Bench

Bench "At maqtillus carapo community, who are still running with hat in hand and unruly hair waved in communal fields Pastoqata. For the villagers of the two neighborhoods Carapo, whom carries with tenderness, faith and hope?. Malaysian Oh life! waychaw, your song is malagüero early riser, delivers misery. Ya, and stops singing, hagues not grow in my heart off. The sky was black, almost no light, Sunny. In the meadows green, on the edge of the distant hills dawned the clouds, like a soft cotton Paqchapunku tended everywhere hiding the frigid countryside and animals. It's almost morning began with rain, some way to the maqtillus and Pastoqata, Mrs. Mary and watching their cows walked, frightening the yutus (partridge) early risers who dug up newly planted corn. The black sky is not scared. He was cheerful in the morning, yours a joyful noise in Duraznal, the thrush pecking at the wet ground with their sharp beaks catch worms. For all the ways of the villagers going about their chores, from the top of the hill, you see the whole village.

I like a hawk from the top perceived the wide open country and since then I heard the melodious whistle of a boy in love, it was Aristides hasty Qotawatiri approached, he also came in search of his bulls to Pastoqata, common hill people. Aristides is the only one: the parrot of the valley, bustling, friend of the maqtillus, has the distinct whistle is proper, strong, from the distant hills clear. From Qala Qala looked at all Carapo outside, side by side, to the extent of the view. The people are humble and poor. It is pitiful to see from the top, I was thinking for some time, watching the green field planted, the corn was beginning to play with the winds, the cries of the bulls, the Paqchapunku noisy echoes in the distance and even Aristides went whistling. The Carapina huayno and carnival, as if in February, but usually it is varied, the villagers, children know, is a teacher and still waking up to the whistle Blancon carbines with love. It was in December, when the planting of corn over. The field was green, some freshly plowed fields and the other the cornfields began to germinate.

In the latter months of the year, the planting is in qochkas in the lands watered by the rains, the fields can not reach the waters of Waqrayuy and nawin; sown barley and wheat. On that morning, like other children of the village was in Pasto qata, looking from the first light of day and Bench Huayrunguito our bulls that had to take to plow Suppose quruy.

The field was wet, soft, slippery until ichus tayas and tore their roots, to cavort gauges Qoni heating the inti (warm sun) so in these places the well in the rain. I was agile, frisky. I got to wherever the bulls had to recognize them. At Huayrunguito black bull so hard to recognize, at first sight for so many bulls had, had to see up close. I found him in the leg Kano, that little rock, large ravine, he was alone, looked everywhere, seemed confused. I was looking, looking at his eyes Huayrunguito, his eyes burned like the sun at mid day in June, weeping their eyes shone the love with hate, seemed to say something. He kept looking at me, his dark eyes sparkled with displeasure, it still looked like big brother. With respect. He raised his eyes everywhere and was walked between tayas. The sky became clearer, the clouds with elab tayta heating the inti and were becoming more white, the world began to heat at the top of Kano and shone like mirrors. The falderías, streams were clearer. I kept walking, I thought for a moment that would be near the Huayrunguito stool that were always together since they were calves, and now they were big bulls remained as brothers, they never fought, defended his herd of other bulls and the bench was a bull fighter.

I could not find, until the sun was high in the sky, hotter and went in the morning. I ran everywhere, the grass qata was silent, because the other bulls sought the shade of trees to spend the sweltering heat of the day. Bench, banquchallay! To be, I ran with hat in hand agitated and unruly hair. Bench was a crafty little calf was born at the height of Atancera, three days before my second birthday, in February where the pass Carapo commoners in their rooms with their cows from late December through April, not until fall frost and yellow withered grass scarce, the villagers return to the village with their cattle to eat the husks in their fields. That frigid morning, very early her mother had come from the leg bellowed as if calling or waking, heard the first roar the bull began to bellow like mom would say I'm here. That same morning I got for my birthday so the newborn calf. Bench when I called him Whitey still could not pronounce it, even a little curious confession, thus we call it, I now realize that their animals to the villagers is like a credit institution (bank) reached four or five years sell their bulls to acquire their different needs, for that care for them, because it is eaten with bread, rice, kerosene is purchased, phosphorus, also his clothes.

Now the bench was a large bull, white with some black spots on its back, was the last time you went to look at the Pasto qata it was December, most of the villagers had finished planting in their gardens, we also we were missing the last seed in the Supun quruy, the farm where planting in those months when the ground has been watered by the rains. All morning I could not find it. I was angry, as ever, my body had warmed up and sweating. When suddenly at the top of Quñani began flying condors, flying closer to me, as if they were round. I went back to the top of that big hill Kano leg where he had found the land Huayrunguito was soft as I noticed some traces, I was afraid or sweating more, was a deep failure in the field, a ravine, in that part was a quagmire ichus seemed torn on the rocks had been white hairs, I managed to stay standing, crestfallen, sad, fearful, have fallen into the ravine stool reaching the ichus. I started running downhill, the bench was echadito on the rocks of this avalanche, I stared for a long time, compared affront in silence.

Wamani you who are master of your animals you take him on my bench, we have no money, not buy anything, no bread, no rice, no matches, no clothes, we'll be looking at the other chocolate makers in December 25. Nor sow in Supunquruy. Karaja Qanra! Maqtillu no use crying, he had every bone broken, his back was flayed, rasmillado, bleeding from his nose, without the right horn, he would have stayed in that ravine between ichus. Carapo in the sky the sun shone, the sky was overcast with clouds spread over the hills, moving quietly, thrushes and other birds of that avalanche chillca screaming about on the thorns, jumping chased flapping in tastes in the avalanche and tayas that high in the sky soon cleared flew on a pair of condors stool Oh, bancuchallay! I could not stop, I threw the stool white neck and cried like never before in my life, your body warm, the smell of fresh ichu had just slowly with my joy. I hug your neck, put my face on his back bloodied and began to die at his side believing the cold that entered his body would reach my veins, even the light of my eyes.

Malaysian life ay! Waychaw you sing your, your song will malaguero forever.