Ben loaded the last of the furniture into the cart. It was a lovely chair; carved from three separate pieces and bound together with cunningly hidden iron nails, hard oak from the southern forests, stained to a deep rich earthen brown. He had delicately carved the currents of the sea in a delicate pattern down the back, and the arms were carved in such a way as to evoke the image of proud Portuguese warships at full sail. There was a time it would have pained him to part with such an excellent example of his craft. But his master had beaten that out of him soon enough. He tied it down to the cart bed and stepped back. from his work. It was a beautiful day. A cloudless ocean of blue sky dominated the thinly wooded landscape surrounding the village. Men and women went about their daily routines with the usual amount of joviality, stopping occasionally in their labors to gossip with their neighbors as they passed by. The children were abroad on the village green, the boys playing at war and the girls at house. Ben gazed up at the sun. It was almost noon, past time for them to be off.
“Alejandre!” he cried, “Nos obrigacao va!” Silence was his reply. Where was the boy off to now? Ben sighed and scratched his head. The damn fool was probably off with some young girl. Less than a week ago he had found his son in the hay loft at the Quesada’s farm, locked in coitus with Albert Quesada’s daughter Adriana. She was a lovely girl true, but the Quesada’s were a powerful family in the village, and Albert’s pride was legendary. Ben had kept the secret for them, to save the honor of both their families, but if he was at it again Not even the Almighty would protect him.
“Alejandre!” Ben cried, louder.
“Sobre ca, Pai” came the distant reply. Ben followed the call to it’s source. Alejandre sat on the stump of a tree that he and Ben had felled last month, a book in his hand.
“What have you been doing Alejandre? It’s past time we were away to the market.”
His son looked up at him from the small leather-bound text he had been pouring over, squinting at his father silhouetted by the morning Sun. “Forgiveness father, I was reading this book about-”
“Books are for scholars, fool boy, not tradesmen like us. Who gave you that nonsense?”
“Franco Plata, father. He loaned it to me from his shop when last we were in the city.”
“We’ll you can bring it back to his shop when we get there today. This was all well and good when you were young boy, but those days are long past. You’re 19 Alejandre, I wont tolerate this philosophical nonsense anymore. It‘s time you started thinking about your future.”
“Father, its not nonsense, it’s a book! Its by a man named Miguel de Cervantes, from Spain. It’s a story of-”
“I could care less what it’s about, boy. I said I’ll have none of it! Now put it away and go hitch the mules to the cart so we can be off. I want to get home before sundown.”
“But father-”
“No Alejandre! While you live in my house, you will do as I say. You wont have to much longer. You’re a man now, and I’m beginning to think it’s time you were married.”
“MARRIED!? But father-”
“Perhaps that Adriana Quesada. You’re…familiar, with her, and you may be forced to marry her anyway if you got her with child.”
“I was more than careful not to-”
“Silence Alejandre, your tongue has caused you enough trouble for one lifetime. Go hitch the mules. We’ll discuss this later.”
“*sigh* Yes father.” Alejandre left his father by the stump and went to the stable. Ben watched his son back until he turned the corner. Why couldn’t the boy understand? Everything he did, he did for him and his mother. The ungratefulness of youth. Hmph.
Dismissing such thoughts from his mind, Ben went back inside to get his ledger and scales. He expected these last few pieces to fetch high prices in Portu; even the modest end table Alejandre had crafted should sell well. The boy had little talent for carpentry, this was true. Still, Ben believed that with a little coaxing Alejandre could become a great tradesman. If he could just get his nose out of books and his eyes off the girls.
He entered the main room of the house to find his wife, Anna, hard at her baking. “Do you know what that boy of yours was doing just now?”
Anna looked up from the dough she was kneading. “Oh good Lord, he wasn’t with the Thatcher’s daughter again was he?”
“No, not that.”
“Ay! Albert Quesada’s daughter again!?”
“No, nothing like that. He was reading.”
“Oh,” Anna tunred back to the dough, “and why is that a problem?”
“You tell me Anna. It was you who taught him to read.”
“So? It’s good for a lad to be educated.”
“He doesn’t need books or philosophy to put food on the table. He needs his craft. And he spends more time with these damn fool books than he does in the wood shed!”
“Maybe he doesn’t want to be a carpenter Ben.”
“To Hell with what he wants to be, his future is as a carpenter.” Anna crossed herself at the mention of Hell.
“Such language in our house Benjamin DeAnorim! Would you bring down the wrath of the Almighty on our son?”
“No I would not. Forgive me.” Ben looked around the room. “Where are my scales and my ledger?”
“In your drawer I imagine.”
“Ah, of course.” Ben went to the room they shared and retrieved his effects, then came back out. “We’ll be home for supper, hopefully before nightfall.”
“I should hope so. Shepherd’s Pie tonight, Alejandre’s favorite.”
“I’ll tell him.” He kissed his wife on the forehead. “Until tonight then.”
“Safe travels, husband.” Ben smiled at her and walked out to the cart, where Alejandre and the mules were waiting.
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Topic: Alejandre DeAnorim: The E!True Hollywood Story (18+?) (Read 824 times)