Pregunteille á mamá. “¿Vou quedar cego?” Respondeume: “Non”. Pero non llo creo. Hoxe pola mañá, cando me levaron para o corredor do patio, ao sentir o sol pousado na miña pel, dixen: “A ver”. Metín este dedo pola esquina dun ollo, levantando a venda por ver se vía algo, pero non vin nada. Nin sequera unha pouca claridade. Nada. Eu xa tiña a cousa medio tragada, pois pola Santa Lucía a mamá levoume a Paredes de ofrecido. Aínda que me quixeron enganar, ben se vía que a peregrinaxe era por min, porque non me deixaban chistar nin cantar. En cambio a miña irmá ía xogando polo camiño, collendo estraloques e falando coa xente. E eu calado e mamá dicíndome: “Rézalle unha salve á santa”. E eu rezando sen ganas porque o sol quentaba e o camiño era longo e mal, que haberá dúas leguas polo monte. Eu lembrábame de cando levaron a nena ao San Benito, que tampouco lle daban acougo facéndoa rezar como me facían a min agora. Ela quería xogar comigo, pero non a deixaban. En troque eu facía o que quería e ninguén me rifaba. E tamén se ve que hoxe na casa fago o que quero e a mamá non me rifa por nada e estame sempre: “¿Queres tantiño mel, prenda?” “¿Queres un pouco viño con azucre?” “Heiche traer pan branco da vila”. Ben se ve que vou quedar cego. Onte rifáronme porque dixen que ao Camilo xa non lle quería por me dar coa pedra, pero só me rifaron onte. E a mamá sempre que fala do Camilo di que é bo neno e que non o fixo adrede, que iso lle pasa a calquera. A mamá fala así porque sabe que quedo cego e para que non lle garde xenreira ao Camilo para toda a vida. En adiante vou ser como o Nicolás, que anda cun caxato da casa para a eira ou da casa para a igrexa. E de aí non sae. E o papá vese que anda triste porque fala pouco e antonte, cando quedei durmido á hora do xantar, espertoume e dixo: “¿Durmiches de noite?” Respondinlle que si, pero non era certo. Levo máis dunha semana sen pegar ollo. Cando me meto na cama éntrame unha pena negra no corazón e pónseme o sangue todo cheíño de formigas e acóchome ben abaixo e tápome pola cabeza e rezo. Pero ao rezar non me pasa. E sigo rezando para durmir, pero debo ser moi malo, que xa teño tragado para min que o da cegueira debes ser un castigo polos meus pecados. Agora non, pero antes a mamá xa me dicía: “Ti es un pecadento e has ir ao inferno”. E ben se ve que vou ir, porque rezo e Deus non me fai caso e non durmo... O verán que vén teño que volver á Santa Lucía de ofrecido e sen ganas de xogar nin de estourar os estraloques. E se fai sol, aguanto, que así tamén fago penitencia polos meus pecados. Neste momento fai sol. Meto o dedo por aquí, por unha esquiniña, e non vexo nada. Chámame a mamá: “Ramonciño”. “Mande vostede”. “¿Estás ben?”. “Estou”. “¿Cómpreche algo, miña prenda?” O sol debeuse meter detrás do monte do Picouto. Xa non quenta. De aquí a pouco virá a noitiña. Logo cearemos e despois iremos todos a durmir. Só de pensalo éncheseme o sangue de formigas e unha pena moi grande e negrísima metéseme dentro do corazón.

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I’ll be blind

I asked mom. “Will I be blind?” She answered: “No”. But I don’t trust her. This morning, when they brought me to the yard’s gallery, feeling the sun over my skin, I said: “Let’s see”. I slipped this finger from an eye side, lifting the blindfold just to check if I could see a thing, but I couldn’t. Not even the slightest brightness. Nothing. I already had a sneaking feeling, because on Saint Lucy's day mom brought me to Paredes to offer me. Although they tried to trick me, I could clearly see that the pilgrimage was because of my condition. They did not let me mutter or sang, unlike my sister. She was playing in the road, picking up digitalis and talking to the people. And I was quiet while mum was telling me: “Pray a Salve Regina to the saint”. And I was praying in an unwilling attitude because the sun warmed up and the road was long and difficult, there must be two leagues through the hills. I remembered when they brought the little girl to San Benito. They also didn’t give her a break with prays, as they do to me this time. She wanted to play with me, but she wasn’t allowed to do so. Instead I could do what I wanted to and nobody told me off. And I could also see that today at home I could do what I wanted to and mum didn’t scold me for anything and she kept on being like this: “Do  you want some honey, dear?” “Do you want some wine with sugar?” “I’ll bring you white bread from the town”. You could surely suppose that I was going to be blind. Yesterday they scolded me because I said that I no longer liked Camilo because he hurt me with that stone. But they only scolded me yesterday. And mum, whenever she talks about Camilo says he is a good boy and that he meant no harm to me, that it could have happened to anyone. Mum talks like that because she knows I’ll be blind, in order to avoid me to be angry with Camilo for the rest of my life. From now on, I’ll be like Nicolas, who walks with a staff from home to the yard or from home to the church. And he walks no more. And you could see that dad feels blue, because he hardly speaks a word and the day before yesterday, when I felt asleep at noon, he woke me up and asked: “Did you sleep last night?” I answered affirmatively, but it wasn’t true. This week I haven't slept at all. When I go to bed a deep black sorrow enters my heart and the blood feels filled of ants and I crouch down myself, I cover up my head and I pray. But while I am praying  nothing happens. And I carry on praying to sleep, but I must be a truly bad boy, I’ve already assumed that the blindness stuff is a punishment due to my sins. Not now, but before this mum told me: “You are a sinner and you are going to go to hell”. And now I can see I’m going there, because I pray and God doesn’t care about me and I don’t sleep… Next summer I must return to Santa Lucía as an offered prayer and with no will for plays or burst the digitalis. And if it's sunny, I must put up with it, so that I also do penance for my sins. At this moment it is sunny. I slipped this finger from here, just a bit, and I can’t see anything. Mum calls me: “Ramonciño”. “Tell me, mum”. “Are you fine?” “I am”. “Do you need something, my dear?” Sun must go behind the Picouto hill. It warms no more. From here on, the night will fall. Then we would have dinner and after that everyone will go to sleep. Just the thought of it my blood gets full with ants and a great sorrow, really black, enters deep in my heart.