Out in the Open by Jesús Carrasco

fate. The sound of distant goat-bells distracted him and, for a while, he gazed up at the castle, but could see no activity, no movement. Later, when he had recovered from running at full pelt immediately after eating, he allowed himself to be lulled by the sound of the bells and fell asleep, sitting up, his head drooping over his chest.
    Just before dawn, he was woken by the dog pressing its cold nose against his bent neck. Still half-asleep, the boy pushed it away, but the dog insisted. The boy opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was the dog wagging its tail. Round its neck was the tin the goatherd had given him the first time they had met. The boy stroked the dog, then yawned and stretched. He saw the rusty stopcock he had tripped over the night before and, still without removing his boot, tentatively felt his injured foot, and although it still hurt, he didn’t think he had broken anything.
    At midday, the boy and the dog returned together to the castle. When they arrived, they found the old man still lying where they had left him, his eyes open. His trousers were no longer wet and there was nothing protruding from his flies. The boy remained standing some distance away and the old man said:
    â€˜Sit down.’
    â€˜I don’t want to.’
    â€˜I’m not going to hurt you.’
    â€˜You know they’re looking for me. You’re going to hand me over to them.’
    â€˜I have no intention of doing that.’
    â€˜Your intentions are exactly the same as theirs.’
    â€˜No, you’re wrong.’
    â€˜Why have you brought me here, then?’
    â€˜Because it’s a really remote spot.’
    â€˜Remote from what?’
    â€˜From other people.’
    â€˜Other people aren’t the problem.’
    â€˜Anyone in these parts who sees you is likely to betray you.’
    â€˜Which is what you’re going to do, right?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜You’re just like all the others.’
    â€˜I saved your life.’
    â€˜So that you could get a reward, I suppose.’
    The old man said nothing. Standing ten or so yards away, the boy kept restlessly pacing round and round in a tiny circle as if disappointment made him want to pee himself. The old man said:
    â€˜I don’t know what you’re running away from and I don’t want to know.’
    The boy stopped his pacing. The old man went on:
    â€˜All I know is that the bailiff doesn’t have jurisdiction here.’
    The boy heard the word ‘bailiff’ on the lips of the goatherd and felt the blood burning in his heels, felt the heat rising up from the ground and scorching him inside as only shame can. Hearing the name of Satan on the lips of another and feeling how that word tore down the walls he had built around his ignominy. Standing naked before the old man and the world. The boy retreated a few steps and crouched down. Leaning against the wall’s warm, rough skin, he began to fit together, one by one, the pieces of the puzzle that the plain was handing him. He thought that in such a place, outside the jurisdiction of the bailiff and far from any inhabited villages, they could do with him as they wished. Only the stones would witness the inevitable brutal assaults and the death that would be sure to follow. He stood up.
    â€˜I’m leaving.’
    â€˜As you wish.’
    The boy untied the tin from around the dog’s neck and showed it to the goatherd.
    â€˜I’ll take this.’
    â€˜It’s yours.’
    He poured water from the flask into the tin and drank. Then he put the tin in his knapsack, squatted down and stroked the dog under the chin. Before leaving, he tightened the piece of string that served as his belt and glanced around him. The sky was a clear, blue vault. He smoothed his hair with his hands and, without turning to look at the goatherd, began heading north, leaving the castle behind him. The old man sat up to watch him leave. The dog gaily