The shaman (cirujano) looked at me solemnly then quickly set to work. The razor knife (labaha) he held in his hand glinted in the late morning sun as he wiped its thin edge with a moist cloth. He intoned something, a prayer or incantation (oracion), no doubt, as he rubbed the labaha against a piece of light wood which had become smooth and black by countless rubbings. Each time the bright flicker ofthe silvery blade struck my eyes, I squirmed in imagined pain.
Metal touched skin. I felt the blade cut coldly through my foreskin. Then there was an itchy feeling, not quite painless, but more akin to the bite of a large ant (pala), prickly at first. Then the pain became more pronounced. Overcame with nausea, I unconsciously swallowed the juice of guava (bayabas) leaves I was munching. Mustering enough courage to look down, I saw white flesh exposed under the open wound. Then from the cut spurted blood which, I thought, had the color of my fears...
-ooo-
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The Color of My Fears [COMPLETE]
Short StoryA boy has to overcome his fear of the razor blade, among others. His friend tries to help him fight his fear in a way he did not expect. A recollection of childhood memories set in a village in the 70's, with elements of the fantastic and magical r...
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