Turbinio

Spider Silk and Jasmine

You woke up alone, but it was no surprise. The gentleman who had accompanied you had left, and now it was just you, Cadichon and the kitten. By day, that grove was less scary.

Despite the difficulty of traveling with a wagon through the narrow passages between scattered and confused eucalyptus trees, you knew it would be a short journey, as the map indicated.

Or at least you imagined. The dirt roads were full of forks and the mess those thin, orderly trees caused was a trap for you and Cadichon. For the first time on this run, you regretted trying to take a shortcut. Then, waved your arms and snorted impatiently when realized you'd already wasted two hours in that place. You observed on the horizon a small and old house that adorned the clearing. It was already the fifth or sixth time you've seen it. Your back hurt terribly. The place was silent, dewy and bathed in gentle warmth.

You got off your wagon and looked around for a good mix of herbs. With a sore back, a good kumbaya wouldn't hurt. So, you searched the drawers for a product you didn't usually use because considered it, in short, slightly disgusting. But in the absence of fine silk or a good pipe, spider silk paper was the best alternative for making kumbaya. You cleverly combined the ingredients. Mugwort, jasmine and fennel, evenly distributed and packaged in aged silk paper.

In one deft movement, you lit the cigarette and sat down in the back of your wagon. You lie there with your legs outside and throw them willingly.

You saw a shadow and the kitten jumped off the shelf as if someone had shouted 'fish!'. It was what came in the scale of its demands, evidently. Whenever you came back from a shop with milk cream or aged cheese, the cat would wrap itself around your ankles like a furry rope, obviously hoping to trip you up and knock you over.

At one of the checkpoints, you made the mistake of stopping your wagon next to a poultry farm. Coming out of one of the greengrocers, you could hear a jumble of flapping wings and people cursing. ''Damn cat!'', was what they said. The cat hid inside your wagon when it was caught in the act with a huge quail wing in its mouth. That was at the top of its demands, quail wings. That's not counting when you saw it chase a fox last week. The cat was small, but it had the confidence of a lion.

The kitten couldn't resist hair either. At that moment, it approached you with a purr and its paw reached out and tapped the top of your head, carefully. You relaxed a little; you didn't purr, but felt very peaceful. It was extremely relaxing to have the cat ruffle and comb your hair with its short claws, pausing from time to time to rub itself affectionately on your head. With half-closed eyes and a half-finished cigarette, you thought about how difficult it would be to find the way out of that labyrinth disguised as a forest.

''Eat shit, asshole! Fall of your horse!'' The peaceful silence was interrupted, and the cat leaped after you, leaving your hair disheveled and taking the flower from the locks – which it seemed to be silently chewing – hanging, wet, and tattered.

In fright, you got up and took the cigarette out of your mouth to make sure you didn't swallow it. You unceremoniously picked up your carbine and walked to where you thought the trouble was.

''You guys!'' Another unknown voice was heard. ''Are you lost too?''

Peering out among the eucalyptus trees, you can see clearly. Gyro, Johnny, Hot Pants and Gaucho. You got to meet Gaucho in Arizona, but you never really talked to him. On the other hand, the other runners you knew well.

''That son of a bitch again!'' Gaucho continued. ''Always at the curtain by the door... always by the damn curtain!''

You flinched when you saw him furiously get off his horse. Whatever he was planning, it didn't look good. He walked towards the house you saw earlier, calling out to the man who lived there.