The Silent Ones

He walked into town with insecure steps and a hallucinated look, a beard and tangled hair, clothes turned into rags, a rotten hat, a rusty machete and a heavy sack on his shoulder.

He arrived at mid-morning, exhausted and sweaty, stinking to old sweat, damp earth and fresh sap, walked slowly, looking both sides of the street, staring at the buildings, contemplating those who sat idle at the doors of the houses and muttering to himself.

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He reached "The Argonauts," as they also called the trading house Hilder & Co -store, greek library, bar- sat on the polished stump from the rubbing of heavy trousers under the shadow of the huge rubber tree and there he stood, motionless, self-absorbed, hallucinated.

Ciriaco Hilder observed him in the idle moments he had while running his business, in that village of hard adventurers he never saw anyone in such a state of abandonment, it seemed that his hair had never known the barber's blade and his clothes had melted with his skin.

Certainly, to this town of travellers and adventurers always arrived strange men, adventurers of gold and rubber, men who came from the civilization looking for fortune or fleeing to the lost villages of Canaima. Silent and suspicious natives also arrived, miners with their eyes dehumanized by a long stay in the dark jungle; but this one was totally different from the others.

Ciriaco, "Childerico" for his friends, continued his work weighing grains, cutting fabrics, selling tobacco branches. Meanwhile, the quiet man wandered his gaze from here to there, incredulous. The customers, upon seeing him, unconsciously made a small detour to avoid the strange man and entered the store to do their shopping. Many asked Ciriaco about him, to which Hilder could not answer, because he knew nothing.

At lunchtime, Ciriaco left his job behind the table and approached the man. He sat next to him on another stump, offered him a plate of food and spoke to him:

-Good afternoon sir, I don't think I have the pleasure of meeting you," said Ciriaco, trying to be as polite as possible. I am Ciriaco Hilder, owner of this humble shop that I like to call "The Argonauts," can I do something for you?

The man stared at him for a moment that seemed eternal to Ciriaco. After a while, he seemed satisfied and replied:

-Of course you know me, Ciriacus. Although I don't know what happened to you, you've aged very quickly. I'm Ulysses Guanipa, don't remember me? What happened to the store? How did the tree grow so fast? said the bearded man, looking at Ciriaco with crazy eyes and a completely sane voice.

-Ulysses Guanipa? the same Ulysses Guanipa from whom I bought gold twenty years ago?

Ciriaco fixed his attentive gaze on the little skin that allowed the tangled beard to be seen, then he observed the restless black eyes, the wide forehead and the crooked nose, at the end, he recognized him despite the big changes after the meticulous examination. Minutes later, after defeating his disbelief, he asked.

-Ulysses, is that really you? We thought you were dead, killed in the bend of a river, killed by the bite of a snake or malaria. Where have you been these twenty years?

-Twenty years? 20 years passed? How can that be possible?

-Yes, Ulysses, it's been twenty years. The Adarvin´s are gone, the town have grown as you have seen, look at the rubber tree I will soon have to have knocked down, it's been twenty years since I last saw you. Where have you been?

-Ciriaco, it can't have been twenty years since I left.

-I'm not lying, Ulysses, twenty years you've been absent. Where have you been?

-You won't believe me, I cannot believe it myself or explain the changes in the town, but I'll tell you anyway. But first you must promise to remain silent until I have left this town. You must swear to remain silent.

-Ulysses, I won't say anything you tell me, you can trust me. I swear on my mother.

Ulysses took a deep breath, hesitating, then he shrugged, perhaps resigned, and at last, after a moment to organize his thoughts, he began:

Do you remember that man from the village who didn't talk to anyone, the man who sometimes slept in that adobe shack about to fall? No one knew his name, he arrived silent one day to the village and settled in the abandoned shack. I was always curious, who was that quiet man, when he was in the village slept until noon and disappeared to return weeks later?

He didn't talk to anyone, always silent. No one knew him,,he came to the village, bought you provisions, rested for a few days in the village and returned to the mountain. On several occasions I coincided with him here, but despite my attempts I never managed to start a conversation.

Others were also intrigued with the man, in the mine, playing cards with miners from other villages, I found out that the man also went to their villages and maintained exactly the same strange behavior. He arrived for a few days, bought provisions and returned to the jungle. Silent.

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Curiosity made me follow his steps. I smelled something strange in the way he acted, why this effort to remain away from others? why did he not talk to anyone? why his lengthy absences? where did he get the gold with which he paid his expenses? I came to this conclusion, the man had discovered a mine and was exploiting it, on his own, silent.

So I set out to discover his secret. I didn't tell anyone what I was going to do. I waited until he returned to the village, filled my bag with provisions and watched over his shack so that I could follow him when he came out in the dark. The first night it didn't come out, nor the second. I thought I was suspicious of my intentions but had no way of deducing what I intended to do, so I decided to try again.

On the third night, in the deepest darkness the man slipped out of the cabin. He looked around attentively but the darkness in which he trusted to hide his comings and goings hid me from his sight. He carried a sack on his shoulder, adjusted the machete in the sheath hanging from his waist and made his way to the mountain, following a path of tapirs. I chased him silently, sweaty with my machete in hand and the revolver on the belt, trying to make as little noise as possible. Silent.

I walked after him all night, following the path of tapirs, praying in silence, asking God not to be attacked by the beasts whose rumor I heard closer and closer. At dawn, he crossed a stream and entered a clearing full of orchids with a large rubber tree fallen in the middle. The enormous roots of the fallen tree left in sight the entrance to a small cave where the man, after looking around, entered. I waited hidden among the trees, vigilant, silent.

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At the end of the afternoon I saw him come out, sweaty and exhausted, the formerly light sack now seemed extremely heavy despite not having much inside. I let it go, in the utmost silence. I spent the night there, in the middle of the jungle, at the mercy of the beasts fearing their return. At dawn I convinced myself that he had gone and I decided to enter among the roots of the tree.

It was a small opening of moist soil, the roots were like beams to keep the entrance open. I slid inside, hunched over not to hit the ceiling, about 5 meters later, in full darkness, I lit my lantern and its light revealed to me the rock of the ceiling and the walls, with chisel marks here and there. I moved a little further, crawling along a small passageway that ended in a wide gallery. It was a polished rock, shining in the light of my lamp with the reflections of gold shining on the walls.

I lost track of time, spent hours working with hammer and chisel, piling to one side the largest gold nuggets I could imagine. I lost my appetite, the fever took hold of me, and the foul air made me falter. I think I fainted.

When I woke up, without the slightest idea of how long I had fainted, the fever had disappeared and the lamp had gone out, I turned it on and understood the need to get out of there as soon as possible. I filled the bag with everything I could carry and crawled back outside. That was this morning.

Ciriaco looked at him incredulously. Ulysses noticed.

-Good story Ulysses, now seriously tell me, where were you?

Ulysses didn't answer, he looked around, beckoned Ciriacus to come closer, and for a moment he opened the sack.

Ulysses left the next day, never to return. Ciriaco sold his business at the cheap price of a skinny hen and went to Caracas, where he lived for many prosperous years, thanks to a plate of food, his good reputation, listening to a crazy story and keeping silent.

Esta obra está bajo una licencia de Creative Commons Reconocimiento-NoComercial-SinObraDerivada 4.0 Internacional