13 de septiembre de 2009


Finally, after more than a year of searching for him, I was face to face with him. He was an old campesino, a farmer with a forehead furrowed with lines, a drooping moustache peppered with grey, unusually bushy eyebrows, an aquiline nose with a scar thatran from the septum to the left nostril, a firm jaw, and those deep eyes typical of people whose lives are tied to crops and to the land, to the sun and to the rain. He had on his head one of those felt sombreros that country folk only ever take off in bed or in church, and a pair of sandals so worn out that they looked like they had crossed every cornfield in southeast Mexico.

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