Chegamos de volta a Auria
sendo eu de once anos dempois de finar mi padre, que sairamos de
alí sendo eu moi cativo, que eu non nascera en Auria sinón en
Ponte Barxa na raia seca de Portugal sendo meu pai carabinero
como o foi até o cabo dos seus días; a miña irmá Alexandrina si,
que aló quedou, ós sete, das vixigas en Calahonda, e meu irmao
Alixio tamén que era o meirande e fuxiu
cos gitanos, que si o
levaran ou si fuxiu nunca se soupo, e non voltou.
Conque mi madre con sete
duros da viuvedade que non chegaban a un dente púxose aínda
máis a cismar na volta a Auria que quedáralle unha cachoupiña
cun resío de horta perto da Ponte dos Pelamios, e criar pitas e un
marrello pra cebote, que endexamais se afixera en Madrid, nin en
Alxeciras, nin en Alcántara (e aínda menos en Ceuta, onde chorou
a cotío ano e medio), como si non houbera pitas nin marraus
nas outras bandas do mundo, e cando acadou telos eiquí deixou
de nifrar por mi padre e de falar do Alixio como si tivese
nascido de novo, e púxolle ás pitas nomes de cristiáns e ó porquiño
chamáballe Algabeño, e ó galo Canalejas.
Asegún me decían os
rapaces de Auria eu resultara falando o andaluz polo moito que
contrapeaba miña fala coa súa, e facíanme falar e coñeábanse de min
sin o aparentar anque eu dábame conta, e tamén de que xa non
falaba andaluz sinón madrileño que se me apegara dispois: «anda
la osa, nos ha jodío, vaya leche, oye Ninchi», e eu non tiña
culpa, polo cuio facíanme xudiadas, puñéranme «Ninchi» de
alcume, e a miña nai dábame chapadas na boca cando chegaba da rúa
decindo porcalladas sin o saber, na fala do país que mas adeprendían
os rapaces con nomes trabucados, «dille á túa nai que che
dea un pataco pra mercar c... xa verás que ricas». E rachábanme
os peós e afundíanme os puñetes na res xogando a la una anda la
mula, e facíanme regañetas de m... cando
iamos nadar na Sila, con
dous ou tres noos tan apreixados con auga na camisa que non se podían
desfacer sin botarlle os dentes.
....
We went back to Auria when I was eleven, after my father had passed away, although I was just a baby when we left there in the first place, because I wasn' t born in Auria, you see, but in Ponte Barxa, right on the frontier with Portugal, because my Dad worked as a border guardand did until he died; my sister Alexandrina and my brother Alixio, who was the eldest, they were both born in Auria, but she died of smallpox in Calahonda when she was only seven and he ran away with gypsies, well, we never found out really whether they took him or whether he ran away, but he didn't come back.
Anyway, my mother was left with a widow's pensions of about thirty pesetas, barely enough to buy a crust of bread, and she got it into her head that we ought to go back to Auria where her parents had left her a little house with a bit of a garden near Ponte Pelamios, and where she could keep chickens and a pig to fatten up and sell, because my Mum, you see, never really settled in Madrid or Algeciras or Alcántara (and certainly not in Ceuta, where she cried solidly for a year and a half) as if those other places didn't haver chickens and pigs as well, but as soon as she got some, she stopped grieving for my father and talking about Alixio as if he was still a little baby and she gave all the chickens Christian names and called the pig Algabeño after the matador and the cockerel Canalejas after the prime minister.
According to the others boys in Auria, I talked like someone from Andalusia because I spoke differently from them, and they used to try and get me to talk just so as to make fun of me, well they pretended they weren't, but I could tell, beside, I didn't talk like Andalusian, but like someone from Madrid, a way of speaking I picked up later -it wasn't my fault I said things like "anda la osa, nos ha jodío, vaya leche, oye Ninchi" (cor, bloody hell, good grief, oy, mate) - and they nicknamed me "Ninchi" and started playing tricks on me, teaching me rude words in galego, and my Mum would slap me hard whenever I innocently came home and repeted the words the local lads had taught me, «tell your mother to give you some money so that you can buy a nice bit of c*** for your tea». And they pulled my hair and dug their fists into the small of my back whenever we played leapfrog, and when we went swimming in the river, they would tie knoots in my shirt, then dunk the shirt in the water and smear the knows with shit, and the only way you could untie them then was with your teeth.
...
...
Eduardo Blanco Amor (Ourense, 14 de septiembre de 1897 - Vigo, 1 de diciembre de 1979)
Portada de Os biosbardos (Editorial Galaxia) 1976
Pintura: Neno lendo, de Jeffrey T. Larson
Fotografía de ©Roque Soto Soto
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