Siete minutos
The savannah
Homer went back to the Indian waiting in the shadows.
“We must go now,” he said.
“Be careful,” Miguel said.
Homer nodded. Don’t worry.”
Miguel escorted them out of the shop with his mop, as the afternoon sun shone in the sky, and they moved down then the street. Father Ricardo stood by the church door, talking to some of his parishioners while a few other people went in the church. He wouldn’t have agreed with Homer’s new enterprise in the jungle. It wasn’t Homer’s fault the Indians murdered each other to get their coca. Then he heard the priest’s footsteps behind them after his parishioner had left. Homer came face to face with Father Ricardo, his parent’s friend and God’s representative on earth.
“Are you buying more merchandise?” he asked.
“Yes, father,” Homer said.
“Remember to pray to the Lord.”
“I’ll do that, father.”
Looking at the Indian, Father Ricardo frowned.
“I don’t like him.”
“He’s harmless, father.”
“Bring him to the church then.”
“I will do that, father.”
Hurrying away, Homer led the Indian through a wide street with a few shops and a cafe bustling with life. They arrived at the city centre, bicycles and cars mingled with carriages and people going to their jobs, but then a grey station loomed in front of them amidst the palm trees and bushes. Espresso Palmira, it said in big letters by the door, as they stepped on people’s luggage and some of their animals. A girl filed her nails behind a desk filled with papers.
”I want two tickets to Villavicencio,” Homer said.
Blowing on her nails, she checked a notebook, full of names and numbers.
“It’s four hundred pesos,” she said.
Homer wanted the heads, even if he had to spend some of his money. Counting the pesos he put them in the counter by the papers and magazines.
“Thank you,” she said.
After putting a big stamp and her signature in a corner, she handed him the tickets, her big breasts trembling like jelly. Homer wanted to stay by her side and the heads could wait another day.
“I’ll be back with a pot of gold,” he said.
“Your friend is waiting,” she said.
“He’s my guide to the jungle.”
“You must be crazy.”
Holding the tickets, he went back to the Indian at the table.
“We’re going to Villavicencio,” Homer said.
Faced with the man’s silence, Homer wondered how much money his own head might fetch in the shops. He had put his life at the mercy of the cannibals with a taste for coca.
“Are we going the right way?” Homer asked.
The Indian went on looking at the garage, where the driver checked the bus tyres. He would know if they caught the wrong bus, taking them somewhere else in the world. Homer should have stayed at home, but he needed the money to sail across the Caribbean Sea in his yacht. Then he noticed the Indian’s expression changing while looking at the bus moving out of the garage. Taking his case in one hand, his bag in another and the tickets in his mouth, Homer rushed through the crowd followed by the Indian, as the driver revved the engine.
“Open the door,” Homer said.
The bus moved through the traffic filling the street. Putting a fifty pesos note against the window, Homer hoped the driver would take pity on him.
“It will be yours if you open the door,” he said.
The driver shook his head, as Homer put two fifty pesos in the window, but after a few moments, the man beckoned them inside. Homer blamed himself for all the problems he had in the world.
”It’s not a sin to leave on time,” the driver said.
“I paid you good money.”
“Thanks.”
On moving along the aisle, they struggled amidst the bodies on the floor, stepping on people’s feet, and making them angry.
“I’ll kill you,” a fat woman said.
Homer shrugged. “I’m sorry, Madam.”
“You’ve broken my leg.”
She gestured somewhere under the mass of people, where her limbs had to be. Amidst all the commotion, Homer saw two empty seats at the back of the bus. He sat next to a cage full of chickens, while the Indian sat on the other side. Flapping their wings, the birds looked at him with beady eyes, as a woman emerged from under the cage.
“I want one hundred pesos,” she said.
“Not now,” Homer said.
“You can’t sit next to me then.”
Homer ignored the woman, as the bus drove through the countryside full of sugar plantations, the wind bringing him a rain of feathers and shit. Trying to stop the dirt going up his nose, he covered his face with his hands, but the cage fell over him a few moments later.
“They don’t like you,” the woman said.
The thought of the heads kept Homer sane amidst all the mess. He had to rest before they caught the bus to the jungle somewhere along the route. After chewing a bit of coca, Homer dreamed of the Indians dancing to the sound of drums, the dark sun taking him onto another land full of mystery.
“Empanadas,” someone said.
On opening his eyes, Homer saw a woman lifting a plate outside his window, filled with flies and food.
“Tamales,” another one said.
They tempted Homer with their concoctions made of dust, harbouring zillion of illnesses.
“I’m not hungry,” he said.
“He eats shit,” the woman sitting by his side said.
Homer kept quiet, even though he thought her to be the biggest shit eater in the world. Then he noticed the Indian had left his seat. He might have gone outside to stretch his legs or to the toilet. Moving down the aisle, Homer stepped on people’s feet.
“Have you seen my friend?” Homer asked.
“No,” people answered.
“He wore a long gown,” Homer said.
Everyone followed his movements as he walked on the mass of bodies on the floor, while a child cried, scared of the crazy man.
“He’s outside,” the driver said.
“Who is outside?”
At first Homer couldn’t see anything outside the windows, but then he noticed a figure waiting by a few mules. Getting off the bus, he hurried amongst the vendors accosting him with their wares.
“I want some money to buy a coffee,” someone said.
Homer shrugged. You need to have a bath.”
“Help me, mister” a woman stretched a hand towards him.
“Empanadas,” another one said.
Homer reached the Indian after fighting with the sellers, while the man greeted him with cool eyes.
“I thought we had to go to Villavicencio,” Homer said.
“Mmm,” the Indian said.
Putting their bags on a mule, the Indian climbed on another one, leaving Homer amidst the dust. Having seen a few cowboy films, he tried to get on his animal like John Wayne did, but fell down the other side, hurting his arms. That had never happened to the Wild West heroes of his childhood. The Indian chewed some more coca, while flies buzzed by his face and Homer tried to climb on the mule.
“You won’t have any more coca,” he said.
“Mmmm,” the Indian said.
“Can’t you say something else?”
“Mmmm.”
Everyone cheered when Homer managed to get on the saddle a few moments later, and he paraded along the street. He followed the man down the lane, as a flock of birds chatted to each other in their own language, but then he saw an apparition rushing through the trees. He had to be mad. Children waved at him from, as their mothers washed the clothes by a well. Homer thought he had to be going back home to a land he had visited a few times in his dreams amidst the trees. After a few hours of riding through the wild, they arrived at a river, its water shining under the sun. The Indian helped Homer to get off the mule by the shore.
“I can’t swim,” he said.
“Mmmm.”
“You must be dumb,” Homer said.
Sitting down on a boulder covered with moss, he saw the Indian catching their lunch with a fishing rod he must have purchased in the market. Homer watched the line swimming in the current, before it tightened under the weight of a big fish.
“Bravo,” Homer said.
The man smiled. “Mmmmm.”
“You must learn my language,” Homer said.
“Mmm.”
“That is called fish.”
“Mmmm.”
“Fish,” Homer said.
Cutting the head away, the Indian cleaned it with his knife, the scales mixing with the grass. Then he made a fire with some matches he had in his pockets, the smoke frightening the insects flying around them. Feeling hungry after his trek through the jungle, Homer ate the fish he had seen alive a few moments before, tasting of forest and trees.
The Indian erected a pole amidst the grass, hammering its sides onto the floor and disturbing the ants. Homer hoped the snakes wouldn’t go inside during the night. After pouring aguardiente in some mugs, the Indian offered one to him a remembrance of civilisation. Night had come to the plains, the sun turning into a ball of fire before disappearing behind trees. Lying down inside the tent, Homer covered himself with his jacket to stop the mosquitoes biting him, while listening to the sounds of the night. With the gun in his pocket, he thought nothing would happen to him now or ever. He dreamed of walking through the forest in the moonlight, the sound of drums echoing around him. He had to be going home.
Lost
Homer didn’t know where he was or why he had appeared here. Darkness greeted his senses wherever he looked, as a cricket sang somewhere in the night. Shutting his eyes, he expected things to be fine when he opened them again. He blamed the Indian for pouring something in his drink, as he ran through the fields with no clothes on.
“Help me,” he said.
The wind answered his question. Homer had lost his clothes while rushing through the jungle, a waste of money and time. Moving through the darkness, he saws eyes looking at him from behind the trees and the bushes. He had wandered about his home in the middle of the night many times during his childhood, when he had crashed with the furniture and other things. Night terrors his mother had called them.
The doctor had given him some tablets to take before going to bed and Father Ricardo had blessed him with holy water but he still wandered the house in his sleep. He blamed the Indian for his misfortune as the sound of drums brought him back to reality. Trembling behind the bushes, Homer heard a river roaring nearby, in its journey towards eternity.
Stepping in the grass full of ants and other insects, he saw the water shining under the light of the moon. A thousand insects illuminating the path along the grass, as Homer wished he had not forgotten his clothes. If he walked along the shore, he might find the Indian sleeping on his mat, and the mules munching the grass by the tent.
Homer had to be hallucinating again. After waiting for a few moments, he moved towards the river, making its way across the jungle. The Indian must have planned the whole thing with the other people in his tribe.
“You were stung by an animal,” a voice said.
Turning around, Homer saw Jose clutching a toy in his hands, but he didn’t feel afraid of the apparition. It had to be another sign of coming madness.
“I want to go home,” Homer said.
“Do you talk to yourself often?” the child asked.
“You are here.”
“I might be.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have to find her,” Jose said.
“Who is it?”
Following his pointing finger, Homer saw dark shapes standing under the moonlight. He wanted to flee the scene before losing his life to strange monsters under the moon.
“She’ll save you,” Jose said.
“I’m already in hell.”
On approaching the shadows, Homer saw huts with conical roofs, but no one seemed to be there. Then he found a hammock amidst the rubble, its ropes just visible in the darkness.
“You must wait for her,” Jose said.
“I wish I knew who you mean.”
The child disappeared, leaving Homer alone with his fear. On looking inside the hammock, he found a blanket waiting for him to go to sleep. It moved a bit, as a dark shape threatened to swallow the hammock inside its tendrils.
Out of the shadows, a group of women appeared, leaving the aroma of herbs and fish, while dancing around him. Covering his face with the blanket, Homer didn’t want to see anymore. The Indian must have laced his food with herbs to make him crazy. On looking out of the blanket, he saw a girl naked amidst the darkness, her long black hair going down to her waist. Then she kissed him, leaving the taste of strawberries in his lips, while muttering words in another language.
“What do you want?” Homer asked.
“Mmm,” she said.
“No one talks in the jungle,” he said.
He noticed her erect teats and soft skin, her pubic hair darker than the night.
“I like you,” he said.
“Mmmm,” she said.
As she climbed by his side, he felt her skin next to his, arousing his senses. They made love amidst the blankets and by the time dawn came, he felt the happiest man on earth. Searching for her curvy body within the shadows, he noticed she had gone back to the realm of ghosts.
“Where are you?” he asked.
He must have been there before as he remembered the huts amidst the trees under the light of the moon. Wondering where he could find the heads, Homer spent some time dreaming of the money he might have if he sold them in New York. He would talk to the Indian the next time he saw him, as the sound of drums echoed around him.
Homer spent a long time with his face under the blankets, waiting for the monsters to go away, as the hours stretched forever. Feeling warm under the blankets, he forgot the dangers of the jungle while wondering if the girl had ever existed. Then he heard footsteps in the darkness. At first he thought ghosts had come to get him, but then she appeared holding a candle in her hands, other shadows hovering in the background. Shutting his eyes, Homer expected her to go by the time he opened them again like had happened before.
“Help me,” he said.
The shadows quivered at the sound of his voice, while the candle left drops of wax on the floor.
“What do you want?” he asked.
As the women chanted, she got inside the hammock, making it move across the precipice of his dreams. He felt her body next to his, her naked beauty an allure to his senses in the jungle.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Kam,” she said.
“You understand me.”
“Kam,” she said.
Squashed against her breasts, Homer heard her muttering more things in that language scientists might classify with a strange name.
“I have waited for you all my life,” he said.
“Kam,” she said.
“Homer smiled. “I know.”
He didn’t notice what happened to the other people, as he promised her eternal love in the kingdom of shadows. He thanked God for sending her to him in the middle of the jungle, even if he didn’t get the heads. Homer loved Kam, but she in turn adored an idol made of mud, baked in an oven in a town full of ghosts. He awoke to find the Indian by the hammock, dressed in a white gown while the girl held a candle by his side.
“Welcome to our town, Mr Homer,” the Indian said.
“You speak my language.”
“Of course I do, Mr. Homer.”
“I came here in a night terror,” Homer said.
“The Gods led you to us.”
“What Gods?”
“The ones who live in heaven,” the Indian said.
“You must have drugged me.”
The Indian shrugged. “We have been looking after you.”
“I don’t like your poisons.”
Kam tried to stop the argument, her hands searching inside the blankets, arousing him with her charms.
“She loves you,” the Indian said.
“Why don’t you let me go?” Homer asked.
“You are sick.”
“I’m not.”
“Prove it then.”
Homer tried to stand up, holding the sides of the hammock, but fell back inside the blankets.
“You must take our potions,” the Indian said.
Cupping his face in her hands, the girl sucked Homer’s ears while caressing his face.
“She cares about you, Mr. Homer.”
“Does she?”
Kissing his cheeks, she made sure he swallowed the herbs she had put in his mouth a few moments before. They had to be good for his heath or for whatever purposes they kept him prisoner.
“I want my heads,” Homer said.
“Kam,” she said.
He must have met her before in the realm of darkness after the end of the world...
Escape
Sleeping next to Kalm in the hammock, Homer dreamed of his shop lost in the city on the other side of the jungle. After tasting the herbs she had put in his mouth, he had gone to another land of love in the sky, where Kam reigned supreme.
“I love you,” he said in his dreams.
“Mmmm,” he heard her answering his voice somewhere in the night.
Waking up later, he found Kam by the hammock, her silhouette visible in the twilight world of the hut. As he felt the taste of herbs penetrating his brain, she caressed his hair while muttering in her language. Homer spat them in his hand, hoping she wouldn’t notice. On listening to her breathing, he thought she had gone to sleep, the hammock moving in empty space forever. He waited for hours, his eyes studying the darkness around them, while she slept.
He had to act fast before dawn came to the outside world, existing somewhere beyond the walls of his prison. After lowering his legs to the floor, his fingers felt the bumps and cracks on the wall but he couldn’t find a door. He went around the place in a circle looking for that opening to the outside world.
Homer worried, while thinking what might happen if she awoke to find him amidst the shadows. Her people could sell his head for a few bags of coca in the nearest town, or they would eat his entrails with potatoes and soup. Shutting his eyes, he wished Jose solved his problems, but nothing happened. Then he heard Kam whispering in the darkness.
“I want to go home,” Homer said.
“Home,” she said.
“You have learned the word.”
Holding her hands, he took her around the hut, inspecting the walls, and getting entangled in a few cobwebs.
“Where is the door?” he asked.
”Door,” she said.
“Where is it?”
Leading him towards the wall, she pressed something and a panel lifted up, the sky full of stars greeting his senses. He had to find his way home now.
“Will you come with me?” he asked.
“Home,” she said.
They moved along the path under the light of the moon, as Kam defied the wishes of her tribe. They could kill her for helping him escape back to the wild, where no one would find them. He wore a tunic similar to hers, protecting him against the wind and some of the mosquitoes infecting the place with their poisons.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Kam.”
“I’m grateful to you, Kam.”
He saw her smiling in the twilight, her breasts bouncing under her gown. She could live amidst the coca bags in his shop, talking nonsense while boiling her herbs. Her witchcraft would help the insomniacs of the world, while bringing him lots of money. They heard the river rushing towards the unknown somewhere in the darkness. They arrived at its shore, the other side looking like an enchanted forest full of monsters. Homer cooped some of the water in his hands, tasting the goodness of the forest.
He caressed her hair, guessing the outline of her profile in the shadows, as the sound of drums echoed around them. Homer felt nervous. The Indians might be looking for them in the jungle at that moment in time, to keep his head amidst their other trophies of war. Anything might be possible with the tribe of salvages.
“We have to hurry,” he said.
“Kam,” she said.
“You know your name.”
Muttering something, Kam followed him along the shore, trying not to fall in the river rushing past them to other lands. Bathed in the light of the moon, the fields brought them the sad melodies of the drums in their search for freedom.
“They’ll be jealous at home,” Homer said.
“Mmmm.”
“Women will want your beauty while men will look at you in the street.”
“Door,” she said.
“You are improving,” he said.
On arriving at a clearing, Homer heard footsteps following them, but he didn’t see anything scary in the darkness.
“I’m frightened,” he said.
“Kam,” she said.
He kissed her lips. “You are beautiful.”
Holding her hands, they ran through a path, the branches of the trees getting entangled in their hair. As he fell by Kam’s feet, he imagined hundreds of Indians following them in the twilight.
“Where are they?” he asked.
Kam looked around forest, the light of early dawn filling their world with long shadows, the sun struggling to appear behind the clouds.
“No,” Kam said.
“What is it?”
Gesturing at the sun, she ran naked through the field leaving a pile of rugs on the floor.
“Kam,” Homer said.
He followed her through the foliage, stepping on the puddles left by the rain and scratching his legs with the thorns spread about him. Homer expected the girl to come back, muttering some more words in her language.
“Kam,” he said. “Stop playing games.”
The drums went on but Kam stayed away, abandoning him to his fate. She had been a strange girl, afraid of the sun even though she had brought him his freedom. Picking up the rags she had left on the floor, Homer examined them, her scent assaulting his senses.
“Two and two are seven,” he said.
Homer moved through the trees, until he saw the mules munching the grass by the bushes.
“We must go home,” he said.
Climbing up the saddle, he galloped along the path he had followed with the Indian, the sound of the drums fading in the distance. After he had moved for some time, he found a town with white houses and a big church by a statue of Simon Bolivar. People appeared out of the doors to welcome the stranger on a mule.
“It isn’t palm Sunday yet,” they said.
“I escaped from the Indians,” he told a policeman. “They wanted to shrink my head.”
“The sun has made you crazy,” the man said.
“It’s true,” Homer said.
He led him to the health centre, where one of the nurses took his pulse, while the other patients moved away from him. He scared them with his gown and dirty face.
“He must be crazy,” they said.
“Where can I take the bus to the nearest city?” Homer asked.
“It leaves tomorrow morning,” she said. “You won’t need the mules anymore.”
Homer kept Kam’s possessions in his bag, a reminder of his journey to the jungle, even if he might never see her again.
The sea
Miguel and Maria had welcomed Homer back in the shop, although he didn’t get the hero’s welcome he expected. Lucky to be alive, he had to forget all about Kam, and his adventure in the jungle. She had disappeared, leaving her clothes on the floor, after they had escaped through the forest in the middle of the night. That last aguardiente he had by the fire, must have brought his night terror. Homer put the rugs he had found in his safe, as a reminder of the girl and his adventure in the jungle. He didn’t want the heads anymore.
Homer thought of the sea. It had to be an ancestral calling, as some of his ancestors had been sailors, looking for fortune in the seas of the world. Ever since he had been a child, he had been dreaming of big boats taking him to other lands of opportunities and he had to do something about it. On marking a few places where they sold tax free goods in a map he had opened on the table, he looked for the phone to call the library.
“I want to talk about the sea,” he said to the young woman who answered it.
“The sea?” she asked at the end of the line.
“I’ll buy boats to help the local economy.”
“This is the library,” she said.
“You don’t understand,” Homer said. “I’m Mr. Homer.”
After a pause, when he thought she had hung up, he heard her voice again.
“That’s a good idea Mr. Homer,” she said. “I’ll call you when we arrange something.”
Putting the phone down, Homer realised how easy it was for him to talk about money. It had to be his fame with the Indians, even if they had taken him prisoner in the hammock. Sitting down at the table, he sipped the cup of hot chocolate Miguel had prepared earlier, while drawing a boat sailing towards other lands. Homer had to convince the public to part with their money. Taking his bag, he crashed with a few bags of coca Miguel had left there in the morning, while trying to reach the front door. The sun shone in the sky, as he went to the library on the other side of the market to start his new business venture. Mother had warned him of people who liked reading books. They had to be crazy. After summoning enough courage, he pushed the big doors, leading him to the reception.
“I want to borrow some books,” he said to the young woman sitting behind the desk.
“You must fill the library card first.”
Pushing a pink paper towards him, she waited for him to write on it, but Homer had never learned how to write, even if he could read.
“I didn’t bring my glasses,” he said. “Could you do it for me?”
On taking the paper from his hands, she wrote Homer’s name and address after asking some questions.
“You have the name of a Greek hero,” she said.
“Really?”
“He liked a beautiful woman called Helen during the Trojan War.”
Homer had never heard of his name sake doing all of those exciting things in the name of love. That wasn’t quite like him. He had to conquer the world without any women by his side, but then she gestured to the back of the library.
“The books about him are by the window.”
Following her pointing finger, Homer saw books near a table with chairs around it. He crashed with a child reading some comics, as he moved along the aisle, everyone looking at him.
“Quiet,” a woman said.
On taking one of the books, the picture of a man with crazy hair and big nose looked back at him from the cover. That had to be the other Homer. Sitting at the table, he went past the pages full of a long poem with strange words. The other Homer had been a busy man.
Homer wanted to give an account of life around him like his name sake had done. He envied the way people loved him, in spite of the fact that he wrote boring things. Then Homer saw a book with boats on the table. Leafing through its pages, he saw the Caribbean Sea, the best tourist destination in the world, where many people did their businesses.
“I want to take these books home,” he said to the librarian.
Nodding, she started to stamp them in the first page.
“He looked like you,” she said.
“Are you sure?”
“It’s weird,” she said.
“What did you mean by that?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
Taking his bag, he left the library as an orchestra played in the park. Homer thought of his ships sailing the sea, the waves moving them up and down like a yoyo.
“I’m Homer the Greek,” he muttered to himself.
As the band played the national hymn, Homer barked, the melodies drowning his voice as a woman waved a flag.
“Hurrah to the president,” she said.
Homer remembered the president, a sad looking man, who kept on talking about the economy but never did anything about it. The country needed someone like Homer to lead them into the next century. Having a last look at the band, he moved along the market full of people, taking advantage of all the opportunities life had to offer in the city. Then he saw Father Ricardo talking to someone in the street.
“Can you be more careful?” someone said.
“Sorry,” Homer said.
“He’s my friend,” Father Ricardo said.
Leading Homer away, they moved along a road, where a few taxis waited for customers, his gown getting dirty in the mud.
“How was the jungle?” the priest asked.
“It was fine.”
“You should have left the Indians alone.”
“They gave me money, father.”
“I must go back to my church,” father Ricardo said. “Will you come to mass tonight?”
“I’m busy, father.”
Shaking his head, Father Ricardo moved down the street, where the butcher cut his meat and the grocer put more apples in his counter. Everybody worked to feed their families, even if they didn’t go to mass. Homer found Miguel tidying the boxes of coca in his shop.
“My wife’s had another baby,” Miguel said. “She’s called Amelia.”
“Maria must be helping her then,” Homer said.
Miguel nodded. “She’s a nice girl.”
“I know.”
The sun looked dark in the sky, as Homer looked for the phone. He had to reach the public before the clock struck seven and the world ended.
The library
“I’m giving a lecture about the sea in the library,” Homer said when the journalist answered the phone.
“The Indians didn’t bring you much money,” Jaramillo said.
“It will be different this time,” Homer said. “I’ll buy boats.”
“I’ll bring everyone,” Jaramillo said.
“Thank you.”
Putting the phone down, Homer thought of a way of convincing people to part with their money for his own good. He had to use lots of tact and intelligence in his new enterprise.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said in front of the mirror. “I have an idea to help the world.”
Waving his hands in the air, he tried to convince his invisible audience of his words. Homer would have to buy a few trucks to bring his goods to the shop now.
“Two and two are seven,” he muttered to himself.
Homer liked the sentence, even if it meant nothing. Many things didn’t go anywhere, like the papers Jose had left on the floor. Feeling tired, he retired to his boxes in the cellar, where he dreamed of the sky on fire in another world far in time and space. Homer awoke by the tree of life, the light of the sun warming his back amidst his night terror. Having gone to the jungle at first, he wanted recognition for his struggles to help the economy and the country.
“I love the sea,” he muttered to himself.
A squirrel held a nut in his paws while listening to his words, his only audience at that time of the morning. Sitting down at the table, Homer thought of his lecture in the library. He had to sound convincing enough for the public to give him money to buy a truck and the boats to sail the sea.
“I love myself,” he said.
First he had to find out more about the sea. Turning the pages of the book, he saw more boats full of sailors enjoying their time on land, but his men wouldn’t have time to care about anything else. The telephone ringing disturbed his concentration.
“We have booked a room for you tonight, Mr. Homer,” a woman said.
“Thank you,” Homer said. “I’ll be there.”
He spent most of the morning looking at his books and after having a cup of tea with some bread for lunch, he got ready for his appointment with history. Putting his lucky coin in his pocket, he left by the back door, as Miguel served the customers.
“Hi, Mr. Homer,” someone said. “What are you selling today?”
“You must come to my shop,” Homer said.
Hurrying away, he went past the park, where people sat by the fountain, instead of coming to his lecture.
“Do you have nice coca today?” a man asked.
“It’s the best in the country,” Homer said.
“I’ll buy a bag later.”
Homer moved down the street, as a group of people prayed for forgiveness to the almighty, and pigeons chased each other by the park benches. The library loomed over him, its red bricks looking dirty amidst the posters publicising his lecture. Homer the great wanted to talk to the city about his ideas to help the nation. Pushing the door, he found himself in the hall, the photographers’ flashes blinding him for a few moments.
“Mr. Homer,” the young librarian said. “We were expecting you.”
“Hi,” Jaramillo said.”This is your moment of fame.”
Leading Homer away, the girl left a stale scent around him. She needed to buy his perfumes in the shop. On arriving at a large room, she introduced him to the crowd, while the reporters waited behind the people.
“Homer is a young businessman who wants to help the local economy,” she said.
Standing in front of an audience for the first time in his life, Homer had forgotten everything he had to say, tears running down his face.
“Will someone bring him a glass of water?” the girl asked.
Homer sipped a bit of aguardiente Jaramillo offered him, before calming down.
“We used to have two large coasts filled with maritime treasures,” he said. “I love the sea.”
People applauded when he promised to have the best ships in the world. They had to support the young entrepreneur leading the country to the future.
“I’ll give employment to local people.”
“That sounds fair, Mr. Homer,” someone said.
Homer went back to his seat amongst the public ovation.
“You must help our young businessman to achieve his goals,” the woman said.
People donated lots of money to the cause, as the journalists pledged their support, the entire country becoming acquainted with Homer’s wishes to help the economy.
“You have raised two million pesos,” the woman told him,
“That’s fantastic,” everyone said.
Homer accepted the offers of money with tears in his eyes.
“What will you do now?” the woman asked.
“I’ll buy my boats,” Homer said. “I love the sea.”
People cheered at the good news, while a girl left some of her lipstick on Homer’s face, and he accepted the champagne they offered him.
“It’s the happiest day of my life,” he said.
“You can help the economy now,” everyone said.
Homer drank some aguardiente, as the world faded away in a symphony of colours. On waking up, he found the girl wiping his forehead with a wet cloth.
“You fainted, Mr. Homer,” she said.
“Where is he?” Homer asked.
“Who?”
“The Indian.”
“It must be the excitement,” she said.
He drank some water with an alka- seltzer, the world looking better by the minute. It must have been his nerves...