I had never been so angry in my whole life. All that anger was exceeding the boundaries of the whole world anger. As I walked out the hostel old and rusty door, I turned my mind to something cruel to be done in order to shut my anger up and to relieve my soul of all that mix of pain and madness. “He couldn’t have been done it. Couldn’t.” – I repeated nervously to myself and by myself. Little by little, inch by inch, I scrutinized the hole scene formed in my clouded mind as a foggy autumn day on which seeing our own steps through the mist is the only thing that can be seen. My beloved brother did the single thing that he couldn’t have done. Trujillo was no longer beloved. He was no longer my brother.
For those whom it may interest, I am going to lie down some lines about the one previously mentioned. Trujillo is my brother. Well, I used to consider it until some minutes ago. He was living with me, to tell the truth, he couldn’t be living with no one else since his mental condition didn’t allow him. The result was that I spent my whole damn life walking him through all the stuff patiently and carefully. Long nights trying to calm his stormy temper, long nights with no sleep at all. A long and dark night has been my whole life with Trujillo around.
Well, the fact is that for three hard years I’ve been saving money to go back to my country and buy a house in the countryside and live the rest of my days breeding sheep and chickens. When I tell you this, I can almost feel the warm Mexican breeze gently fondling my face. I can also imagine the winding road crossing the golden barley fields and the travelers waving their hands as a signal of respect for the landowner. It seems I can almost touch this image, but it suddenly vanishes from my mind and the only image is Trujillo’s dumb face stupidly smiling at me.
All my money had vanished from my suitcase as well as the image in my mind, and the only living creature on the Earth who knows my fortune spot was him. Trujillo. “Gambling”! It must be the only reason for the stealthy action. Since the day I introduce Trujillo to the cards I rolled the dice of my own luck. “Gambling”! At this moment some shark loan must have my entire treasure in his filthy hand. I hastened my pace trying to get to him as sooner as I could. Turning the corner I was faced to a crowd near the sidewalk, closing the image of what seems a man on the floor. I could recognize the moans as I heard it. It was him. “If he’s not dying, I’m gonna kill him myself.” I thought. As I approached, opening angrily the way, I could see him; lying on the floor with something like a folder in his hand on his chest. “A car got him”. Someone said. As I got closer I could see his face, smiling at me and I could listen to his last words – “Happy birthday!” – he said when he gave me the folder with a picture of a beautiful and pastoral ranch with the following quote: “Don’t count sheep in your dreams. Congratulations. Now you can count it on your own land”.
