Kathleen March

Professor of Spanish; Director, Critical Languages Program

Dept. Modern Languages & Classics, University of Maine, Orono ME 04469

tel.: 207-581-2088; fax: 207-581-1832

Some years back, they made gag jokes popular. They´d give someone a notebook with an attractive pencil. When he´d start to write with it, the pencil would bend in half.

Or they´d give him a book as a gift. And when hed go to open it to read, a firecracker would go off and half the book would burn up.

Well, when my niece came to visit from New York, she gave me a lighter, saying it´d bring me lots of luck.

The lighter was just like a 7.5 gauge pistol. Every time it was struck, a spark exploded that sounded exactly, I mean exactly like a shot.

Once I went to see some friends in Monforte, to have dinner at Virrios. Brais was a real partier. Antón, not so much. Since it was so darned hot, we ate in our shirtsleeves, hanging our jackets over the chairs.

I went out a minute to the john (excuse the expression), to take a leak (excuse me again). And Brais played the trick. He snuck my lighter from the breast pocket of my jacket. There were a lot of people eating in the dining room now.

Without ado, Brais said:

-Im telling you I´m tired of living.

And he shouted loudly.

Everythings going wrong for me in this darn life. I´d be better off in the next world. You don´t suffer there.

Don't be so pessimistic. Not so long ago you won thirty thousand reas in the lottery.

Well they got stolen. I lost my wife. My oldest son is a lost cause. I´ve been trapped for the last two years. My things are about to be repossessed.

And straight away he put the muzzle of the lighter to his temple, and bang!

He fell flat on the floor.

I heard Antón say:

-Poor fool...! What have you done?

Some got up. Others, not wanting to get involved, ran outside. But on hearing the shot, more people came in. Look, to kill himself just like that...

He must have been really desperate.

The strange part is he´s not bleeding.

There I was, shaking like I´d seen the Santa Compaña, and when I heard that he´s not bleeding I figured it out right away. I gave him a kick in the britches, because Brais was lying on his side.

-You don´t treat a dead man like that...

I grabbed the so-called pistol.

-It´s a joke, I said, see how it works...

Hey, what a trick, it scared the devil out of me...

Well, the jerk sure is good at acting. Like a movie comedian.

I went to Queiroga with my lucky lighter to pick up a load of logs in Santa Cubicia and haul them to Vigo by truck.

I had barely arrived in Santa Cubicia when I saw a white magpie fluttering about with several others. When I told the woman at the tobacco stand, she said:

-Well, when you see a white magpie, that means youll have good luck.

This was around eleven in the morning and it was already hot. And I went for a swim in the river, in the stream by Lamela. Taking off my clothes, I slipped into the river, leaving my clothes beneath a willow. There were four green bills in my wallet, all together, a bit singed on the edges, from once when Id lit a candle and was careless about it.

I was in the water over half an hour. When I came out, ready to bask in the sun, I saw a man run toward the highway. He was short and wore a straw hat, like the harvesters.

The spot couldn´t have been lovelier. The mountain stream rushes noisily through the dam. There are lots of white poplars that provide a soft shade. All along the clay wall of Lamelas land there was a flowering glicina. They were already cutting the oats. The willows were fragrant. The clouds shadows slid along the river. The cypresses resembled mourning pendants.

I dried myself off and laid down in the sun before getting dresses. And I dressed slowly. It was the day of Santiago and I could hear the fireworks in Vilañán. I put my hand in my wallet that was in the inside jacket pocket, to see if I had any money left besides the four thousand pesetas in green bills. I planned to have lunch in San Martín and come back that night to Santa Cubicia. Id pay for the wood the next day.

My wallet was there, but without the bills. Where could I have dropped them? I remembered the man I´d seen running. The white magpie was flying about with the others. Some good luck itd brought me...

Now I really had to go to San Martmn to call Monforte so they could send me money. I set out fuming... If I ever got my hands on the joker whos robbed my money...

But in San Martín I ran into good friends. I told them what had happened and Xíbaro da Ermida told me to forget it.

Here are the four bills they stole from you, you´ll give them back when you feel like it. Either were friends or were not, darn it...

I got half tdrunk celebrating with them, drinking beer along the way.

And when the clock struck eleven at night I turned around to head for Santa Cubicia, slowly, my jacket over my arm for it was a warm evening.

The fireworks were still exploding and lots of people were returning from the festivities at Vilañán, crossing the Bergaza bridge on their way to Ermida.

In that spot the river forms a whirlpool and always roars like thunder. There are parapets on the side of the road where you can sit comfortably. I sat down to have a cigarette, and I took out my pistol shaped lighter from America to light it. I caught a glimpse of a man coming toward me, with a cigarette in his mouth too, and he asked me for a light.

I whipped my lighter from my back pants pocket, forgetting that when I pressed the trigger the play flint would fire. The man had his jacket over his shoulders with his arms outside the sleeves.

Bang! It went off right in his face. My gosh I was going to say I was sorry...

He lit out down the slope and immediately I heard his shoes on the bridge, while I shouted for him to come back, that his jacket had fallen on the parapet.

I also had a flashlight with me, and turned it on. Who could the guy be and how could I get his jacket back to him? I´d barely seen his face. The it occurred to me to see what he had in his jacket pockets, God forgive me...

There in the inside pocket were my four green bills with the singed edges...

Well neither the lighter my niece from America gave me nor the white magpie has brought me bad luck yet.