![]() When his son said, “yes, papa”, he did what he was told. In the mutual trust that the two give to one another-the father of silvery sideburns and the child of thirteen-there were never any lies. The father takes a look at his wristwatch: twelve. A deep humming sound fills the entire body and saturates the atmosphere for as far as the eyes can see, a time that harnesses all tropical life. Wherever one looks-rocks, earth, trees-, the air, congested like an oven, vibrates with heat. The sun, already very high, continues to rise. Without paying any more attention to the menial event, the man distracts himself with his work. “The Saint Etienne” the father thinks recognizing the detonation. ![]() In that moment, not far off, he hears a loud boom. Horrible things…But today, with the burning summer day full of live, the love of which his son seems to have inherited, the father feels happy, calm and sure of the future. He had once seen him rolling, covered in blood, from hammering a parabellum bullet in the vice in his workshop he had felt this despite that his son was only polishing his belt buckle. The image of his own son has not escaped his torment. He has seen, in painfully clear visions, memories of a happiness that should have remained in the void where he has locked himself. And to achieve it he had to resist not only his heart, but his moral torments as well because this father, of weak stomach and poor eyesight, has for some time suffered from hallucinations. This is how the father had raised his son. It’s so easy for a child to miscalculate, put a foot in an empty hole and one loses a son.ĭanger can always linger for a man despite his age but the threat diminished since at an early age he learned to count on nothing besides his own abilities. This father had fought hard against what he sees as his own selfishness. Nevertheless, it is not easy for a widowed father, who without any other faith or hope in life other than his son, to educate his son like he had been taught, free in his limited range of knowledge, confident in his tiny feet and hands since four years old, conscious of the immensity of certain dangers and the scarcity of his own strengths. His son, at the same age, now had one- and his father smiled. At thirteen he would have given his life for a shotgun. Juan to his ranch with his nine millimeter firearm that had been given to him, and his son to the plateau with his huge, sixteen caliber, white powder, four lock Saint-Etienne shotgun. At times they would hunt a yacu-toro or-if lucky- a surucua and return triumphant. Now alone, the father smirks recalling the passion for hunting that young children share. After crossing the island of trees, the boy will follow the line of cactuses towards the marshland, looking for doves, toucans, or any kind of heron, like those that his friend Juan had discovered a few days back. In order to hunt in the forest-a game hunt-one needs more patience than his young son can muster. The father doesn’t even have to raise his head from his chores to follow his son’s path: already across the reddened path and walking upright to the forest past the opening in the grass field. And judging by his pure blue eyes, still sparkling with infantile joy, he looks even younger. Even though he is very tall for his age, he’s only thirteen. He knows that his son, taught from the youngest age proper habit and precaution when dealing in danger, can handle a firearm and hunt whatever he wishes. His father follows him a bit with his eyes and goes back to his daily chores, gleaming with joy over his young one. ![]() He balances the shotgun in his hand, smiles at his father, kisses him on the head and leaves. “Come back at lunchtime.” The father adds. ![]() “Yes, papa.” Responds the young child, while picking up the shotgun and filling his shirt pockets with cartridges, buttoning them closed carefully. “Be careful, little one.” He says to his son, summarizing in one phrase all of the observations of what could go wrong, and his son understanding perfectly. Like the sun, the heat, and the tranquil atmosphere, the father opens his heart to nature. Mother Nature, open to the skies, seems proud of herself. It’s a rough summer morning in Misiones, with all the sun, heat and tranquility that the season can provide.
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