Don Onofrio was a town mayor. And from the town too, since he was elected by his neighbors. Ruiz Cortines used to say: “Governors are chosen by the President. Deputies and senators are chosen by the Governor. But mayors must be chosen by the people.” A wise gentleman, and truly austere, was Don Adolfo, who carefully zealously guarded the presidential investiture, now so neglected and undressed.

In his public appearances he took his hat and placed it next to his chest so that no one would dare to hug the Chief Justice. Those were forms, not the deformities of today. But to remember don Adolfo I have forgotten don Onofrio. I go back to him. One day a lady who had her son with her, a brat of 6 or 7 years old, spoiled and impertinent, showed up at the town hall, because his mother consented to everything, which is why he was extremely spoiled. As soon as the woman began to deal with the matter that had brought her there – a lawsuit with her neighbor – the boy interrupted her and said: “I want that picture.”

And he pointed to a small painting that hung on one of the walls of the office. Such a square had no value. It did not show the hieratic face of Don Benito Juárez, which requires a larger picture due to the high civic stature of the Benemérito. It was an ordinary picture. It represented two little shepherdesses who, along a path lined with little flowers, were carrying their little sheep on their way to their little house. The lady kept talking, but the boy repeated her request: “Mommy: I want that square.” “Wait, son” -asked the woman. And the child, stubborn: “I want that square.” The mother, then, asked the mayor: “Would you give that square to my son?” The town councilor answered bluntly: “No, ma’am.” She asked, flustered, “Why not?” “Look here,” Don Onofrio reasoned. “If I give the kid the little square, then he’s going to want the little nail too, and he’ll end up asking me for the little hole.”

A certain former public official, Manuel Spino, He proposed that the Government enter into a dialogue with organized crime in order to seek the pacification of the country. At first glance, the proposal seems plausible, first because, as the saying goes, a loser goes all out, and then because it seems that this dialogue already exists, since President López is splitting a pinion with at least one of such organizations: In addition to kindly greeting the mother of the head of that cartel, he ordered the release of one of his close relatives, who had already been detained by the security forces. But if that suggestion is analyzed, it will no longer be so plausible.

To enter into conversations with the crime bosses would be to grant them a certain form of political personality, which would make them stronger, and more fun. This happened with the now almost forgotten Sub Commander Marcos, whose histrionic figure grew up surrounded by two or three protagonist bishops who condoned the armed violence with which the so-called Zapatistas assassinated unarmed municipal policemen, and by some snobs who with total abandonment of critical conscience they let themselves be dazzled by that sub-comedian whom few now remember and even fewer know what his name is now.

The deception did not last long, and so did the lying war of the deceiver. Returning to Mr. Espino’s proposal, I will say that if an agreement were reached with the drug lords, they would then demand more and more, just like the boy in the story, and would end up asking the authority for the little hole. It is never good to walk in a council of bad guys. Making a pact with the devil always brings dire consequences. FINISH.


Variations opus 33 on the theme of Don Juan.
The night he could no longer enter a woman, Don Juan gave himself up for dead.
For the Sevillian gentleman, love was everything, so he felt that he had fallen into nothingness. Love was the life of him; to be without him was death.
He secluded himself in his palace on the banks of the Guadalquivir, and he no longer went out to go to dawn mass, which was attended by old ladies, or to go to the afternoon walk, which was attended by ageless maidens.
Let’s look at Don Juan. He is sunk in his friar chair, his hand on his chin, his elbow on one of the arms of his seat. He has his eyes fixed on the window, but he does not look at the clouds that pass or the waters of the river that go away. At the moment of love he thought that the clouds stopped and that the waters of the river stopped flowing. He now thinks that he goes with the river and with the clouds.
Let’s not pity him, though. He remembers his love and in the darkness of the room his face lights up with an evocative smile. There are few men who at their age can smile like that.
See you tomorrow!…


by AFA
“. The bread of the dead became more expensive.”.
Clients are captives
of those undercover robberies.
Yes, on the Day of the Dead
many pass out alive.

Source: Debate

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J. A. Allen

Author, blogger, freelance writer. Hater of spiders. Drinker of wine. Mother of hellions.

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