Tall stories anyone??
Jan 28th 2012, 4:49 pm
#1
BE Enthusiast
Thread Starter
Joined: Mar 2011
Location: Girona/Barcelona
Posts: 381
Tall stories anyone??
About half an hour drive from where I live is a quaint little village set in the foothills of ‘Montseny’ Parc Natural....
.
It is nationally renowned for its manufacture of ceramics and pottery and stands with the name of ‘Breda’..........Every other house is a small factory with its own kiln run by the family who live there..........Each has a shop/terrace selling directly onto the street....
.
It’s a well visited tourist spot and coach parties arrive throughout the summer months....I go often with the missus to buy stuff for the garden.
During nigh on every visit I have noted the eternal presence of a stooped, elderly gentleman in an ever present felt fedora hat who trails around the narrow streets with a little handcart collecting the debris of broken ceramic and pottery discarded out the back doors of the many small kiln houses....He is a bit of a local character and many tourists take photos of him whilst at his toil.
.
During one visit I was having a swift wet in one of the few hostelries there as the missus was out perusing pots when the said character passed the bar frontage and all the locals called out a hearty good day and waved.
I turned to an old crone sat close by my table and inquired as to whom the colourful cart puller was.
.
She cackled hoarsely, threw back the tiny glass of red wine in front of her, gestured the host for me to fill her glass and beckoned me closer. I obliged...
.
‘’I’ll tell you a story’’, she babbled.....’’I’ll tell you a story sir’’!
.
She wiped the back of a mottled, dark skinned hand across cracked dry lips as she gulped a mouthful of wine redder than blood..
.
‘’He appeared’’, she nodded toward the old bent figure outside in the sunshine, ‘’ He appeared here many, many years ago’’. She gazed off somewhere with a small wry smile on her lined face.
.
‘’ He appeared many, many years ago, just with the rags on his back, he had nothing more......nothing!’’
.
‘’ Her shrivelled hand shook slightly as she raised the glass to drink!
.
‘’He looked for work sir.....Looked hard....But’’ She shrugged, ‘’the way things were back then...eh?’’ Tiny frail shoulders shook beneath her tattered shawl.
.
‘’Looked for work for many months, many months sir.....But nothing.....No work....There was no work back then’’, She scratched at the old wooden table with an old ragged nail.
.
‘’ The Generalissimo’’ she whispered, ‘’the troubles’’, Bloodshot eyes darted back and forth furtively.......’’ You understand?’’
.
‘’He had nothing....No food......I...I....fed him....You know ....helped him, we helped him’’
.
I nodded, urging her to continue!
.
‘’In the end.....He went to the mayor, you know....The mayor’’
.
I nodded again, knowingly.
.
‘’He asked for help.....for money....You know....Money....To buy the cart’’
.
I was transfixed...I swallowed and smiled my understanding.
.
‘’With the cart’’, she pointed a gnarled finger in the direction of the old man, slowly pushing his cart along the dusty, dry street.
.
‘’With...the cart....He collected all the pots....All the pots, you know? All the broken pots and pieces.....All the broken pieces of pots’’, she trailed off mumbling.
.
I smiled at the crone as if we were sharing some secret.
.
‘’For years he gathered....for years he collected.....Yeas and years he collected all the pieces, the broken pots.....saving them.....Saving and selling them....You know?’’
.
My eyes caught the bartenders and I looked down at her half empty glass, he grimaced and reached for the wine bottle...
.
The little dark clothed old woman went on.....
.
‘’All the pots and pieces....All the broken pots and pieces...He saved them and sold them, saved and sold them....All of them!’’
.
I took a sip at my now tepid beer...
.
‘’He saved and sold....saved and sold.....all of them..’’
.
She crouched forward as if in pain, clutching the wineglass as a crutch, fingers tight and raw, knuckles like tiny white pebbles!
.
‘’Do you know how much he is worth now.....this man....How much?’’
.
I leaned in closer, I could smell the Earth on her, the very soil she trod in her daily life!
.
‘’How much?’’ I whispered...’’How much?’’
.
‘’Fu#k all’’ she cackled......
.
’’Fu#k all....And he still owes for the handcart’’!!
.
.
It is nationally renowned for its manufacture of ceramics and pottery and stands with the name of ‘Breda’..........Every other house is a small factory with its own kiln run by the family who live there..........Each has a shop/terrace selling directly onto the street....
.
It’s a well visited tourist spot and coach parties arrive throughout the summer months....I go often with the missus to buy stuff for the garden.
During nigh on every visit I have noted the eternal presence of a stooped, elderly gentleman in an ever present felt fedora hat who trails around the narrow streets with a little handcart collecting the debris of broken ceramic and pottery discarded out the back doors of the many small kiln houses....He is a bit of a local character and many tourists take photos of him whilst at his toil.
.
During one visit I was having a swift wet in one of the few hostelries there as the missus was out perusing pots when the said character passed the bar frontage and all the locals called out a hearty good day and waved.
I turned to an old crone sat close by my table and inquired as to whom the colourful cart puller was.
.
She cackled hoarsely, threw back the tiny glass of red wine in front of her, gestured the host for me to fill her glass and beckoned me closer. I obliged...
.
‘’I’ll tell you a story’’, she babbled.....’’I’ll tell you a story sir’’!
.
She wiped the back of a mottled, dark skinned hand across cracked dry lips as she gulped a mouthful of wine redder than blood..
.
‘’He appeared’’, she nodded toward the old bent figure outside in the sunshine, ‘’ He appeared here many, many years ago’’. She gazed off somewhere with a small wry smile on her lined face.
.
‘’ He appeared many, many years ago, just with the rags on his back, he had nothing more......nothing!’’
.
‘’ Her shrivelled hand shook slightly as she raised the glass to drink!
.
‘’He looked for work sir.....Looked hard....But’’ She shrugged, ‘’the way things were back then...eh?’’ Tiny frail shoulders shook beneath her tattered shawl.
.
‘’Looked for work for many months, many months sir.....But nothing.....No work....There was no work back then’’, She scratched at the old wooden table with an old ragged nail.
.
‘’ The Generalissimo’’ she whispered, ‘’the troubles’’, Bloodshot eyes darted back and forth furtively.......’’ You understand?’’
.
‘’He had nothing....No food......I...I....fed him....You know ....helped him, we helped him’’
.
I nodded, urging her to continue!
.
‘’In the end.....He went to the mayor, you know....The mayor’’
.
I nodded again, knowingly.
.
‘’He asked for help.....for money....You know....Money....To buy the cart’’
.
I was transfixed...I swallowed and smiled my understanding.
.
‘’With the cart’’, she pointed a gnarled finger in the direction of the old man, slowly pushing his cart along the dusty, dry street.
.
‘’With...the cart....He collected all the pots....All the pots, you know? All the broken pots and pieces.....All the broken pieces of pots’’, she trailed off mumbling.
.
I smiled at the crone as if we were sharing some secret.
.
‘’For years he gathered....for years he collected.....Yeas and years he collected all the pieces, the broken pots.....saving them.....Saving and selling them....You know?’’
.
My eyes caught the bartenders and I looked down at her half empty glass, he grimaced and reached for the wine bottle...
.
The little dark clothed old woman went on.....
.
‘’All the pots and pieces....All the broken pots and pieces...He saved them and sold them, saved and sold them....All of them!’’
.
I took a sip at my now tepid beer...
.
‘’He saved and sold....saved and sold.....all of them..’’
.
She crouched forward as if in pain, clutching the wineglass as a crutch, fingers tight and raw, knuckles like tiny white pebbles!
.
‘’Do you know how much he is worth now.....this man....How much?’’
.
I leaned in closer, I could smell the Earth on her, the very soil she trod in her daily life!
.
‘’How much?’’ I whispered...’’How much?’’
.
‘’Fu#k all’’ she cackled......
.
’’Fu#k all....And he still owes for the handcart’’!!
.
