Miguelito Miguelito was eleven years old when we met. He was a lanky boy, intelligent and fun. He lived in a shantytown with his family in what is now the M-30 Madrid, near the pool Estella. A steep slope separating them from the cottage of my parents. They raised rabbits in wooden boxes surrounded by wire, and the occasional chicken. Someone had drawn a line from one of the pirate utility poles until they were caught and cut off the wires. They had to return to the "carbide", with that unmistakable smell that clung to your clothes, poor mining flame giving life to their homes.
We became friends playing in the same field on the sheep's uncle passed Venancio, as in the towns of the province. Linear City was a large village in those days. There were bricks stacked next to a field of grain, and a dead pig which rotted away for weeks. Miguelito sparrows and thrushes caught with rubber and some simple trap, due to their own cunning. I asked him why he hunted.
"In rice are delicious," she said with a smile. I realized that they ate! For me it was a revelation. Sparrows and blackbirds only exist in my universe to be looked at and listen to their songs, never to be fried. He asked me about school and things of every day what we were taught, the atmosphere during breaks, the fights between boys and homework. Miguel went to school only until age nine.