In my town there are all kinds of neighbors. Some are polite, they’re the kind of people who see you in the streets and greet you with a Hello, neighbor! Others don’t even look at you. My grandmother says that these people are evil, because they came into this world with a very bad disease that makes them bad neighbors.
Every town has an all-knowing neighbor, and there’s one in me too. He knows so much about everyone that when you do the local census the mayor just calls him so that the manager can update the town’s figures ha ha ha! I’ve always wondered if every town has one of those like my grandmother says.
There are also those in my house who call themselves invisible. These are neither seen nor felt and, for some reason, are my grandmother’s favorite. I always ask her why and she doesn’t answer me and just thanks God for their existence.
But there are other neighbors in my town who are very annoying… and very much so. Those neighbors turn on their partying at all hours. They bring out the ponds, the drums and their little haunted bottle and spend up to three days in celebration. My poor grandmother says that this kind of neighbor invites all of us when he has a party, but I don’t understand that, because an invitation never arrives at the house and once I went to celebrate with them and they took me out there. That day my granny scolded me and didn’t let me go out for a week. I still don’t understand why.
But there are also neighbors who do not fear God as the old men say. Once the partying neighbor started the party and another very determined neighbor appeared and bathed them all and ended the party in one fell swoop. My grandmother has a lot of admiration for these neighbors, because she says that these people balance the scales of justice. Sometimes I don’t understand my grandmother very much, but that day I understood her clearly, ha ha ha!
But everything changes on the day of the Saint of my people. That’s the one day when everyone forgets the bad stuff and we can sit together in the square. On that day we share jokes, stories, liquor, soft drinks and cakes and there are always some neighbors who put their hands to work for a good soup…
My grandmother, always with her things, says that that day a spell hovers over my village and falls on all the houses like a kind of blizzard that sweetens our hearts and makes it possible that only one day a year we can share.
I don’t know if that’s true, but I know there’s a neighbor who makes some really tasty cakes for that day and I always enjoy it. But that only happens once a year, after the spell wears off and the partying neighbor goes back to his habits, the old woman who knows everything counts for everything and so the impetuous neighbor does what he has to do to balance the scales and so on until the next year.
But what are we going to do? That’s the way the neighbours in my village are.