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to fall asleep in the evening I talk to myself and imagine adventures in which I am a Gran Capa Sioux or Apache galloping in the prairies... if I had a horse I would immediately go to these green hills... "

In the afternoon of that same day I was in the Casita when I heard Rene's voice calling me from the garden. Exiting I found him in front of the door. He was holding two horses by the bridle. "Soy listo," he said. I'm ready. And since I remained motionless: "El senor Hemingway said to go." 

"Go where?" 

"To the hills."

I swallowed some saliva. "...on horseback?" I said.

"Yes, with horses." Rene said. "So he said." 

"Whose are these horses?" I asked. 

"From a friend of mine. El senor Hemingway ordered me to find two horses immediately and so I asked my friend who is staying in the pueblo." Rene said.

When I was seated in the big heavy saddle of wrought leather, Rene adjusted the long stirrups. We went down the street lined with royal palms, passed the white gate, then the small houses of the pueblo with the perennially open doors that allowed a glimpse of the wooden altar, the colored paper flowers and the lit candles in front of a Spanish Madonna dressed in velvet or silk. There was no house that did not have its altar.

We came to a rather narrow path. Rene spurred his horse and mine ran after him, hugging the thorny bushes that lined the road. I couldn't bring it back to the center. I wore light loafers and the hard leather of the stirrups beat against the instep. But I was happy.

The sky was red in texture when Rene slowed down and I caught up. The sweaty horses panted.