As long as I had nothing but my cot and my books, I was happy. Now I have nine chickens and a rooster, and my soul is troubled.
The property has made me cruel. Whenever I bought a chicken I tied it to a tree for two days, to impose my domicile on it, destroying in its fragile memory the love for her former residence. I mended the fence of my yard, in order to prevent the escape of my birds, and the invasion of four- and two-foot foxes. I isolated myself, fortified the border, drew a diabolical line between me and my neighbor. I divided humanity into two categories; I, owner of my chickens, and the others who could take them from me. I defined the crime. For me, the world is filled with suspected thieves, and for the first time I cast a hostile look on the other side of the fence.
My rooster was too young. The neighbor's rooster jumped over the fence and began to court my hens and make my rooster's existence miserable. I stoned the intruder away, but they jumped over the fence and looted at the neighbor's house. I claimed the eggs and my neighbor hated me. Since then I saw his face on the fence, his inquisitive and hostile gaze, identical to mine. His chickens passed the fence, and devoured the wet corn that I dedicated to mine. Other people's chickens seemed like criminals to me. I chased them, and blinded by rage I killed one. The neighbor attributed great importance to the attack. He did not want to accept financial compensation. He gravely removed the corpse of his chicken, and instead of eating it, he showed it to his friends, with which the legend of my imperialist brutality began to circulate in the town. I had to reinforce the siege, increase surveillance, increase, in a word, my war budget. The neighbor has a dog determined to do anything; I am thinking of purchasing a revolver.
Where is my old peace of mind? I am poisoned by distrust and hatred. The evil spirit has taken over me. Before he was a man. I am now an owner...
~Rafael Barrett
(machine transl
The property has made me cruel. Whenever I bought a chicken I tied it to a tree for two days, to impose my domicile on it, destroying in its fragile memory the love for her former residence. I mended the fence of my yard, in order to prevent the escape of my birds, and the invasion of four- and two-foot foxes. I isolated myself, fortified the border, drew a diabolical line between me and my neighbor. I divided humanity into two categories; I, owner of my chickens, and the others who could take them from me. I defined the crime. For me, the world is filled with suspected thieves, and for the first time I cast a hostile look on the other side of the fence.
My rooster was too young. The neighbor's rooster jumped over the fence and began to court my hens and make my rooster's existence miserable. I stoned the intruder away, but they jumped over the fence and looted at the neighbor's house. I claimed the eggs and my neighbor hated me. Since then I saw his face on the fence, his inquisitive and hostile gaze, identical to mine. His chickens passed the fence, and devoured the wet corn that I dedicated to mine. Other people's chickens seemed like criminals to me. I chased them, and blinded by rage I killed one. The neighbor attributed great importance to the attack. He did not want to accept financial compensation. He gravely removed the corpse of his chicken, and instead of eating it, he showed it to his friends, with which the legend of my imperialist brutality began to circulate in the town. I had to reinforce the siege, increase surveillance, increase, in a word, my war budget. The neighbor has a dog determined to do anything; I am thinking of purchasing a revolver.
Where is my old peace of mind? I am poisoned by distrust and hatred. The evil spirit has taken over me. Before he was a man. I am now an owner...
~Rafael Barrett
(machine transl