It was 4 in the morning in the beautiful valley painted with flowers, adorning the snowy mountain range, as in a postcard.
At that time, under the cold wind of the autumn night, more than a hundred peasants - among children wrapped in double blankets, boisterous young people and adults some clutching sticks while others laughed that they had pistols in the pocket opposite to the cell phone.
They were gathering one by one, slowly and silently, in the unpainted door of the house still under construction, transcending the humidity of the last snowfall.
It was the house of the leader of the peasants, a mestizo with rough features, thick lips and large gestures who emerged in the middle of the reddish shadows of dawn.
He became a leader at the expense of his wife, who, confused with the language, did not know how to answer the question that was asked during the national meeting of the Quechua peasants.
- Is that the leader? - asked the national delegate, sitting next to him.
ari (yes, in Quechua) - and nobody, absolutely nobody answered the legitimacy of that leader, by then a simple quinoa producer.
Tough for him as he had to look for sssistance from the peasants that had never sent along with him , fue yo hus snobish and unnstural way of being, leaving his roots away from the person he used to be.
But, there was a witness: the young Juancho, a small boy, skinny as a fishing rod, and silent as the night, who threw a knife at a tree as a target and that no one grabbed him, for escaping from every trap and from all fighting.
That young man had seen everything.
And he was among those peasants.
- Sure he wants money - said the leader - without salary or anything, that he survives with the sale of coca leaves from his kato: a large piece of land given by the government to grow coca for therapeutic and medicinal use.
- There is nothing to be gained from that! That is why I plant coca for export - referring to drug trafficking.
- Me too - said her neighbor, Dona Rosenda, chewing coca in her mouth with green teeth from the macerated grass, but smiling despite the wrinkles that gave away how long she had lived - good or bad, it didn't matter, because at the end of the day. Corporal had lived.
Beneath a woolen poncho, she saw the leader open the door of his house, desponding through the morning mist.
" is coming," she said to the other peasants, who began to gossip from one side to the other.
Unexpectedly, they fell silent
- I would never think that this leader would have the hard face to go with us - said the wrinkled lady, turning her gaze to the other side.
- what a tough face! He is sure to charge us for the round trip in his truck, as he did the last time.
- a scoundrel!
- It would be better to go.
- We are already here. In addition, in the city they can pay us to go for a few laps in the square, with a flag in hand.
- And yelling against the government.
- We need that money.
- But, we do not need that leader to exploit us to the fullest extent, even for the air that one breathes.
- It is true!.
- Couldn't we get rid of him? - The teenager suggested, taking the pistol out of the pocket of his black kaito pants.
All the peasants gathered a few steps away from the leader's house looked at the weapon.
- Uiuuuiiii !!!!!! - They exclaimed in fear.
- It's not a bad idea.
- Of course not.
- Only he has his spies- pointing at a cholita with a thick leg that he threw in concentration, making everyone turn over to see her go by with her golden gauchos swinging with each step she took on her fourteen-centimeter heels.
The women present looked at her with envy, seeing her covered with golden blankets and a Castilian wool hat to cover her blue contact lenses.
- which first? - Asked the teenager, seriously.
The moment was small as the leader came close to the group, protected by two thugs covering his back.
'And those? - Asked the wrinkled lady, raising her eyebrow with the horror of having seen a ghost and plens opera.
And the leader covered in alpaca and black leather, greeted his faithful followers, and was getting closer to the group, but not before giving him a kiss and the pink cheek of the cholita, who, said the gossip, was his lover in return of all the luxuries she would have ever thought of having in her sad single life.
- Is she married? the teen asked, glaring at her.
- and matters? It is still a sold out - whispered the old Lentudo, associated with the group but silent until then.
Good morning, patroncito, all of them greeted the leader who took off his k'aito hat
- Thank you for coming - the leader replied with his head lowered, observing the bundles they were carrying: some pointed like rifles, others round like grenades.
He put on the ch'ulo (n.t .: wool cap).
Improvised a speech.
-Good morning, comrades, it is an honor to be in your presence and my duty to inform you that we are going to the city. Yes, our dear and beloved benefactor president thinks of each one of you, building schools, sports blocks, health posts. And for that reason, we go to the city, where we must support our benefactor with our presence, as the reason for our struggles and the future of future generations.
In the distance, a truck approached the corner of that cobbled street, parking right outside the leader's house.
- Here comes our transport - and the leader rushed to instruct: first do not forget to collect these papers
- One of them, the young adolescent of no more than fifteen years old, looking at the leader taking off his k'aito hat and throwing it to the ground, frowned, and immediately said:
- I'm not going.
- What did you say? Asked the leader.
- No, n-o v-o-y.
- What's wrong? Are you sick Why can't you go? Asked the leader spitefully.
- I do not want to.
That's when the leader gave the teenager a freak, surrendering on the cold, damp floor.
- This is the last straw! - and the teenager took a knife out of his stocking, offering lycra to the leader:
- Fight if you are a man, coward!
- Come on, what's your name- pointing to one of his thugs.
- Yes, you go and solve this.
- As you say - and the bully quickly pulled a .38 caliber pistol from his pocket, pointing it at the young man.
- Do you think I'm scared?
And the young man threw the knife with such force and precision that the bully made the gun fall from his hand, to which the peasants gathered around the fight applauded the boy.
The mob thus gathered surrounded the leader and his bodyguard, armed with sticks and pistols.
They ran away.
And the truck where they should travel, was sold by them, who divided the money from the sale among themselves.