The Winterlings by Cristina Sánchez-Andrade Read Free Book Online Page A

tell her everything that went on in the village. And after the idiot had told her in great detail all of the most intimate secrets of confession — like a certain person’s case of adultery or the lechery of another — his mother always said the same thing: ‘Bah, is that all you’ve got today? Maybe one day you’ll bring me something interesting!’
    But that was all part of the past; that woman was now dead, and the priest only fulfilled one role now: glutton.
    â€˜Exactly, that.’ Repeated the priest, swallowing the filloa pancake.
    â€˜What do you mean, ‘that’?’
    The priest finally looked away.
    â€˜I was saying that it’s time you two got together with everyone else in the village …’
    â€˜Are you calling us sheep?’ said the Winterlings in unison. The priest took in everything with a glance: the house, the orchard, the chickens.
    The fig tree twisted and sprawled over the house, its branches invading the windows without panes.
    â€˜You’re very lonely out here …’
    â€˜We’d be even more lonely without loneliness,’ they replied.
    â€˜We’re all sheep, or we end up becoming them. It’s good to be part of the flock; it’s warm and gives comfort,’ said Don Manuel, taking up the handle of the cart again. ‘Tomorrow morning don’t take the animals up the mountain; I’ll come and get you, and we’ll visit the old lady.’
    And that’s how it went. The next day, before the sun had even risen, Don Manuel was out the front of the Winterlings’ house, waiting for them. When they saw him at the front door, the Winterlings wanted to flee through the back door. But there was no escape. Don Manuel had blocked the back door with his cart so that they couldn’t slip away.
    There was nothing else for it but to go up Bocelo Mountain with him. While they got ready to leave, they asked him inside to sit by the hearth. But when they came down from the bedroom, Don Manuel wasn’t where they had left him. They found him snooping around the cowshed, checking out the cow.
    â€˜The cow is fat,’ he said, hearing them enter.
    â€˜She certainly eats,’ they said.
    The Winterlings sidled up slowly; then, one on each side, they gently nudged him towards the door.
    â€˜You’ve got a fair stench in here,’ said the priest, still scanning the cowshed.
    â€˜Just a regular stench,’ they said somewhat nervously, still nudging him. ‘Just a regular cowshed stench …’
    But the priest wrinkled his nose to sniff at the air, and did not appear to want to leave.
    â€˜The thing is, it smells foul, but not like cows or manure or even gorse. It smells like …’
    But before he could finish his sentence the Winterlings had him outside ( ‘a woolly bear caterpillar, that’s what you smell of …’). They were ready to head up the mountain, the sooner the better, they had plenty to do — so what was he waiting for?
    It was the first time they had been required to interrupt their routine, and this troubled them. Along the way, the priest wanted to make conversation. He asked them what England was like.
    â€˜Drizzly and melancholy,’ said one of them.
    â€˜Drab …’ added the other, looking at the ground.
    Don Manuel also wanted to know if what he had heard was true: that priests over there could get married. The Winterlings told him yes, over there priests could get married.
    The priest had no further questions.
    They entered the hut, lowering their heads and treading carefully. They found the old lady sleeping. Don Manuel had to shake her several times.
    â€˜I brought you the Winterlings, old lady.’
    The old lady smelt of smoke. She didn’t even stir. She seemed despondent. The priest uncovered her roughly, and began applying holy oils to her feet. She had big, cracked, dirty feet. At last the old lady croaked