Jacobo turned his head to take a last look at his house before walking slowly with his sister along the frozen streets. The snowfall from the last few days came up to their knees, and when it was lifted by the wind, you could not see more than two meters ahead.
A few steps behind them, Kilian waited for their mother, a tall and robust woman, to adjust the collar of her old coat to cover her throat. He glanced at the front of the house to try and memorize everything about it: the cornerstones, the wooden windows parched by the sun and set in thick stone, the shutters anchored to rusted hinges, the lintel over the jambs that guarded the sturdy door marked with large walnut-size nails, the cross engraved on the main stone of the entrance arch . . .
His mother observed her son and felt a pang of fear. How would he fit in to a completely different world? Kilian was not like Jacobo; he was physically strong and full of energy, fine, but he did not have the overwhelming courage of his elder brother. Since he was young, Kilian had always shown a special sensitivity and thoughtfulness that, as time went by, became hidden under a cloak of curiosity and expectation that pushed him to try to copy his brother. Mariana knew how hard the tropics were. She did not want to cramp her son’s desire to learn, but she could not help feeling worried.
“You still have time to change your mind,” she said.
Kilian shook his head from side to side.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry.”
Mariana nodded, taking hold of his arm as they began to walk along the fading path marked out by Jacobo and Catalina. They had to bend their heads and shout, without looking at each other, because of the unusually fierce gale.
“This house is left with no men, Kilian,” she said. There was no contempt in her voice, but some bitterness. “I hope that one day your efforts will have been worth it . . .”
Kilian could hardly speak. Times would be difficult for his mother and young sister: two women managing a property in a harsh environment where there were fewer and fewer people. For the last two or three years, many young people had decided to leave for the provincial capitals in search of work and a better life, encouraged by the news in the few papers—El Noticiero, El Heraldo, La Nueva Espa?a, and ABC—that arrived by post to some of the richer neighbors. Reading the adverts, one might think that the future was anywhere except in that land forgotten by progress. Still, he already missed it, fearing their final good-bye. It was the first time he had left home and his mother, and all the excitement of the previous days had now transformed into a knot in his stomach.
He envied Jacobo, the speed and determination with which he had packed his luggage. “Our clothes won’t be of any use to you there,” he had told Kilian, “so only think about what you will wear on the journey there and back, the best you have. Besides, everything is cheaper there. You can buy anything you want.” Kilian had packed and unpacked the few clothes—shirts, jackets, trousers, underwear, and socks—many times to ensure that he had picked the right things. He had even made a list of all his belongings, which he then stuck to the inside of the case to remind him of what he was taking, including the packets of Palmera double-edged razor blades and his Varón Dandy aftershave. Of course, both his father and his brother had been to Africa many times and were used to traveling, but he was not, even though he had always wanted it with all his heart.
“If it weren’t so far . . .” Mariana sighed, clutching her son’s arm even tighter.
Six thousand kilometers and three weeks—it now seemed like an eternity—was what separated Kilian’s beloved mountains from a promising future. Those who went to Africa came back with white suits and money in their pockets. The families of those who emigrated did well and did so quickly. However, that was not the only reason Kilian was leaving. After all, the income of his father and brother was more than enough. In his heart of hearts, he had always been tempted to go out and see for himself what others from the valley had seen of the world, even if it meant a long and arduous journey.
“The money is always a help,” he countered again. “In these houses, something always comes up, the cost of the shepherd, the harvesters, the builders. Besides, you know that for a young man, Pasolobino is a bit limited.”
Mariana understood it better than anybody. Things had not changed much since she and her husband, Antón, had left for Africa in 1926. Life in the village meant livestock and more livestock, sheds full of manure, mud, snow, and cold. There was no scarcity, but you could not aspire to much more than surviving with a little dignity. The climate of the valley was very hard. Life depended on the weather. The crops, the fields, the farms, and the animals: if the harvest was bad one year, everybody felt it. Their sons could have stayed to work in the pyrite mine or been apprentices to the smith, the builder, the slater, or the carpenter and supplemented their income from cattle and sheep. Kilian was quite good with livestock, and he felt happy and free in the fields. But he was still young, and Mariana understood that he wanted new experiences. She had also gone through this: very few valley women had the chance to travel so far. She knew that what entered the senses when one was young left its mark.
A gust of wind hit Kilian’s suitcase, pushing him back. They trudged along in silence accompanied by the roar of the wind along the narrow street that led to the bottom of the village. Kilian was happy he had said good-bye to his neighbors the previous afternoon and that the snowstorm had prevented them from coming out onto the street. The doors and windows of the houses remained closed, adding to the spectral scene.
They made out the shapes of Jacobo and Catalina a few steps away, and the four of them formed an unsteady huddle at the edge of the fields.
Mariana observed her three children together, telling jokes to ease the tension of saying good-bye. Kilian and Jacobo were strong and attractive men who needed to stoop down to talk to their sister, a thin young woman who had never had much health. She knew Catalina would miss Jacobo’s jovial nature and Kilian’s patience. All of a sudden, Mariana missed her husband terribly. It had been two years since she had last seen Antón. And it seemed like centuries since the five of them had last been together. Now the two women would be all alone. She felt like crying but wanted to look strong, as she had been taught since childhood. Real mountain people never showed emotion in public, even if just with family.
Jacobo looked at his watch and said it was time to go. He gave his sister a hug and pinched her cheek. He went to his mother and gave her two theatrical kisses, telling her in a high voice that they would be back when she least expected it.
She whispered to him, “Look after your brother.”