path that led into the mountains, vanishing into the undergrowth until she became just one more leaf in a sea of plants.
‘Who is that woman?’ Benicio asked. Whoever she was, Gertrudis said, she wasn’t right in the head; the whole area was full of lunatics. Her answer did little to convince her brother. Grandpa set his sacks on the ground and went back to the store to ask Li. ‘I think she lives in Pata de Puerco,’ Li said. ‘But run on home now. You are too young to be sticking your noses in other people’s lives.’
As they headed home, Grandpa Benicio could not get Ester’s face out of his mind and her words echoed inside his head. When they came within ten metres of their house, both children smelled something strange. Surely Betina could have arrived back before them, unless someone had given her a ride in their cart. Pushing open the door, they found Melecio in the living room, hands stuffed in the pockets of his shorts, smiling a mischievous dazzling smile, as though he had just done something naughty.
‘Is Mamá home already, Melecio?’ said Gertrudis, setting her bags down on the wooden table. ‘She must have been inspired today because it smells even more delicious than usual.’
‘Mamá’s not here. But it does smell delicious, doesn’t it?’
‘What are you talking about?’
Geru and Benicio ran to the kitchen where they found rice and a chicken Melecio had cooked, and a lettuce and tomato salad. There was a vast quantity of food. Melecio tried to explain that he had taught himself to cook but Geru and Benicio said he must have gone mad, that cooking was woman’s work and José would beat him to within an inch of his life.
They were right. Five minutes later José arrived and, when he found the mountains of food, gave Melecio such a beating his screams could be heard as far as Santiago. ‘Who told you to cook for the whole village, huh? You know very well that chicken was to commemorate Malena and Oscar’s anniversary. I swear I’ll kill you.’ José went on beating Melecio, shaking him like a rag doll. Benicio tried to intervene, grabbing his father by his belt.
‘Get out of here, Oscar,’ roared José and gave him a clout.
‘I’m not Oscar, I’m Benicio and she’s Gertrudis.’
‘You’re right, you are Benicio and she’s Geru and you . . . you’re Melecio, the little bastard who just cooked a whole month’s worth of food. Out of my sight, the three of you, and Melecio, I don’t want you setting foot in the kitchen again, do you hear? Now get out!’
When Betina got home, she scolded Melecio some more. She didn’t know how she was going to feed her family the following week since they did not have a peso and the beans and pulses Benicio and Geru had just bought would barely last three days. What Melecio had cooked was bound to be inedible, but they would have to make do, or sell it to a neighbour as pig fodder.
Betina and José were the first to taste the food. As the fragrant flavours of Melecio’s cooking melted in their mouths, they were overwhelmed by an indescribable feeling. José got up from the table, rushed to find Melecio, fell to his knees and said, ‘Forgive me, hijo . . . I promise I’ll never beat you again. You can cook all the chickens you want.’
José wept as Betina rained down blows on him, calling him an ill-bred lout for doing such a thing to his own son and swearing that the next time she caught him beating Melecio she would cut his balls off. Benicio sat, his spoon hovering before his mouth, unable to believe what he was seeing. Melecio himself did not understand what was happening. He sat in silence trying to work out which of the spices he had used could have produced such an effect.
Too late Grandpa Benicio screamed, ‘Noooo!’, but Gertrudis had already put a spoonful in her mouth.
‘From now on I’m not going to share a bed with you,’ his sister immediately announced and ran from Benicio’s side to sit next to the little
‘Who is that woman?’ Benicio asked. Whoever she was, Gertrudis said, she wasn’t right in the head; the whole area was full of lunatics. Her answer did little to convince her brother. Grandpa set his sacks on the ground and went back to the store to ask Li. ‘I think she lives in Pata de Puerco,’ Li said. ‘But run on home now. You are too young to be sticking your noses in other people’s lives.’
As they headed home, Grandpa Benicio could not get Ester’s face out of his mind and her words echoed inside his head. When they came within ten metres of their house, both children smelled something strange. Surely Betina could have arrived back before them, unless someone had given her a ride in their cart. Pushing open the door, they found Melecio in the living room, hands stuffed in the pockets of his shorts, smiling a mischievous dazzling smile, as though he had just done something naughty.
‘Is Mamá home already, Melecio?’ said Gertrudis, setting her bags down on the wooden table. ‘She must have been inspired today because it smells even more delicious than usual.’
‘Mamá’s not here. But it does smell delicious, doesn’t it?’
‘What are you talking about?’
Geru and Benicio ran to the kitchen where they found rice and a chicken Melecio had cooked, and a lettuce and tomato salad. There was a vast quantity of food. Melecio tried to explain that he had taught himself to cook but Geru and Benicio said he must have gone mad, that cooking was woman’s work and José would beat him to within an inch of his life.
They were right. Five minutes later José arrived and, when he found the mountains of food, gave Melecio such a beating his screams could be heard as far as Santiago. ‘Who told you to cook for the whole village, huh? You know very well that chicken was to commemorate Malena and Oscar’s anniversary. I swear I’ll kill you.’ José went on beating Melecio, shaking him like a rag doll. Benicio tried to intervene, grabbing his father by his belt.
‘Get out of here, Oscar,’ roared José and gave him a clout.
‘I’m not Oscar, I’m Benicio and she’s Gertrudis.’
‘You’re right, you are Benicio and she’s Geru and you . . . you’re Melecio, the little bastard who just cooked a whole month’s worth of food. Out of my sight, the three of you, and Melecio, I don’t want you setting foot in the kitchen again, do you hear? Now get out!’
When Betina got home, she scolded Melecio some more. She didn’t know how she was going to feed her family the following week since they did not have a peso and the beans and pulses Benicio and Geru had just bought would barely last three days. What Melecio had cooked was bound to be inedible, but they would have to make do, or sell it to a neighbour as pig fodder.
Betina and José were the first to taste the food. As the fragrant flavours of Melecio’s cooking melted in their mouths, they were overwhelmed by an indescribable feeling. José got up from the table, rushed to find Melecio, fell to his knees and said, ‘Forgive me, hijo . . . I promise I’ll never beat you again. You can cook all the chickens you want.’
José wept as Betina rained down blows on him, calling him an ill-bred lout for doing such a thing to his own son and swearing that the next time she caught him beating Melecio she would cut his balls off. Benicio sat, his spoon hovering before his mouth, unable to believe what he was seeing. Melecio himself did not understand what was happening. He sat in silence trying to work out which of the spices he had used could have produced such an effect.
Too late Grandpa Benicio screamed, ‘Noooo!’, but Gertrudis had already put a spoonful in her mouth.
‘From now on I’m not going to share a bed with you,’ his sister immediately announced and ran from Benicio’s side to sit next to the little
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