from Odes: 30. The Orotava Road

Four white heifers with sprawling hooves trundle the waggon. Its ill-roped crates heavy with fruit sway. The chisel point of the goad, blue and white, glitters ahead, a flame to follow lance-high in a man’s hand who does not shave. His linen trousers like him want washing. You can see his baked skin through his shirt. He has no shoes and his hat has a hole in it. ‘Hu ! vaca ! Hu ! vaca !’ he says staccato without raising his voice; ‘Adios caballero’ legato but in the same tone. Camelmen high on muzzled mounts boots rattling against the panels of an empty packsaddle do not answer strangers. Each with his train of seven or eight tied head to tail they pass silent but for the heavy bells and plip of slobber dripping from muzzle to dust; save that on sand their soles squeak slightly. Milkmaids, friendly girls between fourteen and twenty or younger, bolt upright on small trotting donkeys that bray (they arch their tails a few inches from the root, stretch neck and jaw forward to make the windpipe a trumpet) chatter. Jolted cans clatter. The girls’ smiles repeat the black silk curve of the wimple under the chin. Their hats are absurd doll’s hats or flat-crowned to take a load. All have fine eyes. You can guess their balanced nakedness under the cotton gown and thin shift. They sing and laugh. They say ‘Adios!’ shyly but look back more than once, knowing our thoughts and sharing our desires and lack of faith in desire.