I want to wake up Now

Iwant to wake up
By Jose Adán Cardona Lopez
The town hills were crowded, peasants in Sunday dresses, ponchos, hats, some of them wearing their “cárrieles”[1], walking with their wives and children toward the market; the streets of the plaza started to get packed with pilgrims after the Sunday Morning Mass, everybody was coming from the crowded church atrium.

The market street, located just at the west wing of the church, was boiling with activity from the multitud of visitor gathering at the commercial tends and some improvised market tables which were installed each Sunday on this street to trade the farm products of the zone. I always thought it was a marvelous sight, hard working men, and strong women carrying on their children.

Their honest eyes, strong and rustic faces at the first sight but then their kindness and soft spoken words at speak. Their faces and hands signed by the sun and the years. Everybody seems familiar; I have seen them year after year, always coming to the Market Street, always praying to God every Sunday morning.

But today there were something different, it was a strangely hot day, I left my hat and poncho at home, and not just that, when I’ve arrived, at the market, I saw 3 or 4 men whom inspected me with their eyes, nothing strange, perhaps they’re travelers, I thought; I never realized how wear out were their attires which showed some mud, a bad thing to wear in Sunday.

Then, when I was in middle of the crowded street, I saw 10 men or so, all aligned on the sidewalk and each of them beside the entrance of each of the stores on the market. At the end of the street, I was already leaving, a step further and I would be in the central plaza which must be almost empty by now; but then a terrible stomach bawl makes me decide to come back to buy something to eat in one of the tends, but I never arrived.

Everyone was quiet, the men that I’ve seen before were armed with fusils that had kept underneath their heavy ponchos, and all of them were wear out, for traveling thought the mountains I thought. It seems this was a battalion, some men closed each end of the street, and some others were standing up on the sidewalks forcing people out of the stores, now everyone was silent.

One of them, strong flat face, with a voice like thunder started yelling his principles from the center of the street guarded by four or six men over viewing to the slightly movement. Slowly, I started to move backwards toward the east corner of the street, there were a big Canteen which has several exits, one of them to the back street called the Hospital street which fall into a big hill, this street was almost never used cause it was a very steep road.

Before entering to the Canteen, I was able to listen clearly to the slogan that echoes in every ear that morning:

“That one who doesn’t serve us, is against us”

“Today, someone stole something from us”, continues the head man of the group, “some pills, medicine, Please we required you to consider and return them back in to us; here my men will help you…” the coordinated move of the fusils was heard, and the whispers from the peasants reveled a tense situations which was contented just by fusils and then silence again.

But already I was inside the Canteen, I didn’t care about anything, I was a just few steps out of this into my salvation, just a some few meters before the exit door to the steep hill which would take me far from this nightmare.
There was a heavy atmosphere, everybody was quiet, and it seems if everybody had gone mute, or maybe I was the one stone-deaf. There were two young black girls one of them was a teenager maybe 15 year-old no more, the other one was a mulatto girl maybe 20 year-old very beautiful, it was out of the ordinary to see this two women in this region, the mulatto girl hold a baby boy half naked, her son I supposed, in her left hand she hold something very tightly.
I was going half way out of the bar, slowly; the older girl hands out the baby to her girl companion, pressing the object tight in both hands, started to run towards the door, but as she approaches it an armed man enters. Standing by the door at the Hospital street, I was with a feet on the sidewalks and the other in the Canteen door, the two girls crossed faster than air, the older girl took the baby from her friend arms, and forced the small package into the hands of the young girl that thing that seconds before she was holding.
The face of the young black girl was confused, everything happened so fast, in two or three seconds the mulatto girl was holding back her baby, and moving backwards from her friend, looking into her friend eyes, with sorry as she was holding and quietly strocking her baby. The Armed man arrives in that very moment, spotted the woman, recognized the package in that black girls hands, without a second thought he lift his fusil, and shoot thrice in the middle of the black girl’s breast, with the first shoot an open bleeding chest, a second shot is in vain since the first was mortal i was thinking, with the third shoot she falls like a stone bag rolling down the hill. Still, I was.

I move backwards, searched for the wall with my trembling hands, backing on the wall, I can’t breathe. “That one, who doesn’t serve us, is against us” seems to gain a new whole meaning, a new one terrifying and scary.

Eyes wide shoot, the stiff body after rolling down the hill has left a trace of blood on the grey pavement. My hand on my forehead trying to prevent my head to explode; I think: “I want to Wake up”

Then ...Darkness