Celso era un viejo de caminar lento y sonrisa fácil, su mejor descripción puede ser la del abuelo bonachón que le encanta contar cuentos para sacarle expresiones de asombro a los niños y dejarles en el cuerpo esa sensación del sustico que queda después de escuchar una historia bien contada.

Era fácil que nos llegara silencioso, taimado como gato sigiloso que tiene horas observando, esperando que la ardilla se confié y se atreva a bajar del árbol para saltarle encima. Así aparecía a la orilla del rio. Nosotros, jugando dentro de una posa, de pronto escuchábamos esa voz carrasposa que se abría paso entre el monte y se ubicaba frente a nosotros con una sonrisa desdentada y amable.

Su atuendo era característico. Una camisa sucia y raída, unos pantalones sucios y manchados, una botas desgastadas, un sombrero deforme y en la mano una gran bolsa de yute llena de cosas asombrosas.

Entre las cosas asombrosas se encontraban las culebras porque Celso era el culebreo. Un don que dice haber tenido desde siempre y que era la actividad con la que se ganaba la vida. Cada semana con su lento caminar se internaba en la montaña solo con su don y la famosa bolsa dentro de la cual, tenía un saco, también de yute, donde metía su preciada y peligrosa mercancía que iba a parar a los laboratorios de una Universidad de la ciudad donde fabricaban los sueros antiofídicos.

Cuando le insistíamos mucho abría este saco y al fondo podías ver un grupo de culebras con sus sinuosos movimientos y sus pequeñas lenguas en movimientos rápidos, allí algunas veces veíamos serpientes coral, mapanare, también llamada macao, la tigra mariposa e incluso la cascabel. Este espectáculo nos llenaba de miedo y grima pero era como un imán el querer ver que traía en el saco el culebrero.

Así que cuando nos agarraba de sorpresa en el río sabíamos que la mañana estaría llena de fantasías y tras un ritual muy humano, el rato se volvía fascinante. Cuando Celso entraba al rio era porque venía bajando de las montañas y aprovechaba para echarse su “baño vaquero”: se quitaba la camisa y en cuclillas, a orillas del rio, procedía a lavarse la cara, los brazos, las axilas y el pecho, luego se ponía nuevamente su camisa sucia, nos pedía algo de comida, compartíamos nuestra merienda y una vez satisfecho, sentado en una piedra, se disponía a contarnos una historia. Una de las más cautivante que recuerdo es:

La cena con el Diablo

El día que cené con el diablo había estado muy intranquilo, caminaba y caminaba y no veía el rastro de las culebras o mejor dicho, veía el rastro de una, pero ella quería jugar conmigo: la veía, la seguía y desaparecía. Cuando se me perdía me sentaba en el suelo, cerraba los ojos y ponía mis manos en el suelo, enseguida sentía que estaba cerca, como su cuerpo se deslizaba con suavidad, como esperando que yo la siguiera. Me quedaba quietico, atento hasta que sabía cuál era el camino que debía tomar para encontrarla. Al abrir los ojos dirigía la vista al lugar exacto donde lograba ver la colita desaparecer.

Me encaminaba hacia allá, como una araña silenciosa que se acerca a su presa para tenderle su red. Despacito caminaba, sentía que no tocaba el camino, caminaba como a un palmo del suelo y así deslizándome le seguía el rastro, sobre las hojas quedaba la huella casi invisible de su estela, yo la iba siguiendo y de pronto ¡desaparecía!, ya no había más nada, así poco a poco, casi sin darme cuenta me fui metiendo más y más profundo en la montaña.

Cada vez que perdía el rastro, me detenía para saber por dónde andaba, volvía a ver su colita, continuaba siguiéndola, despacio, muy despacio y nuevamente volvía a desaparecer.

No lograba entender que pasaba, por qué esa culebra estaba tan escurridiza, pero caminando y caminando llegó el anochecer, era la hora de buscar un lugar para comer algo y dormir. Encontré un escampado. Lo primero que hice fue reunir abundantes hojas para hacer mi nido y luego acomodé las piedras para montar un pequeño fogón donde prepararía un picure que había cazado esa mañana temprano.

Cuando la carne estuvo lista, busque un trozo de pan dentro de la bolsa y a subir la vista tenía frente a mí la culebra, era grande, gruesa y no supe reconocer que tipo de serpiente era, solo sé que nos quedamos mirándonos fijamente, los dos alertas, tensos como esperando que iba a hacer cada uno.

En una espabilada la vi erguida y de allí se transformó en el diablo y con una voz que parecía el trueno hablando me dijo:

—Vine a cenar contigo Celso a más nada, así que deja de temblar y sírveme la comida.

Yo no sabía cómo dejar de temblar pero al verlo que se sentó empecé a tranquilizarme, como pude piqué un trozo de carne y pan para él y otro para mí.

Mientras comíamos, burlándose de mí me decía que si era pendejo, que cómo no me di cuenta que no era una culebra normal la que seguía, que cuando me vio entre la montaña le provocó hacerme una mala jugada y yo facilito había caído.

También me contó que de vez en cuando le gustaba presentarse ante alguna persona que estuviese sola pero que la gente se asustaba tanto que no eran capaces de escuchar que él solo quería un rato de conversación ya que su trabajo a veces era muy pero, muy aburrido.

Así entre cuento y cuento terminamos de comer, le ofrecí un cafecito y me dispuse a hacerlo, yo tenía solo un pocillo y él de la nada sacó otro junto con una cucharilla pequeña con la que removió su café.

Hacía rato que había caído la noche, entonces el señor diablo me dijo que tenía que irse para a seguir trabajando, ya en la despedida me regalo la cucharita diciéndome:

—Toma esta cucharita de oro y plata para que siempre recuerdes la noche en que cenaste con el diablo.

Y en ese momento Celso metía la mano en su bolsa misteriosa y sacaba una delicada cucharita de café con mango de plata y cuenco de oro.

Nosotros quedábamos petrificados sin saber si había algo de verdad en su historia o todo era un invento, otros, más impresionados, afirmaban que Celso era el diablo que, aburrido, había venido a echarnos cuentos.

Esta es mi entrada a la sexta convocatoria de este creativo espacio de @hispaliterario. Acá les dejo el link para que conozcas las pautas para participar e invito a las amigas @lilianajimenez y @marito74 a unirse al reto. Agradezco a @irvinc por su cordial invitación.

In English

Celso was an old man with a slow walk and an easy smile, his best description could be that of the kindly grandfather who loves to tell stories to get expressions of astonishment from the children and to leave in their bodies that feeling of suspicion that remains after listening to a well told story.

It was easy for him to come to us silent, sneaky as a stealthy cat that has been watching for hours, waiting for the squirrel to trust and dare to come down from the tree to jump on him. Thus he appeared on the river bank. We, playing inside a perch, would suddenly hear that raspy voice that made its way through the bush and stood in front of us with a toothless and friendly smile.

His attire was characteristic. A dirty and threadbare shirt, dirty and stained pants, worn out boots, a misshapen hat and in his hand a big jute bag full of amazing things.

Among the amazing things were snakes because Celso was the snake. A gift that he says he has always had and that was the activity with which he earned his living. Every week with his slow walk he would go into the mountains alone with his gift and the famous bag inside which he had a sack, also made of jute, where he would put his precious and dangerous merchandise that would end up in the laboratories of a university in the city where they manufactured antiophidic serums.

When we insisted a lot he would open this bag and at the bottom you could see a group of snakes with their sinuous movements and their small tongues in fast movements, sometimes we would see coral snakes, mapanare, also called macao, the butterfly tigra and even the rattlesnake. This spectacle filled us with fear and dread but it was like a magnet to want to see what the snake snake snake was carrying in its sack.

So when he caught us by surprise in the river we knew that the morning would be full of fantasies and after a very human ritual, the time became fascinating. When Celso entered the river it was because he came down from the mountains and took the opportunity to take his "cowboy bath": he would take off his shirt and squatting on the banks of the river, proceed to wash his face, arms, armpits and chest, then put his dirty shirt back on, ask us for some food, we would share our snack and once satisfied, sitting on a rock, he would tell us a story. One of the most fascinating ones I remember is:

Dinner with the Devil

The day I had dinner with the devil I had been very uneasy, I walked and walked and did not see the trail of the snakes, or rather, I saw the trail of one, but it wanted to play with me: I saw it, followed it and it disappeared. When she got lost, I would sit on the ground, close my eyes and put my hands on the ground, and immediately I felt that she was close, how her body slid softly, as if she was waiting for me to follow her. I remained still, attentive until I knew which path I had to take to find her. When I opened my eyes, I would look at the exact spot where I could see the tail disappear.

I would walk there, like a silent spider approaching its prey to spread its web. Slowly I walked, I felt that I did not touch the path, I walked about an inch from the ground and so sliding I followed the trail, on the leaves was the almost invisible trace of its trail, I was following it and suddenly it disappeared, there was nothing more, so little by little, almost without realizing it, I went deeper and deeper into the mountain.

Every time I lost the trail, I stopped to find out where she was going, I saw her tail again, I continued following her, slowly, very slowly, and again she disappeared again.

I could not understand what was going on, why that snake was so elusive, but walking and walking it got dark, it was time to look for a place to eat something and sleep. I found a campsite. The first thing I did was to gather abundant leaves to make my nest and then I arranged the stones to set up a small fire where I would prepare a picure that I had hunted earlier that morning.

When the meat was ready, I looked for a piece of bread inside the bag and when I looked up I had the snake in front of me, it was big, thick and I could not recognize what kind of snake it was, I only know that we were staring at each other, both of us alert, tense as if waiting for what each of us was going to do.

In a flash I saw it standing upright and from there it transformed itself into the devil and with a voice that seemed like thunder talking it said to me:

-I came to dine with you Celso to more nothing, so stop trembling and serve me the food.

I didn't know how to stop shaking but when I saw him sitting down I started to calm down, as I could I chopped a piece of meat and bread for him and another one for me.

While we were eating, making fun of me, he told me that I was an asshole, that why didn't I realize that it wasn't a normal snake he was following, that when he saw me in the mountain he was provoked to make a bad move on me and I had easily fallen.

He also told me that from time to time he liked to introduce himself to someone who was alone but that people were so scared that they were not able to listen to him that he just wanted a little conversation because his work was sometimes very, very boring.

So between stories we finished eating, I offered him a cup of coffee and got ready to make it, I had only one cup and he took out another one and a small spoon with which he stirred his coffee.

It had been a while since nightfall, then Mr. Devil told me that he had to leave to continue working, and as he was saying goodbye he gave me the spoon as a gift, telling me:

-Take this little spoon of gold and silver so you will always remember the night you had dinner with the devil.

And at that moment Celso reached into his mysterious bag and took out a delicate coffee spoon with a silver handle and a golden bowl.

We were petrified, not knowing if there was some truth in his story or if it was all an invention, and others, more impressed, affirmed that Celso was the devil who, bored, had come to tell us stories.

This is my entry to the sixth call of this creative space of @hispaliterario. Here is the link so you know the guidelines to participate and I invite friends @lilianajimenez and @marito74 to join the challenge. I thank @irvinc for her cordial invitation.

Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version)

Fuente de imágenes: Archivo personal.