Wednesday, June 26, 2013

Cerro del Muerto

Santiago had a half hectare plot at the base of a mountain called “Cerro del Muerto” in central Mexico.  He raised a few cows and grew corn.  He married Carmen when he was 23 and she was 18 and they had eight children.  Since the income from his land was not enough to support the family, Santiago took extra work in a factory and did other odd jobs.  But he continued to work the land and managed to save a little, here and there.  Carmen worked hard too, cooking all the meals, cleaning the house and hand washing all the clothes.   

Santiago was a humble man, but he knew he could make more money if he could expand his farm, and so, when he could, he bought an extra piece of land:  One little parcel after another, eventually enough to support his family and his grandchildren too.  But, for Santiago, nothing ever changed, he just worked on his farm.  Oddly, very few people in town knew that Santiago, with his worn sombrero and faded overalls, had become the largest land owner in town.  Santiago probably didn’t know that either.

While he never indulged in himself, Santiago finally had to retire his old, rusty pick-up truck and he bought a new one.  This was hardly a luxury, but a real prize for a simple man like Santiago.  On his way into town one day, the new truck stalled on the railroad tracks.  Instead of jumping clear of the oncoming train, he stayed with the truck, trying to get it restarted. The impact was swift and severe.  The truck was unrecognizably mangled.  But Santiago managed to get out of the truck and say, “Yo estoy bien.”  He collapsed a moment later and died where he fell.  

Santiago never really enjoyed his wealth, but he provided very well for his family.  Much of his land has been donated for schools, parks and churches and, ironically, some of the land was sold to build more factories.         

I wrote this for the Week 83 Trifecta Writing Challenge where we are to write a 33-333 word composition using the word “rusty” in the context of something which is a rusty color.

Your comments are appreciated.    

18 comments:

  1. Poor Santiago. Not only did he never enjoy his wealth, but not even his prized truck. We should all be so humble, but know when to jump clear of an oncoming train. And he could easily have bought a new truck. Could also have called it Cerro de Ironia. Well done. I can see Santiago in his fields. And in his mangled truck.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks for all those comments Steph. Unfortunately, all of this actually happened.

      Delete
  2. Bittersweet, and so beautifully written too! I'm reminded of some footage I saw of the tsunami in Japan, and these elderly people trying to outrun the water as they struggled to save things like their television sets. It probably seemed like a cruel joke to them that things they'd worked hard to acquire were going to be taken away. The irony is almost unbearable.

    I loved this piece!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you so much Valerie. I too was moved when I heard about this remarkable man.

      Delete
  3. Powerful tale! Such a good message of loss that the industrial world ignores.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you KD. I'd say there are some values present here that many people are missing.

      Delete
  4. It's sad that he didn't get to enjoy any of it!

    ReplyDelete
  5. Hard work, humility, and persistence are admirable traits. Ironically, that same persistence led to his demise. Things can always be replaced, people can't. I was sad to see that this was not fiction.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks Janna. I was saddened by this story even though I never met the man, but I felt complelled to write about him.

      Delete
  6. Very creative. I got sweaty and heard mariachi guitar through this piece.

    Great use of the word

    ReplyDelete
  7. Well! I needed some tequila to go with this story. This is a perfect story,told by Santiago's children around the alter for the Day of the Dead.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks Tina. I am interested in the Dia de Muertos "celebration" and plan to look into this for future writing.

      Delete
  8. To read it was a real story add the final, chilling dimension - a man who never expected reward, who provided. I know the feeling he must have felt trying to start his truck. It is not comparable at all to a Japanese person grabbing a TV during a tsunami, but much more like a captain adjusting his cap and going down with his ship. In fact comments about tequila and mariachi music shocked me to the core.
    In today's world, being a 'man' has somewhat negative connotations at times, and we rightly praise women for handling so much at times. But he died a man. There is an old-fashioned dictum from where I am from that you just don't walk away. You just don't. This was taken to extremes a hundred years ago, when great grandfathers, who worked the sea never learnt to swim because if a boat went down you do not splash around like a fool, you just man the stations till the end - of course sounds silly now. But this man's personal duty was to try to restart his truck. If he couldn't, well, then too bad.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you Pirate. I think you hit the nail on the head about Santigago. The only word that comes to mind is "dignity" and he had that and some to spare. I felt compelled to write about him though in re-reading my piece, I somehow was a little too detached. I may re-write this as I think he is a worthy subject.

      Delete
  9. Was el Cerro del Muerto for him?
    for Santiago, nothing ever changed... this is so true for most of us, for better or for worse.
    Brutal metaphor, lumdog!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks Kymm. I think the mountain was named this long ago, as it sppears on the skyline as a man lying in repose, quite ironic, huh? I agree that some things never change, but in Santigao's case, I really think he was happy and content to just be able to provide for his family, a true success!

      Delete