By Juan Manuel Ramirez Magallon

Colima, Mexico. 2023.

First edition

Magallon, Juan M.

Atilán, la ciudad comunitaria

Mexico, 2023

D.R. ©2023 Juan Manuel Ramirez Magallón

Calle independencia s/n colonia nuevo Aquila, Aquila Michoacán, 60870. Cel. 3121349204

CONTENT

CHAPTER I

Holidays in the mountains ..............................  page 3

CHAPTER II

Dream in Atilán. beach trip ............................. page 37

CHAPTER III

The city of the goddess Attila  ......................... page 81

CHAPTER IV

The forbidden courtship ................................ page 97

CHAPTER V

From preacher to social fighter  .......................page 109

CHAPTER VI

The visit to uncle Enrique ................................ page 126

CHAPTER VII

birthday party on the river  .............................. page 138

CHAPTER VIII

community guard .......................................... Page 143

CAPTER IX

Mine and destruction  .................................... page 161

CHAPTER X

The hitman corporal  ...................................... page 168

CHAPTER XI

Way home ................................................... page 176

EPILOGUE................................................... page 192

CHAPTER I

holidays in the mountains

It is the summer of 2014, the school year has ended and the young university student, a philosophy and letters student, has decided to use her savings to visit her great-grandfather José, a ninety-four-year-old Nahua indigenous man who lives in a native town hidden in the mountains, facing the western sea of ​​Mexico; the long-lived old man is one of the few of his generation to remain in the world of mortals, he was born at the end of the Mexican revolution (1920) and his fortune includes the start of the new millennium and, even more, he has refuted the supposed predictions of the Mayans according to the Western interpretation: the end of the world in the year 2012, understood from the hermeneutics of our world, which according to your server, is nothing more than the end of their calendar because they were invaded by an evil, the European invasion.

The young woman named Jimena has traveled several hours, on an asphalt and dirt road, until she entered the mountains, where the sun sets late. The vehicle stops in front of one of the houses and a beautiful young woman with light brown hair, gray eyes, light skin and a pretty figure stands up. Don José's house is among the humblest in the place.

How is Papa José? —asks the young woman in the form of a greeting—; The old man puzzled by the visit, not sure who it is, answers.

-I'm fine! And how are you?

—Well Tata, I came to visit him!

He realizes who he is, while the young woman holds him in a tender hug.

-How are your parents? They have not visited me for a long time, they must not want to see this old rebel. After a smile, he changes the subject. Since you were born you have been a very sociable woman, a good star was born with you, just as you are, José was your grandfather, that happy man who was deprived of his life to defend the land.

The old man makes a move to shake off the painful memory of his eldest son and points to an outfit for the young woman to occupy, but Jimena lets Tata know that she needs a coffee to relax her body from the activity of the wheel and, the cold of the afternoon deserves it; In that house the kitchen is made of woven wood, lined with mud prepared with donkey straw and beef mixed with mud; the roof is made of clay tiles, cups, clay pots and spoons hang from the beams; On a tree fork buried a few quarters of the main trunk of the same piece, rests a jug of fresh water due to the weather and the mud; a few steps from the corner is the metate, modeling its only hand on itself, very close is the fireplace with two hearths, one is for the stews and the other for the tortillas, that's why the last one shows off a clay griddle, on top which, the tortillas inflate like August clouds; In the kitchen equipment of that home there is no lack of the mill for the nixtamal, a tinajera abundant in wells, glasses, spoons, plates and bowls or poches.

Ears and strings of milpero tomatillos hang vertically from the stoves; This is an ancestral way of preserving corn and seeds for future planting. The milpero tomatillo is kept dehydrated in the skewers, appearing as the skin of a ninety-four-year-old old man. When cooked, it hydrates and is crushed in the molcajetes. The young city woman rushes to the kitchen with the intention of not letting the host bother preparing the coffee and she finds herself in an unknown world of things, she doesn't know what to do, the old man who watches a few meters away takes pity on Jimena and between smiles

—There's no stove here, daughter, much less a coffee pot. Let's make a fire, I'll bring corn cobs and firewood.

—Grandpa, life here is very difficult.

—That's how it seems daughter, even though it's uncomfortable, I didn't want to get used to modern life, nor did I want to tear down Aniceta's kitchen.

—It's not uncomfortable, Tata, it's different from what I'm used to, but the act of cooking in this place seems like a ritual to me.

The old man goes to the barn and gathers cobs, places some logs on the fireplace and starts the fire with a splinter of ocote while the young woman washes a clay pot.

The fire is on, said Tata.

—Yes Tata, and the coffee? I can not find it!

—The coffee is made with mojo —assured Don José— from this year's harvest, I hope you like it daughter, it has cinnamon and if you want you can add alcohol that is prepared with natural vanilla that your uncle Enrique de la Cruz gave me, he has plants, Jimena laughed when she learned that Tata drank coffee with alcohol, without knowing what that preparation concealed in its essence.

Why do you put vanilla in it?

—Alcohol with vanilla is good for the heart when you're in love. He laughs and denies it. It's a remedy for breathing, with it I can walk without feeling like I'm drowning, I stop taking it and the lack of air attacks me! He expresses it by raising his voice a little.

Who taught you that remedy?

—My grandfather, the teaching comes from generations.

Those gray eyes are surprised by the traditional medicine lessons and old José assumes the role of teacher and knows Jimena's restlessness and innocence; The interesting thing about the Nahuatl indigenous life are its uses and customs, in which they keep great values. The old man lowers a knob from the doodle, in which it contains aromatic mojo powder, pours a few spoonfuls into the pot with boiling water and after a few minutes the coffee is ready; The scene is controversial, a beautiful young woman holding a clay pot in her hands, from which a jet of steam and a delicious aroma of coffee with cinnamon escape, an old man whose face reflects many decades, with his hands he shakes a spoon inside the liquid that gives off a delicious smell and the alcohol volatilizes, just as life vanishes. United in conversation, the young woman infects Tata with her sympathy, youth and joy, who seems to rejuvenate for the conversation and the environment that shelters it, the age difference is such that dawn and sunset, five for one, however, it is not an obstacle to spiritual connection. In that talk one of Jimena's restless questions sounded.

—Excuse me, Tata, for asking you, I would like to know, why did my great-grandmother die so young?

—When your grandfather José was 10 years old, my last two children came into the world, it was El Cuate and a little girl, I had no money and everything happened very quickly, I couldn't take them to the doctor, the girl died, Cheta's health it got worse, the bad one came to us and died, of my 17 children only five daughters and five sons lived, due to the death of your grandfather Chepe I have four left.

Memories assailed him and the spirits seemed to drop in that old man, he pours a jet of alcohol into his cup, shakes the contents and seconds later takes a sip.

- Oh yes it turned out good! Your great-grandmother was a beautiful woman, she made me grow up, she helped me at home, she took care of my children, her job at home was to gather the eggs of las Buchonas, give corn to the pigs, she watered the plants. On the weekend I loaded up the production and went to the town to sell. I brought back what the woman listed for me.

What did Tata buy?

—Sometimes she traded eggs for sugar, salt, matches, cinnamon, spices, and she bought blankets and cloth for the women to make dresses and clothes for the men. I always tried to produce everything necessary for the family, so I saved. My family was large and the boys came last, which is why work was more difficult for me. I tilled the land to sow corn and I always got what I needed, I produced rice, beans, jicama, cucumber, squash, peanuts, hibiscus and cornstarch. I went to the city of Uruapan to compete with my corn and rice and I won first place. A buyer told me to produce tons of both products and I told him I couldn't produce that much.

Cheta and I plant soursop, orange, avocado, mango, plum, nance, lemon, lime, mamey, cider, coffee, and grapefruit trees in our pasture; In the corral we house banana, coconut and cane. In the garden we plant vegetables and ornamental plants.

—What is your favorite fruit Tata?

—Wild fruits. I like the anonas, cabeza, picecuas, lemongrass, huajucos but the most, the pitaya without ajuate. The commercial fruits that I like the most are mango and mamey.

That humble house has a jungle, between rose bushes and obelisks; flowers of various species, colors and scents, in the same garden there are medicinal plants, vegetables and shrubs. That man is a flower lover.

—Why so much plant Tata?

—Each one preserves a memory, and I believe that Cheta comes to my garden, when a plant grows old, I cut an elbow and put it to sprout, in this way I have preserved the favorite plants of the Woman for fifty years.

I am glad that hummingbirds, birds and the spirits of my children and my wife visit me, I have heard the voices of children playing in the garden, my children lie buried there and I imagine that they invite other children to play, I imagine that the same rose from which I steal the aroma with a sigh, my wife smells that same one, I still remember her favorite flowers and the way she smelled them, her expressions; remembering makes me feel in love. My children got married very young, they all left, leaving me alone and that is why I embrace the memories, it is them and the visit that keep me alive.

Your grandfather José —continued the Tata— married Cuquita at the age of 19 and in the same way, very young they deprived him of his life, let me show you a newspaper! In which his friend Efrén Capiz narrates the facts.

The veteran went to his room and from a bell he extracted an old newspaper, put it in the hands of Jimena, who in her trembling voice read:

The assassination of the UCEZ leader [...] On April 29, around 10 p.m., individuals who serve the interests of the mining companies HYLSA Y LAS ENCINAS,