Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, August 16, 1993 TAG: 9308200110
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: Ben Beagle
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
The old man had never seen a summer with so much vengeance in it. The heat clawed at his vitality, and he wanted to strike it with his fists.
It is bad when a man loses his vitality to the cruelty of summer, but that is the way it is. A man is no better than what the seasons will him to be.
He would rise in the early morning to do the chores of the day, and gnats and humidity would drive him back inside. It was like being in the bush all over again.
And he knew his legs were gone and that to run before the bulls would be folly.
"So, it has come to this, mi corazon," he said to the woman. "The heat bakes the Road of the Highfields and cicadas whirr in the trees and a man loses his vigor."
"Thee must calm down, viejo," the woman said, her eyes mirroring the wisdom she had gained in her confrontation with life. "Thee are nor alone in the heat. Other men feel themselves drained also, hombre."
"But why does a man continue to struggle?" the old man said. "Did I not buy a new pair of shorts the better to defy this awful weather? And did they not fall from my very body as I made the coffee alone in the kitchen?"
"Aiyeee, viejo," the woman said. "Thee must not tell such stories about thyself. What will los neighbors think? Thee should be glad there are shorts big enough to fall from your very body. I had not thought that to be the case, querido."
"It is all right, poquita," the old man said. "I will not walk abroad in these shorts and embarrass thee. Still it is sad that a man cannot walk in the pure air of El Dios without fear of his garments falling off."
"Soon, it will be winter, viejo," the woman said. "Thee can wear thy sweat pants again, which have the drawstrings to guard against their falling off."
"Ah, mujer," the old man said. "I listen to the wind, and it sometimes says I may not last until the winter comes again with its snows that rejuvenate a man and make him one with nature."
"Viejo," the woman said, "this is an old story with you - this not lasting through the winter. Know thee that it no longer touches my heart."
A look of hurtful sadness appeared in her eyes, and the old man knew she was right. That he would live continue to face life as the matador defies the bull.
And he fancied himself wearing the suit of the lights and picking a rose from the dust of the arena.
But he knew that no matador worries about his pants falling off.
by CNB