Sunday Evening in Botiza by Peter Riley
A warm Sunday evening in Botiza after a scorching hot day, so of course everyone is out in the streets and open spaces of the village. Lights on in the bar, and the foodshop next door which is also a bar, and the hardware shop next to that, which is also a bar. Quite a lot of men sitting and standing mostly outside the row of three shops, at tables or on the edge of the sidewalk, talking animatedly with occasionally a murmur of song. Half a kilometre up the main street a big bar used by young people with music coming from it, crowded inside and spilling out into the street. People are not, as in some villages, very much dressed up for display on Sunday evening, in best clothes — they mostly seem to be as they usually are, probably on any other warm evening too, but more of them. Elderly people sitting on their verandas in narrow side streets, alone or in groups, speaking to each other and to passers-by. (An old man on one of these verandas sees me and Beryl walking past arm in arm, shakes a finger at me and says, "You've been drinking haven't you!" because the only time you ever see a local couple walking arm in arm is when the wife is guiding the husband home and helping him to remain upright under severe alcoholic disability.) Nobody is working: not washing clothes in the river, not carrying burdens or tools, not guiding animals. Children here and there, in groups or pairs, walking around, running, standing, talking, playing games. The young girls have the unique privilege of walking round in pairs in affectionate physical contact: arm in arm, arms over shoulders or round waists. People who meet kiss each other on either cheek. These things are coded. The priest's wife with her small dog on a lead, has crossed the big open space in front of the bars with the stream and bridge at the other side of it, and is standing talking to another woman, also in a dress and so probably also of the class designated "intellectuals" — teacher, doctor, etc. The dog sits obediently on the earth. There is a cart parked across from the bar with two horses motionlessly waiting, occasionally rubbing their necks together. As the evening progresses light from the bars gradually seems to increase.
A six-wheeled heavy goods vehicle from the quarries or mines higher up the valley passes at a moderate speed along the main street, past the row of bars and on down the village. It covers everyone: men, women, old, young, children, babies, peasants, mine-workers, gypsies, intellectuals, drinkers, loafers, talkers, singers, dogs, horses... in a thick cloud of grey dust. Light from the bars gradually seems to increase.
Copyright © Peter Riley, 2003.