Cuando yo era chaval, el páramo no tenía principio ni fin, ni había hitos en él, ni jalones de referencia. Era una cosa tan ardua y abierta que sólo de mirarlo se fatigaban los ojos. Luego, cuando trajeron la luz de Navalejos, se alzaron en él los postes como gigantes escuálidos y, en invierno, los chicos, si no teníamos mejor cosa que hacer, subíamos a romper las jarrillas con los tiragomas. Pero, al parecer, cuando la guerra, los hombres de la ciudad dijeron que había que repoblar […] y todos, chicos y grandes, se pusieron a la tarea, pero […], al cabo de los años, apenas arraigaron allí media docena de pinabetes y tres cipreses raquíticos. Mas en mi pueblo están tan hechos a la escasez que ahora llaman a aquello, un poco fatuamente, la Pimpollada.

[…] Y al cumplir los catorce, Padre me subió al páramo y me dijo: “Aquí no hay testigos. Reflexiona: ¿quieres estudiar?” Yo le dije: “No”. Me dijo: “¿Te gusta el campo?” Yo le dije: “Sí”. Él dijo: “¿Y trabajar en el campo?” Yo le dije: “No”.

“La pimpollada del páramo”, Viejas historias de Castilla la Vieja, 1964

Ilustración de Ajubel sobre Viejas historias de Castilla la Vieja de Miguel Delibes
Photoshop, estampación digital


COUNTRY BOY

When I was a boy, the bleak plateau had no beginning and no end. It had no landmarks, no boundary posts. It was something so arduous and open that just looking at it your eyes got tired. Later, when they brought in the electricity from Navalejos, the utility poles rose up out of the plateau like scrawny giants, and in the winter, if we kids didn´t have anything better to do, we would go up there to break the insulators with our slingshots. However, apparently, when the war came, the men from the city said that it was time to plant […] and everyone, young and old, set themselves to the task, but […] after years had gone by, all that had taken root there were a half dozen fir trees and three stunted cypress trees. In my town, though, people are so used to scarcity that now they call it, somewhat fatuously, the sapling thicket.

[…] And when I turned fourteen, Dad took me up to the plateau and said, “There are no witnesses here. Think for a second: do you want to study?” And I said to him, “No.” He said to me, “Do you like the countryside?” I said, “Yes.” He said, “And do you like working in the countryside?” I said, “No”.

 

“The Sapling Thicket on the Barren Plateau”, Old Tales of Old Castile, 1964

Illustrated by Ajubel
Digital, printed on paper