Manuel de Pedrolo
‘Touched by Fire’
1959
She saw Sogues look up and partially open her lips as if she were about to ask something. But the girl merely looked at him for a moment before digging into the beans again with her fork. Anto took the bottle and poured wine into all four glasses.
“Legumes make you thirsty.”
The woman took a swallow and, with moistened lips, said:
“In the village, some years we ate them all winter long.”
Her husband replied:
“It’s not winter now.”
“I know.”
Ange swallowed the forkful he had just put in his mouth, and then inquired:
“Did you have your own land?”
It was her he was asking, but her husband answered before she could:
“A little bit…”
Sogues, putting down her glass, specified:
“Three little fields and a house.”
“Well, I don’t know if you could call it a house…”
“It was better than this, anyway.”
She saw that the young man was looking at her again, but he quickly turned his eyes toward Anto.
“Did you sell it, when you left there?”
“No. I’ve never believed in selling anything.”
Ange reached for the wine, but didn’t raise his glass from the table.
“Did you lease it to someone, or what?
“No, I don’t want to get into problems.”
Sogues looked at the young man, who was now drawing the glass to his mouth. Isa looked at both of them, and when Ange had taken a drink, she asked him:
“What about you? Do you have anything?”
The youth responded with a look of surprise:
“Me?”
“Aren’t you a farmer’s son yourself?”
“My father was a day laborer. He never owned anything but the clothes he had on.”
He picked up the fork and, with the help of the piece of bread, cut off a piece of sausage, adding:
“And I’m glad of it.”
Isa noticed that her husband was wrinkling his brow, and she observed how one of the beans slid down the edge of his fork and fell back onto the plate.
“What? I’ve never heard anyone say that before.”
The young man chewed the piece of sausage he had between his teeth, and now his expression was serious too, almost severe.
“Maybe not. But you see, to me possessing things seems immoral.”
There was a sudden, heavy silence until the husband scratched his neck with a puzzled look and then expressed his amazement aloud:
“Immoral? What do you mean?”
“I mean if I owned something I’d feel guilty.”
Anto set his fork back on the oilcloth with a disconcerted expression.
“I don’t get it.”
Sogues looked up from her plate and almost smiled.
“I do.”
Her father moved his head, but didn’t look at her.
“You be quiet.”