ dia’, Senor.’
    He turned around suddenly and pointed the gun from the hip in a panicky parody of that move so well-documented in cowboy films, to come face to face with a very tall campesino of dark complexion who was smoking a puro, and holding in his hand a long staff. He spat, looked about coolly, and said, ‘I suppose you like to shoot other people’s goats for no reason.’
    Federico returned his gaze ashamedly and said, ‘I did not know it was your goat, Senor.’
    ‘All goats belong to someone.’
    ‘Yes, Senor, I am very sorry, Senor.’
    The campesino tapped the end of the rifle with his staff. ‘Perhaps you should point that somewhere else. I am larger than the goat and not so easy to miss.’
    Federico lowered the gun, and began to walk away backwards, wondering if he should do so with dignity or break into a run, but the peasant said, ‘I think you should give me the gun. It will be compensation for shooting at the goat.’
    ‘The gun is not mine to give,’ replied the boy, astonished and confused. ‘It is my father’s, and I did not shoot the goat.’
    ‘Ah,’ said the peasant. ‘The priest says that the evil intention is as bad as the evil deed itself. You should therefore give me the gun.’
    ‘But it is my father’s!’
    ‘You are your father’s responsibility. To save me going all the way to see him, I will take the gun directly. I see it is a very enviable gun, and I will have it.’ And he strode forward to take hold of the barrel.
    Federico felt panic rise from his stomach to his throat, and suddenly a torrent of salty sweat poured down his forehead into his eyes and blinded him.
    ‘No!’ he shouted, and pulled the rifle. The peasant hit him across the side of the head with the palm of his hand, and took advantage of the boy’s discomfiture to pull hard at his end of the barrel.
    What he had not known, and had not even thought of in his eager attempt to steal the weapon from the boy, was that the boy’s forefinger had already taken up first pressure on the trigger; there was another resounding crash as he wrenched the weapon towards him, and the bullet passed clean through his sternum and shattered two vertebrae on its way out of his back. An expression of wonder passed over the man’s face as he toppled backwards and began to die, while Federico, paralysed with shock, fell forward on his knees and vomited violently before he started to weep and rock backwards and forwards with his hands over his face, whimpering as his mutilated dog had done.
    When Federico dared to look up from his weeping he saw