accurately remember with daguerreotypes, old and accurate, some types of men that roamed there. There was a veteran of Blue Division, deliriously thundered, which appeared on the roads cheering the Pope and the King. And there was a shepherd, Casiano.
Casiano was a shepherd. stocky, swarthy, bearded and friendly. When we sold the house he had already left the sheep, but by then I had already unwittingly, one of the most important lessons of my childhood.
Casiano had some glorious flock of sheep grazing in a campillo a few hundred yards from where he would sit to give him the sun and smoking. Amazed to hear I was able to leave them alone, so far as discovered. I thought that at any moment they would run away (little did I know then how are the sheep!) Pulling into the bush to come back no more. One day I asked
- hey, what if they escape the sheep?.
The answer things I said at the time, but made sense later, and still Having it now when it has been more than thirty years.
- quiet kid, not escape.
A few weeks later, sheep, frightened who knows why, went whistling up the hill. Casiano whistled those of pastor (after taught me the magic of that strident rural). The sheep stopped his escape. Paralyzed by an authority they did not know where it came, they heard two whistles that brought back to the corner of Campbell who had left the rioting. Never saw him again to do that. Neither he nor any other pastor. Winked and said
- You see, kid?. No escape.
I remembered this phrase in countless occasions. Especially since, and entered into adulthood, I have been aware of the nature of those sheep. Few think with their own trial. Many, many others, are subject to foreign arbitration, the stridor that should not also know where, and allowing few gloat while saying
- See?. No escape ...
