{"id":19959,"date":"2025-02-21T08:47:06","date_gmt":"2025-02-21T12:47:06","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/?p=19959"},"modified":"2025-02-21T08:47:09","modified_gmt":"2025-02-21T12:47:09","slug":"juan-rulfo-they-have-given-us-the-land","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/short-stories\/juan-rulfo-they-have-given-us-the-land\/19959\/","title":{"rendered":"Juan Rulfo: They Have Given Us the Land"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Summary:<\/strong> They Have Given Us the Land<\/em> (Nos han dado la tierra), a story by Juan Rulfo published in the magazine Pan <\/em>in 1945, narrates the march of a group of peasants who are going to take possession of some land given to them by the government. Walking under a relentless sun, they reflect on the uselessness of the land assigned to them, where no seed can grow. The story describes their struggle and resignation in an inhospitable environment and the lack of hope for the future.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\n
\"Juan<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

They Have Given Us the Land<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Juan Rulfo
(Full story)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After walking for so many hours without coming upon even the shadow of a tree, not even the seed of a tree, not even a root of anything, you can hear dogs barking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You might sometimes think, in the middle of this edgeless road, that there would be nothing after it; that you would find nothing on the other side, at the end of this plain split with cracks and dried arroyos. But yes, there\u2019s something. There\u2019s a village. You can hear the dogs barking and feel the smoke in the air, and relish the smell of people as if it were a hope.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But the village is still far away. It\u2019s the wind that brings it closer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We\u2019ve been walking since dawn. Right now it\u2019s around four in the afternoon. Someone looks up at the sky, stretches his eyes toward where the sun is hanging, and says:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s about four o\u2019clock?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That someone is Melit\u00f3n. With him are Faustino, Esteban, and me. There are four of us. I count them: two in front, two in back. I look even farther back and don\u2019t see anyone else. Then I say to myself: \u201cThere are four of us.\u201d A while ago, around eleven, there were over twenty; but little by little they have scattered until just this little knot of us is left.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Faustino says:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt may rain.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We all lift our faces to see a heavy black cloud passing over our heads. And we think: \u201cMaybe it will.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We don\u2019t say what we are thinking. We lost the will to speak a while back. We lost it because of the heat. You would be happy to talk elsewhere, but it is hard here. You talk here and the words become hot in your mouth from the outside heat, and they dry on your tongue until the breath is gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Things are like that here. That\u2019s why no one wants to talk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A drop of water falls, big, fat, making a hole in the ground and leaving a lump as if it were spittle. It drops alone. We wait for other drops to fall. It doesn\u2019t rain. Now if you look at the sky, you can see the storm cloud far away, running, in a hurry. The wind from the village nudges up to it, pushing it against the blue shadows of the mountains. And the drop that fell by mistake is devoured by the earth, which makes it disappear into its thirst.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Who the hell would make this plain so big? What\u2019s it good for, eh?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We\u2019ve begun to walk again. We had stopped to see the rain. It didn\u2019t rain. Now we start walking again. And I think that we\u2019ve walked more than the ground we\u2019ve covered. That occurs to me. Had it rained, maybe other things would have occurred to me. All in all, I know that from the time I was a boy, I have never seen rain fall on the plain, what you might call rain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No, the plain isn\u2019t good for anything. There are neither rabbits nor birds. There is nothing. Except for a few huizache <\/em>trees and one or two spots of zacate <\/em>with their leaves curled up; aside from that, there\u2019s nothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And here we are walking. The four of us on foot. We were riding horses before and carrying a rifle. Now we don\u2019t even have the rifle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019ve always thought that having the rifle taken away was a good thing. It is dangerous to be armed around here. You can be killed without warning if they see you with \u201cthe 30\u201d strapped on. But horses are a different story. Had we come on horseback, we would already have been drinking the green water of the river and paraded our stomachs through the village streets so the food would go down. We would already have done all this if we still had the horses we had. But they took our horses along with the rifle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I turn in every direction and look at the plain. Such vast land for nothing. Your eyes slide all over with nothing to detain them. Only a few lizards come out to stick their heads out of their holes, and once they\u2019ve felt the sun\u2019s burning, they run to hide in the shadow of a little rock. But we, when we have to work here, what will we do to cool off from the sun, eh? Because we were given these crusts of land to plant on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They told us:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFrom the village up to here, it\u2019s yours.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We asked:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe Plain?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, the Plain. The entire Great Plain:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We stopped short, as if to say we didn\u2019t want the Plain. What we wanted was next to the river. From the river up to the arroyos, where you find those trees called casuarinas and the paraneras <\/em>and the good land. Not this tough cowhide called the Plain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But we weren\u2019t allowed to say these things. The agent hadn\u2019t come to talk with us. He put the papers in our hands and said to us:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t be frightened by having so much land just to yourselves.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut it\u2019s that the Plain, se\u00f1or delegado . . .<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThere are thousands and thousands of plots.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut there\u2019s no water. Not even enough for a mouthful.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd the rainy season? Nobody said you would be provided with irrigated land. As soon as it rains there, the corn will come up as if it were being pulled up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut, se\u00f1or delegado, <\/em>the earth is washed out and hard. We don\u2019t believe the plow will cut through the rocky quarry that is the Plain. To plant seed, we\u2019d have to make holes with a pickax, and not even then is it guaranteed that anything will grow; corn or anything else won\u2019t grow.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPut that in writing. And now go away. You should be attacking the estate owners, not the government, which is giving you the land.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWait, se\u00f1or delegado. <\/em>We haven\u2019t said anything against the central government. Everything is about the Plain . . . You can\u2019t do anything about what you can\u2019t do anything about. That\u2019s what we\u2019ve been saying . . . Wait so we can explain it to you. Look, let\u2019s start from the beginning . . .\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But he didn\u2019t want to listen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That\u2019s how they gave us the land. And on that hot griddle they want us to plant the seeds of something, to see if something will take root and grow. But nothing will grow here. Not even buzzards. You spot them every so often, very high, flying fast; trying to get out as soon as possible from this white hardened soil, where nothing moves and where you walk as if you are losing ground.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Melit\u00f3n says:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThis is the land they\u2019ve given us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Faustino says:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I don\u2019t say anything. I think: \u201cMelit\u00f3n\u2019s head isn\u2019t in the right place. It must be the heat that\u2019s making him say these things. The heat has gone through his hat and heated up his head. And if not, why is he saying what he is saying? What land did they give us, Melit\u00f3n? There isn\u2019t even enough soil for the wind to raise a dust cloud here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Melit\u00f3n picks it up again:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt should be good for something. Maybe it will be good for running mares.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat mares?\u201d asks Esteban.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I had not paid much attention to Esteban. Now that he is talking, I look at him. He is wearing a jacket that reaches his navel, and under the jacket something that looks like a hen is peering out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yes, it\u2019s a red hen, Esteban has it under his jacket. You can see its sleepy eyes and open beak, as if it were yawning. I ask him:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHey, Teban, where did you pick up that hen?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s mine,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou didn\u2019t have it before. Where did you buy it, eh?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t buy it, it\u2019s the chicken from my pen.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen you brought it for us to eat, no?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, I brought it to take care of it. My house was left empty and without anyone to feed it; that\u2019s why I brought it. I always take it when I go far away.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019ll suffocate stuffed in there like that. Better take it out to give it air.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He places it under his arm and blows warm air on it. Then he says:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019re coming to the cliff:\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I no longer hear what Esteban is saying. We\u2019ve formed a line to descend the cliff, and he\u2019s at the very front. I see that he has the hen by the legs and swings it every so often so it won\u2019t hit its head on the rocks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As we descend, the land turns good. Dust rises as if it were a mule train descending there; but we like getting covered with dust. We like it. After tromping over the dry plain for eleven hours, we feel very pleased to be enveloped in this thing that hops all over us and tastes like earth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Above the river, over the green tops of the casuarinas, flocks of green chachalacas <\/em>fly around. We also like that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now you can hear the dogs barking, near us, and it\u2019s because the wind from the village swirls in the ravine, filling it with all its sounds.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Esteban again hugs his hen as we approach the first houses. He unties its legs so it can shake off its numbness, and then he and his hen disappear behind some tepemezquite <\/em>trees.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThis is where I get off!\u201d Esteban tells us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We continue ahead, deeper into the village.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The land they\u2019ve given us is farther up ahead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

THE END<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

They Have Given Us the Land (Nos han dado la tierra), a story by Juan Rulfo published in the magazine Pan in 1945, narrates the march of a group of peasants who are going to take possession of some land given to them by the government. Walking under a relentless sun, they reflect on the uselessness of the land assigned to them, where no seed can grow. The story describes their struggle and resignation in an inhospitable environment and the lack of hope for the future.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":19949,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_kad_blocks_custom_css":"","_kad_blocks_head_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_body_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_footer_custom_js":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[559],"tags":[717,612],"class_list":["post-19959","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-short-stories","tag-juan-rulfo-en","tag-mexico-en","generate-columns","tablet-grid-50","mobile-grid-100","grid-parent","grid-33"],"acf":[],"taxonomy_info":{"category":[{"value":559,"label":"Short stories"}],"post_tag":[{"value":717,"label":"Juan Rulfo"},{"value":612,"label":"Mexico"}]},"featured_image_src_large":["https:\/\/lecturia.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/02\/Juan-Rulfo-Nos-han-dado-la-tierra3.webp",1024,1024,false],"author_info":{"display_name":"Juan Pablo Guevara","author_link":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/author\/spartakku\/"},"comment_info":"","category_info":[{"term_id":559,"name":"Short stories","slug":"short-stories","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":559,"taxonomy":"category","description":"","parent":0,"count":419,"filter":"raw","cat_ID":559,"category_count":419,"category_description":"","cat_name":"Short stories","category_nicename":"short-stories","category_parent":0}],"tag_info":[{"term_id":717,"name":"Juan Rulfo","slug":"juan-rulfo-en","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":717,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":11,"filter":"raw"},{"term_id":612,"name":"Mexico","slug":"mexico-en","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":612,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":16,"filter":"raw"}],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19959","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=19959"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19959\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/19949"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=19959"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=19959"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=19959"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}