Stories

  Priming the irrigation pump was a nuisance. After many unsuccessful tries, he finally achieved the desired effect. With suction restored, a torrent of brown water from the Zulia River rushed from the outlet, flowing through the loose furrows and toward the waiting seeds. He would harvest in three months, but storing the grain would require dozens of steel barrels—and barrels were in short supply. Ever since the government had ousted the foreign oil companies, smuggling Colombian gasoline had become a thriving business. Empty barrels were at a premium. The value of a single empty container surpassed that of three barrels of maize, and they could be re-used indefinitely. "By harvest time, I will have no barrels left; they will steal or seize the few I have," Ricardo reflected silently. The government's desertion had created a lawless void, quickly filled by sullen-faced Colombian guerrillas. They protected the small farmers, providing them with food and shelter. However, ...

  No, Lazaro, do not cut that plant! You must be more careful! Matilde is going to ask me again to fire you. The gardener heard his boss anxiously. He had moved to the hills close to Señor Carvajal’s mansion to reach it easily. None of his previous neighbors could reach this housing complex on foot in less than an hour. He fortunately discovered a place with a burst water pipe. The leak seemed like a tiny creek. Maria could now wash and cook without having to go to one of those filthy slum fountains. His cousin Pablo brought the necessary corrugated metal sheets, clay blocks, and some stolen cement to build his home. Although people considered Pablo a chavista , he helped Lazaro whenever he could. He unloaded the materials bit by bit on a road turn. Lazaro quickly hid them and later took them to the spot of the burst water pipe. Maria, cooking with wood gathered in the nearby woods, tried to keep the smoke from betraying their existence. She asked Lazaro for various food items ...