I got back to the trout farm everything was dark. I parked the quad bike to one side of the tanks and turned off the engine. I was heading towards the hut, the water in the tanks murmuring amongst the sounds of the forest, when I saw a silhouette step into the path. My heart skipped a beat.
Juancho was waiting for me, one hand resting on the concrete edge of the tank, the other folded across his body, grasping the strap of the rifle hanging over his shoulder.
Did I scare you? he asked.
Hardly. Did I scare you? I responded, with more bravura than logic.
I was just passing, he said.
Right.
It’s late, he said.
Yes, I replied.
And you’re still up.
I am.
I wanted to make sure… he added, but then seemed to have second thoughts about completing the sentence.
At that moment the clouds parted and for a second the clearing was lit up from above. I realised he was smiling.
I’m going to bed, Juancho.
Of course, he said, you must be tired.
His face gave nothing away as he said this.
We’ve got a lot of work to do, I said, and, sighing deeply as though burdened by other things, headed up to the hut.
Be careful, he said to my back, and if I didn’t slam the door it was only because I didn’t want to wake my family. I listened to his footsteps, lighter than usual, heading towards the forest.
*
In the morning my daughters went down to the village to check if their drunk of a schoolteacher had turned up that day. Meanwhile Ermiña was planting some watercress in the vegetable garden and I went to look for Juancho in the forest.
I found him up by the deep spring, standing motionless looking at the water. I stayed out of sight for a while behind a couple of big swiss cheese plants, thinking how easy it would be to give him a little shove. I stood there as long as five minutes, delighted by the idea, but then Juancho suddenly spoke, as if he had eyes in the back of his head.
You enjoying the shade back there?
I emerged from the greenery and stood beside him. There was something mesmerising about the deep spring water.
I wanted to talk to you, I said.
I figured as much, he responded, and then added: Can’t be easy, your situation.
Actually, it was your situation I wanted to talk about. It must be tough having them after you like this.
He wrinkled his nose and I realised I’d caught him off guard.
They’ve been asking about you in San Agustín.
Oh yeah?
His voice was a ghost of what it had been earlier.
’Fraid so, I told him.
Who was asking?
There were two of them, I told him. They spoke
to me.
I saw him swallow.
And what did they want?
Not much, just asking after you, how you’ve been.
And what did you tell them?
I crouched by the edge of the spring and put my
hand in the water. It really was freezing.
I asked them who they were.
Right, he said. And?
They said they were friends of yours.
Anything else?
Well, I had a bad feeling about them.
So…
So. I told them I didn’t know, that it was ages since I’d seen you.
Juancho slowly let his lungs empty.
Right, he said. That’s good.
You’ll know better than me, I told him. But…
But what?
Well, what I said before, that’s all. I had a bad feeling about them.
Juancho moved his head from side to side like he was trying to reconcile two conflicting thoughts, but before he could say anything I turned tail and headed back to the tanks.
All that night I remained wakeful, despite my modest triumph. I had to get up a few times and stand by the tanks, letting the sound of the water soothe me. From there I could see Juancho pass by every now and again as he did the rounds, watching over the farm
and making sure the water was still flowing through the pipes to the tanks.
He walked with his head lowered, as though a great weight was bearing down on the nape of his neck, and I felt a little bit sorry, but a lot more cheerful.
*
At one point, not long after the project started, the trout started dying. Every morning I’d wake up and find three or four little bodies floating on the surface of the tank. The rest were drifting around dopily – they wouldn’t even eat the dying ones. Don Henrik had to come up from the capital and spend a week here, sleeping in San Agustín every night only to come back up early the next morning. He spent long periods watching the trout, thoughtful, one finger on his lips.
They’re suffocating, he said on the fifth day.
As well as a specific temperature, trout need a lot of oxygen. In tanks they get through it quickly with all their swimming. That’s how they breathe, but it also tires them out. Fresh water needs to be coming in all the time, oxygenating the tank, and with so many trout there wasn’t enough. What’s the point in being modest? It was me who figured out how to solve the oxygen problem. I created a Venturi effect, according to Don Henrik, who knows about these things. All I did was fiddle about with some plastic tubes, inserting them halfway into the water to create vacuums. I managed to get them to suck air in from outside and bubble it through the water, and that way, from then on, we made sure they had enough oxygen.
You’re an empirical engineer, Don Henrik told me after my success. An engineer through and through.
Don Henrik’s compliments are almost as flattering as Analí’s.
*
But I was troubled to note that at night Ermiña too was tossing and turning in bed. Something was going on with her. On a trip down to the shop for pesticide for the vegetable garden, I took the opportunity to
have
