A Cup of Sorrow

Tale of the Brick Maker, Of San Jerónimo, Peru [A Cup of Sorrow]

—1

In the Andean mountains, within the

Mantaro Valley region of Peru, Isolated, secluded, tranquil, is the little

village of San Jerónimo. Near the village, here lay the fertile valley

with bent-grass, and huge Mountains stretching northbound,

And heading towards the ocean’s coast.

The old man had hands like a farmer’s

was raised on labor and ceaseless; He made bricks from the mountain’s clay,

baked them, from nearby firewood, and found Serenity from the suns rays, as it sank

each night into twilight.

And so Augusto lived, directing his

household somewhat apart from the village, Not a wealthy man, a brick maker, with

goodly acres of land; he now was a Man of four and eighty winters, resting.

Happy and healthy was he, an ox of a man

with leathered skin, and dark eyes; Yet how delicately they shinned.

Thus, at peace with God and man and himself; the old brick maker.

—2

I sat back in the Plaza de Arms, of Lima, Peru

listened to the tale of this old man, And his Bride of long ago…a story never before

told…these were days forlorn and desolate Night after night, when the city was

asleep, he tried to make a living, But it seemed like the sun was always dark

in those days, with naught in his pockets But a twig from a branch of a tree.

He hadn’t eaten for a few days, so the old

man said…, he was quite young back then; Wandering the streets, the quiet way,

elastic and descending were his legs, As if they were broken wings,. No jobs

in the city, now at trails end… He needed a friend…thus he sat down

on some empty feverish steps, silent.

Moistening his lips, looking up, he saw---

(eyes half dead) A little girl’s face looking down at him.

All was ended now, the hope that Might had been; now restless; a vanished vision;

an unsatisfying longing.

“Sir, can I help you? Why are you so sad?”

spoke the little ten year old. A dull deep pain, reached Augusto’s lips,

not knowing what to say; And did it matter anyway, “Eh!” he replied.

She said once more, to the bewildered Man, “Ssir, why are you so sad?”

Hundreds of feet walked by, where she

stood, he sat, “Miss, I can’t pay the rent!” Embarrassed, deep-voiced, he looked back down.

Within an hour’s time, the little girl Was back, full of life, and with a check…

paying the rent a month in advance…!

—3

But this is not where the story ends my friend,

it was really just the beginning. As the old man in the park, sat back, we all

Wondered, and asked: What ever happened to the little girl?

(all several of us now enchanted with his tale); But he just laughed…. Said I,

“What sir is so funny?” He replied: “I came back, six years later,

and married her.” And you could see the twinkle in his eyes, for

she had been long dead, and he missed her. And that was all he said….

#757 7/10/05

Dennis Siluk, author and poet, web site http://dennissiluk.tripod.com he will be going to Peru for the presentation of his book, "Spell of the Andes," in October; he lives in Peru and Minnesota