He gave me a drink from his water-gourd
and, a little later, took me to his cottage in a fold of the plain.
He drew his water—excellent water—from a very deep natural well
above which he had constructed a primitive winch.
The man spoke little. This is the way of those who live alone, but one felt
that he was sure of himself, and confident in his assurance. That was unexpected
in this barren country. He lived, not in a cabin, but in a real house built of
stone that bore plain evidence of how his own efforts had reclaimed the ruin he
had found there on his arrival. His roof was strong and sound. The wind on its
tiles made the sound of the sea upon its shore.
The place was in order, the dishes washed, the floor swept, his rifle oiled;
his soup was boiling over the fire. I noticed then that he was cleanly shaved,
that all his buttons were firmly sewed on, that his clothing had been mended
with the meticulous care that makes the mending invisible. He shared his soup
with me and afterwards, when I offered my tobacco pouch, he told me that he did
not smoke. His dog, as silent as himself, was friendly without being servile.
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It was understood from the first that I should spend the night there; the
nearest village was still more than a day and a half away. And besides I was
perfectly familiar with the nature of the rare villages in that region. There
were four or five of them scattered well apart from each other on these mountain
slopes, among white oak thickets, at the extreme end of the wagon roads. They
were inhabited by charcoalburners, and the living was bad. Families, crowded
together in a climate that is excessively harsh both in winter and in summer,
found no escape from the unceasing conflict of personalities. Irrational ambition
reached inordinate proportions in the continual desire for escape. The
men took their wagonloads of charcoal to the town, then returned. The soundest
characters broke under the perpetual grind. The women nursed their grievances.
There was rivalry in everything, over the price of charcoal as over a pew in the
church, over warring virtues as over warring vices as well as over the ceaseless
combat between virtue and vice. And over all there was the wind, also ceaseless,
to rasp upon the nerves. There were epidemics of suicide and frequent cases of
insanity, usually homicidal.
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