The little boy
Always he saw the group seated and around the bench he went to them to learning things he would not learn with the boys his age. He listened to them with unusual attention and kept in his memory entire conversations and what had said each. One time the idea of sending him on errands arose, to buy some cigarettes, but they finally agreed not to abuse of him, against his willingness to go on errands not caring at all, not in the least, he said.
He became one more, the little boy, but one of them. If they were in need to buy anything, he offered himself to go get it, but never anybody consented. He thought they treated him as an equal, until one day he perceived certain suspicion the group seemed to have a special interest in not taking it beyond the bench where they met. They realised he was present when he had already inferred they were involved in a dangerous situation.
They spoke about him for a while, whether it was convenient to let him stay or saying to him to leave them alone.
-He has always been one of us- it was decided.
He remained like stunned and listened with astonishment how were given details about the arrest of another quarter’s friend who was a revolutionary activist. He understood that kind of fear he felt and didn’t say anything and something inside his mind said his friends were really important.
For him it was a long night. Every a few moments the group members were going away to their homes. Only two of them remained with him by the bench.
-What is revolution? –he asked them in a moment of silence.
The two laughed and were in jest while explaining to him with words full of irony what it was. He understood the explanation well, and the irony’s hues. To his eyes his friends were giants who fought against the damage the powerful did. One of them proposed to go for cigarettes. He offered himself. After some seconds’ hesitation and silence they let him go for cigarettes. He felt as if for the first time he might do something important. He went running to the wine cellar, dreaming it would be beckoned his merit in a next future. In the wine cellar there were two policemen in uniform speaking with one of the wine cellar-keepers. His friends had warned him to be careful when one is revolutionary. The policemen took notice of him when he asked for cigarettes. One of them grasped his arm and asked him who the cigarettes were for. In a courageous feature the group ones should know to appreciate, he responded:
-They are for me, smoking while revolution comes.
From the wine cellar he went straight to his home to cover up his friends and next day he handed them the cigarettes, exultant for his feat.
