SENOR FRANCO

He was a young man once, and proud. This was his farm, passed to him by his father, and he lived in the big house. The farm was built by generations of the Franco family; there had always been a Franco living on this hill. He farmed the fields and hunted the hills and his life was patterned by the seasons.

He married the beautiful girl he loved and was also a little in awe of, and they had children who lived in the cottages around the big house. It was a simple, hard, yet satisfying life, and he worked knowing he was one of a line of farmers stretching too far back to remember.

Then he and his wife were old. They moved into one of the small cottages and his son brought them food every day. His wife had a stroke and for the first time in their lives, they were separated. She lay in a bed in their granddaughter’s home down in the valley, while he was alone in the cottage on the hill.

An Americano came to live in the big house; a man without family and who spoke no Portuguese. He talked to him anyway and the Americano replied with a few Portuguese words and many gestures. Several times he tried to explain how once he and his wife lived in the big house, but the Americano just smiled and said thank you in Portuguese.

Now he sits on warm afternoons outside his cottage and stares at the big house where used to live. When he was a young man once, and proud.