bleeding.
âWhat happened, Rubio?â
Rubio sucked in a breath and answered, discouraged: âWeâve been betrayed.â
They were all thinking it, but no one wanted to believe it. When it came from Rubioâs lips, the suspicion was suddenly real, and it fell upon them like a spade full of earth on the lid of a coffin. Inside, all of them were looking for a name. After a weighty silence, Dimas spoke: âWhereâs Montero?â
âI havenât seen him,â one answered.
âMe neither,â another confirmed.
âHeâs not here, clearly. â¦â
The workers began to curse and threaten the traitor. Dimas thought that he had touched a match to kindling that was ready to burst into flames.
âWell, if heâs not here â¦â he muttered while he bandaged his leg with the torn sleeves of his shirt.
âSon of a bitch!â someone exclaimed between clenched teeth.
A couple of farmworkers who lived nearby came over with a pot of hot malt. They said they had seen them flee. One of the peasanta continued, saying that he too had worked in a factory for a time; he knew how the bosses worked them to nothing. The farmersâ solidarity encouraged the bruised men, who thanked them for the cups of hot liquid as if it were manna from heaven.
âItâs even worse that theyâre using scabs,â the man finished.
âScabs?â Ramiro, who was blowing on his cup, lifted his head in surprise.
âYou didnât know? They bring in a handful of workers at night. They start up around midnight and disappear before daybreak.â
They were shocked by the double betrayal. Words of vengeance sounded repeatedly like echoes from a mountaintop. Dimas said nothing; he just nodded his head and agreed with his comrades.
Daniel Montero stood up, stunned. After getting to his feet, he felt the bump on his head; it hurt so much he thought his head was going to explode. He shook his arms back and forth, trying to warm up, and noticed a strong scent of wine. He didnât understand what had happened.
He walked toward the main entrance of the depot. It was locked. He didnât know if everything had already happened or if the workers hadnât dared to bring their plan to its conclusion, but when he looked at the floor, he saw drops of blood. He stood there a few moments, not knowing what to do, before deciding to walk to the meeting point.
When he was still a few yards away, he saw the strikers. He raised a hand to greet them and approached them with a halting gait, stiff with the cold and the blow he had received, but the looks that met him caused him to pause.
âWh-what happened?â Montero stuttered.
The silence was thick, and then it was quickly shattered.
âLook at him. To top it off, he stinks of wine. â¦â one of the men finally said, full of contempt.
âItâs his conscience; heâs gotten drunk because he feels guilty after what heâs done to us,â another seethed.
None of them moved, their eyes burning with hatred. Montero observed them and saw they had uncovered his treason. His eyes met those of Dimas. He was the only one who watched him unmoved. Son of a bitch , Montero thought.
He knew there was nothing left to do but run. At the first movement he saw, he took off running like a hare, and a stone hit the ground beside him. He stopped a few yards away from his colleagues and turned around, offended. Another stone flew, this time hitting him in the chest, and he knew he had made a mistake. He turned away quickly, but Ramiro leaped at his feet and managed to get him to the ground. Montero wrangled back and forth like a cat, but the other manâs fists fell like hammer blows. More of his companions joined in, kicking him while the farmworkers tried to stop them. Finally Rubio got between the workers and Montero with the help of Arnau.
âRamiro, for the love of God, donât get your hands dirty
âWhat happened, Rubio?â
Rubio sucked in a breath and answered, discouraged: âWeâve been betrayed.â
They were all thinking it, but no one wanted to believe it. When it came from Rubioâs lips, the suspicion was suddenly real, and it fell upon them like a spade full of earth on the lid of a coffin. Inside, all of them were looking for a name. After a weighty silence, Dimas spoke: âWhereâs Montero?â
âI havenât seen him,â one answered.
âMe neither,â another confirmed.
âHeâs not here, clearly. â¦â
The workers began to curse and threaten the traitor. Dimas thought that he had touched a match to kindling that was ready to burst into flames.
âWell, if heâs not here â¦â he muttered while he bandaged his leg with the torn sleeves of his shirt.
âSon of a bitch!â someone exclaimed between clenched teeth.
A couple of farmworkers who lived nearby came over with a pot of hot malt. They said they had seen them flee. One of the peasanta continued, saying that he too had worked in a factory for a time; he knew how the bosses worked them to nothing. The farmersâ solidarity encouraged the bruised men, who thanked them for the cups of hot liquid as if it were manna from heaven.
âItâs even worse that theyâre using scabs,â the man finished.
âScabs?â Ramiro, who was blowing on his cup, lifted his head in surprise.
âYou didnât know? They bring in a handful of workers at night. They start up around midnight and disappear before daybreak.â
They were shocked by the double betrayal. Words of vengeance sounded repeatedly like echoes from a mountaintop. Dimas said nothing; he just nodded his head and agreed with his comrades.
Daniel Montero stood up, stunned. After getting to his feet, he felt the bump on his head; it hurt so much he thought his head was going to explode. He shook his arms back and forth, trying to warm up, and noticed a strong scent of wine. He didnât understand what had happened.
He walked toward the main entrance of the depot. It was locked. He didnât know if everything had already happened or if the workers hadnât dared to bring their plan to its conclusion, but when he looked at the floor, he saw drops of blood. He stood there a few moments, not knowing what to do, before deciding to walk to the meeting point.
When he was still a few yards away, he saw the strikers. He raised a hand to greet them and approached them with a halting gait, stiff with the cold and the blow he had received, but the looks that met him caused him to pause.
âWh-what happened?â Montero stuttered.
The silence was thick, and then it was quickly shattered.
âLook at him. To top it off, he stinks of wine. â¦â one of the men finally said, full of contempt.
âItâs his conscience; heâs gotten drunk because he feels guilty after what heâs done to us,â another seethed.
None of them moved, their eyes burning with hatred. Montero observed them and saw they had uncovered his treason. His eyes met those of Dimas. He was the only one who watched him unmoved. Son of a bitch , Montero thought.
He knew there was nothing left to do but run. At the first movement he saw, he took off running like a hare, and a stone hit the ground beside him. He stopped a few yards away from his colleagues and turned around, offended. Another stone flew, this time hitting him in the chest, and he knew he had made a mistake. He turned away quickly, but Ramiro leaped at his feet and managed to get him to the ground. Montero wrangled back and forth like a cat, but the other manâs fists fell like hammer blows. More of his companions joined in, kicking him while the farmworkers tried to stop them. Finally Rubio got between the workers and Montero with the help of Arnau.
âRamiro, for the love of God, donât get your hands dirty
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