Juan's Children - RonyFer - ebook

It is the story of Ignacio and his life on a hacienda in Guatemala, and as the events of the past will be reflected in his future.

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Juan’s children.



Table of Contents

Title Page

Juan's Children

THE NIGHT OF “the mazumba”









It is prohibited the total or partial reproduction of this book, his informatics processing, transmission in any form or any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright holders.

First edition in English.

Copyright © 2007 RonyFer

Canadian Intellectual Property Office

All rights reserved.






To my mother (RIP) who always believed in me and encouraged me my hopes and my dreams and illusions, where everyone else doubted.


Comments about the novel:

“The personages seem very real and very human situations. The finish is very strong but credible.

There are some times when a little telegraphy parent / child relationship but I think in a movie may be possible to disguise it a little more. I like it because I really felt was submerged in that world, is perceived very real and perceived that the author really knows that life.

A fantastic and profound work, with a great moral and human content”.

-Héctor Arriola, Guatemalan filmmaker -

«Through the cobbled streets of this distant town strange woman wandered, abandoned for years, abandoned by life, carrying on his shoulders a world of suffering and betrayal.

Her slow pace, as one who hurry to move with time. Baggage, some rags and a life full of pain.

At night she slept where the conquer fatigue, receiving of human charity who will throw a piece of bread or anything to alleviate hunger.

Repeating a thousand times: "I will be the mother of my nephew, or the aunt of my son," as she stroked incessantly belly, this belly where inside housed to the ends of bitterness and sin, one petrified fetus refused to be born».

Cowboy wandering

Everything had happened some years ago, still a teenager when Ignacio had to leave school to work on that farm near the city of Jutiapa and thereby undermining the needs of the house.

His mother worked for a long time and made in the main house from a nearby farm as a maid, but the salary earned was not enough to cover the needs more consistent. In addition, on its own initiative, Ignacio knew it was him who should take the daily support.

After all, he was the man of the household and should assume his responsibility as such.

It was time to take care of his mother, who owed everything.

When children with one blow become adults, and, suddenly, in the blink of an eye, with no time to discover for stages, the normal cycle of life, without enjoying their childhood and their best years.

So; in their quest to fulfill their duties of man of the house, he surrendered himself to his work as a full-time cowboy.

He was far from imagining the consequences that his life would bring those quirks of fate unknown.

Since few months the rain it became more and more sporadic until, simply; it stop raining.

Not a drop of the vital liquid poured from the sky to irrigated fields. Death and desolation reigned suddenly harsh throughout the region.

The essential and fortuitous catastrophe became suddenly lost those huge pastures between ravines and valleys surrounded by mountains and volcanoes in a no man's land in an atrium of desolation and pain in the east of the country.

Rivers and streams were thing of the past, their dry riverbeds and instead, outdoors remains in putrefaction of fish and animals.

Everywhere they housings beasts of the barnyard beasts were visible, whole herds of cattle scattered lifeless bodies lay inert in that doomsday scenario.

The smell of carrion was felt in the environment and in the air, the flutter of birds of prey, joyful, ready to feast in those arid lands forgotten by God.

For full months the pastures dried up, every forgetfulness, every carelessness, every negligence on fleeting it was, or the indolence of some fortuitous smoker lit immediately those huge fires that destroyed what little life was left.

Enormous smoke screens and flames were visible in the distance, scattering everywhere testimony of desolation and death.

Announcing unannounced the beginning of a drought, as in the past.

Enormous  swirls wrapped it all, land spouts that rise were those endless walls of dust rose up into the sky, as witness the destructive force and incoherent, uncertain futures prelude to all.

It was then that began the migration that flow humans dispersed into different directions, most times without a roadmap established, with a lost look in nothing, carrying his disgrace and on their backs, their few belongings. Wicked destination for the weak, the vulnerable, the powerless, martyrs without cause, of a thousand causes.

Thousands of humble and abandoned, as is usually up to the heavenly bodies, those hordes of cowboys and farmers, whole families headed their slow steps into the unknown, where their steps on spec , in search of better horizons, leaving behind years hard work and dedication.

The relentless, recalcitrant nature in its destructive power was again one showed all his anger, and as usual, the most vulnerable in society are victims of predilection.

And as expected, the misfortune touched everyone equally and no one escape from it.

Then, in the afternoon, the farmer, with the contracted countenance, called all employees, they met in the courtyard of his vast estate to air to make them then with laconic commentary disguised just a tinge of sarcasm:

─ We're screwed! Look at those poor cows every day become more lean, instead of giving milk, giving pitiful!

I have made the sad decision to announce it's over, I cannot anymore. I have tried every means in my power not come to this, not to take this decision, but I cannot anymore. From next week the work is done here, for all.

Begin to compensate as of today, sorry, really give them such sad news, but this drought has left no one indifferent and touched us today. God bless you.

Sequel to many tragedies for this noble nation, my people of sempiternal tragedies.

Then was Ignacio decided to follow the footsteps of thousands of his countrymen.


One morning; a café, his backpack, a maternal blessing, a kiss and a simple goodbye.

Looking for work he had come to that farm after wandering through many time, even their teenage years, at the dawn of his youth, he was all a brat.

It was the same pattern who intercepted while in the corral marked with hot iron beasts of his own, assisted by his cowboy.

─ What do you want, boy?

─ A job─,  was his dry answer.

His shyness, like who distrusts the world, as if the world around him was not good. Clever and courageous, always ready to work, do not ever seen the slightest fatigue, never a single protest.

And there he stayed.

Since then the pattern, seeing him so resolute, so responsible ─, devoted to his work, he took a particular esteem.

It was easy to get to love this strange character, despite his withdrawal, showed signs of great generosity and availability, so he had no problem with accepting easily done by the community.

Soon after arriving he had found a friend, a real coreligionist, Carlos, both still in their teens days, a comrade and confidant, someone to share secrets sleepless nights  of skirts.

And for five years they had done, like was said in the jargon of the place, the ideal dumbbell, which oxen yoke, and damsels whispered in his ear; God created the devil put together.

Willing to fight anybody, forged in a world where only the strong survive, by dint of courage and determination this had forged his character that in good times had saved him from an occasional riot. In this world of daily battles between cowboys and cattle, had formed a superb entire male.

From time to time, always accompanied by Carlitos, they were lost for days. Sometimes they fell impromptu visit to the mother, Agustina who lived in solitude for another distant region, with the financial support she received from his son, the fruit of his work and just helped her to survive.

At the end of the day, the two friends used to fish in that rustic backwater canoe on the river, barely visible among those huge weeds aquatic plants. Nymphs and white lilies forming that endless green mantle over the water, and sometimes they looked through mangroves, with their asymmetrical shapes around the edges, in search of tilapia or other fish.

It was the point of excellence for their evening meetings, only fun to his monotonous days.

Among undrinkable beers, jokes and projects, those two inseparable friends, in the stillness of those evenings always speak about their innermost secrets and projects to come.

─ I tell my friend, we go North, my cousin works there for Texas, in a ranch as a cowboy and if you saw all the money sends to my aunt each month. He always tells me to go away, he gets me and helps me work. I spoke to you and said to help us. I have some savings and that we do it.

─ The truth Carlos is that is not in my plans to leave, despite the situation here, I do not see myself in another country, in the land of gringos, not knowing the language and without even being able to insult their when the occasion arises.

Far as I know, these bastards gringos are very bad pay, make work one to death and when he took out all the fiber, the same patterns call the Migration and there is one back, penniless and morale lower than the eggs of zebu bull.

─ Well, if you change your mind, I Let me know and ready We're getting! Here we have no future anywhere, here and there we the poor are screwed.

─ I'll think about it!

Then, under the effect of those beers reheated in the hot sun teetering on the boat, they stood together cackled to alive voice that melody:

Migration grabbed to me, three hundred times, we say.

But he never tamed me ... it made me run errands!

The blows that gave me ... they are cashed their countrymen!

Coronation night

Was the local feast of that neighboring village, dressed in their traditional dress, the cowboys throughout the region gave free rein to the rigmarole and waste.

And as was the custom, not missing the night of the coronation of Queen of the show, the cockfight in Palenque and those races oft tape, where, galloping his horses at full speed should introduce a pencil on a ring just held pendant.

Who managed to collect more rings was the victor.

As a prize, some soaps or any product crummy, but above all, the satisfaction of being the winner, where everyone was struggling to compete and win, history making his qualities to shine damsels; with provocative looks incited those gallant victorious sempiternal strife’s, at the dancing Coronation.

And among the more  emboldened, with swelling heart, head upset by the drinks, searched the pestles of the town, the favorite; the privileged who have the honor of dancing the first melody.

While, as in dancing, traveling at that rope to the dancers, the collectors in the extreme, willing to claim to good looking knights, tithing that costing each piece for dance.