We all cried for Uncle Jacinto when he left us, and we all cried when he returned.
Uncle Jacinto was a thorough and sociable man, but my aunt Rosalinda did not think that way, and she let him know as soon as the uncle sat down to have breakfast.
She then told him that he was useless and good for nothing.
My uncle
rolled his eyes and snorted
.
Then he put on his beret and warned his aunt that one day he was going to cry for him.
So it was.
One day she went out and she didn't make it to the dairy, or anywhere that we knew of, and my aunt cried bitterly.
Losing her was a shame and an enigma.
It was after many years that our cousin Esther found Uncle Jacinto.
He was at the door of her house and about to ring the doorbell.
Her cousin stated, “I recognized him instantly,” even though she had not even been born when he left.
Maybe there was no need to clarify anything, because
we all ran with joy to welcome
her.
And there everything was crying.
The uncle was a robust man, and he came back scrawny.
Where he showed off his mustaches, two sad guides fell.
His rosy cheeks looked wasted, his white complexion transformed into sallow.
His sparkling light blue eyes were just two dark slits.
And most impressively, his perky curls had transformed into a long, oily braid
.
We were stunned.
Who knows how many troubles had transformed the uncle into little more than a wreck.
After a short discussion, we decided to take it in procession to Aunt Rosalinda.
She would know what to do with him.
But the aunt went out to the patio, dried her hands on her apron, looked at her uncle up and down, said
“I don't sleep with Chinese people” and she closed the screen door in our faces
.
We were left confused.
In the end, we left the uncle in the chicken coop and everyone went to his house.
After all, the chicken coop was part of his home.
We thought it was appropriate, since his aunt wouldn't let him set foot in the house, angry with him for who knows what intimate reasons.
Thus time passed, and the uncle demonstrated not only a certain stoicism, but also a practical disposition that we did not know from him.
With some planks and some straw he made a cot.
After a few days he improvised a kind of shed on the side of the chicken coop, avoiding the offended clucking of the chickens, we assumed.
What yes, he didn't open his mouth
.
He, who was a tireless talker, did not say a word.
But from then on everything changed.
As if from nowhere, bamboo pavilions, graceful roofs with red tips, began to rise on the side of the chicken coop.
Lanterns hung from the corners and the interior was filled with lacquered furniture.
We were all amazed, and even more so when we saw Aunt Rosalinda, wearing a billowing silk robe, leave her house and enter the pavilions built by her uncle, where she stayed like a queen.
So we continue.
Uncle Jacinto and Aunt Rosalinda living very plump in their oriental palace
, the chicken coop in its shadow, and everyone happy.
Like in Chinese stories.