The set of keys

Key n°100 - The rake

Fall was coming with his particular orange color, the cold, heavy and tense rain like the threads of a weaving machine. So, the snails would sneak out, quickly reaching the streets from the tall grass. The wise-eyed crows would perch on the walls to wait for them to cross the open path. My grandfather had to make them go away from the vegetable garden because crows eat not only snails, but also what comes from the soil. So, in the middle of rows of wheat already harvested for a long time, with the stems bent and faded because burned by the sun and drowned by water, danced in the wind a scarecrow. The crows do not let themselves be scared by him, but it was efficient with wise-eyed crows. It literally was a scare-crow, a crow-scarer and, when I was little, I called it like that. I was like him; everybody was calling me by a name that was not mine. I had stolen the name from my first sister, who failed to see her first fall. Her name was Andrea. So, just like the scarecrow who was actually a crow-scarer, I was not Andrea, that was somebody else's name.
That day of almost fall the crow-scarer broke his arms, while doing his dignified work. The stake holding it suddenly broke. The wise crows were laughing heartily, their revenge was done. My grandfather called me, telling me to find something to use in place of the broken stake. I ran outside, jumping in every field scoop looking for a similar stake or branch. I even tried to cut one out of a tree, but I did not succeed. I could hear the wise crows laughing at me. I've never heard of the wise laugh so much, usually they all have a scowl. After a couple of hours of research, the crow-scarer was still armless, with his head dangling sadly. The crows flew low, waiting for the moment when his gaze would fall definitively to the ground. I couldn't allow him, if he could no longer scare the crows he would become a simple scarecrow. I made my way through grooves and furrows. My pants were completely covered in mud. Then the wind stopped and, on my way, I found a small hut. I must have walked a lot because I have no memory of a hut near my home. I knew that the ground of my grandfather was very big and that he had scattered these small outposts so as not to make it all the way with heavy tools. I opened it as a secret and mysterious door opened: slow, dark and squeaky. Inside there were shelves with small knives, closed jars, moldy boxes and a splendid rake now rusted, perfect to fix the arms of the crow-scarer. The wise crows would not have laughed when looking at the sharp teeth of the rake. I was on my way out when I noticed this big circle of metal holding a lot of keys. They were of every kind: little, big, long, short, made of wood, colorful, ... I tried to count them; they surely were more than a thousand. Quickly I ran to give his arms to the crow-scarer and to tell my grandfather the fabulous discovery I had made. "No, there are not a thousand keys. there are only ninety-nine" said he "Are you sure? Why ninety-nine and not a hundred?". "Because I counted them many times and the hundredth key is this one" he said, taking out of his pocket a rusty key and a small notebook. "The hundredth is the one who closes the hut. Look." He opened the notebook and there were all a hundred keys drawn in pencil. "Every key has a history. Do you want to know them all?" "Yes!" I screamed with eyes of wonder. My grandfather took a look at the scarecrow "Oh, I see that our crow-scarer has new arms". He smiled at me and then started to tell the stories of the keys.