Jorge Milanes Despaigne
This morning I went shopping at the weekend agricultural market. I walked around the sales area to check the prices so that I could figure out what I could buy with the money I had. When going by one stand I stopped because it seemed I’d seen the clerk’s face before.
I asked who the last person in line was while I discreetly glanced at that same fellow. Still, I couldn’t quite put my finger on how I knew him, but I shrugged it off and decided to concentrate on what I had to buy: fruits, green bananas, avocados, potatoes and vegetables.
When my turn came, I pointed out to him everything that I wanted.
“Make sure to give me some good ones,” I specified.
The young guy immediately began selecting the best ones for me, while at the same time framing in his mind a question that he then directed at me:
“Don’t you remember me? I’m Reymundo’s nephew. I was one who had the accident with the machete hitting the electric cable.”
“Oh yeah, now I remember. Since I got here I was trying to place you, but it was hard since I hadn’t seen you since then, plus you’ve changed,” I told him.
“After that, it took me a long time to recuperate. It was pretty rough, but here I am. I have to keep on keepin’ on because there are some good people who depend on me.” Then, indicating behind him, he said with a smile: “See that woman? She’s my wife. And the baby in the carriage? – that’s my son.”
“What about the accident? Was there any long-term harm?” I asked.
After he bagged my merchandise and I paid him, he then stuck out his left hand to show me his palm:
“Just these two scars, up till now. You know, I said all along that just it wasn’t my time.”
“It’s true, you do have seven lives – like a cat,” I commended him.