{"id":27328,"date":"2026-04-03T19:38:00","date_gmt":"2026-04-03T23:38:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/?p=27328"},"modified":"2026-04-03T19:38:01","modified_gmt":"2026-04-03T23:38:01","slug":"elena-garro-the-cobbler-from-guanajuato","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/short-stories\/elena-garro-the-cobbler-from-guanajuato\/27328\/","title":{"rendered":"Elena Garro: The Cobbler from Guanajuato"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Synopsis:<\/strong> \u201cThe Cobbler from Guanajuato\u201d (El zapaterito de Guanajuato) is a short story by Elena Garro, published in 1963 in the collection La semana de colores<\/em>. It tells the story of Don Loreto, an eighty-two-year-old shoemaker, and his grandson Faustino, who arrive in Mexico City from Guanajuato in search of relief from poverty. Lost, hungry, and destitute, they are taken in by Blanquita, a charismatic and compassionate woman who, despite facing her own struggles, offers them shelter in her home.<\/p>\n\n\n

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

The Cobbler from Guanajuato<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Elena Garro
(Full story)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was walking along down the street, holding Faustino by the hand; my little grandson didn\u2019t say a word, but I could well see that three days of wandering the city without food or shelter had discouraged him. \u201cWith no money, no family, and no friends, what will become of us?\u201d I went along saying to myself, and I saw the houses and windows observing me as I passed. I was never a beggar, and the shame of hunger made me walk without looking where I stepped. The unfamiliar city is hostile, and its countless streets are indifferent to the sadness of an outsider. \u201cWhat will become of us without a soul to see us?\u201d I went along hearing Faustino\u2019s racing little footsteps, not looking at him so as not to see his hunger\u2026 \u201cSurely his mouth is very dry. Man learns by suffering\u2026\u201d Or so I was walking along and saying to myself when I saw her for the first time. She was in a brand-new car, perched on the seat, in a tight embrace with a man who held her by the waist. All I could see of him was his black hair over one of her shoulders, and the arms that held her. I said to myself, \u201cMy goodness! Around here, people kiss in the middle of the street and in the full light of day!\u201d I noticed her slender waist beneath her white dress. The car door was open, and I saw that her legs were as bare as her arms. Faustino saw them, too. And both of us saw when she raised a hand and slapped him even as they were kissing. Offended, he jerked his head back, and then I saw no more. I couldn\u2019t stick around to watch. \u201cNosey old man!\u201d they would have said, and with plenty of reason. Faustino and I went on down the street. \u201cWhat a quick temper!\u201d I said to myself, and now I say, \u201cPray that God will stay her hand, so she doesn\u2019t meet a bad end!\u201d Suddenly, the new car went whizzing past us. We saw that they were struggling inside: him to hold her back, her with the door open. The car was zigzagging like a drunk. \u201cGod willing a post doesn\u2019t get in their way\u2026!\u201d Faustino and I went on down the avenue, which seemed to have no end. That avenue was like all the streets of Mexico City: enclosed by walls and houses, with no outlet to the countryside. The light there is very white and free of greenery, and at that midday hour, with sleepless eyes, well-walked feet, and a clear stomach, it\u2019s tiring. I\u2019ve seen a lot in my eighty-two years, but nothing as desolate as Mexico City at noon. Faustino was frightened. That\u2019s what she said when she spoke to us. Because suddenly, we saw her come walking toward us. Her white dress dazzled in the sun. She seemed very excited. Her large eyes widened as she stared at us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re not from here, right?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We looked like outsiders to her, because of the coarse cloth of our pants, our huarache sandals, and our hats burned by the sun.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, child.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She thought long and hard; she thinks about everything a lot, though it seems like she doesn\u2019t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhere are you staying?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNowhere, child.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was ugly to beg from her, and we both preferred to lower our eyes. We were ashamed of our misfortune.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHave you eaten?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She asked directly and without beating around the bush. Why lie, when she could see our hunger? My eyes clouded over; old age is no good for holding back tears when they want to fall.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, child. Neither my grandson nor I have tasted food in the three days we\u2019ve been roaming these blessed streets.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I said it all for the boy. Pride must be set aside when little ones are involved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThree days?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She stared at us as though we were telling lies, and then she turned to look at the cars that never cease to pass on that avenue.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThere is a lot of hunger, child! A lot of hunger. We\u2019re not the only ones who suffer from it; in my village we all have the same misfortune. That\u2019s why we\u2019ve come from the countryside to seek solace in the city.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThose government bandits\u2026!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She got angry like a mare, stamping her feet on the ground.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCome.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I wasn\u2019t shamed by her charity. She gave it angrily, as if she were at fault for my sad situation. The coolness of her house was a comfort after the arid street. Her servants started to laugh when they saw us. Then their laughter stopped, and they turned serious. One of them went over to Miss Blanquita.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMa\u2019am, he\u2019s called three times now, one right after the other. Nonstop, nonstop.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Miss Blanquita turned red from indignation and rested her face on her hand so as not to think. We were all silent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIf he calls again, tell him I haven\u2019t come home\u2026or that I died\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She and her servants became very sad. Faustino and I pretended not to have heard anything and to not be there at all. The maids led us to a room to rest while they prepared food for us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat a bother we are!\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t worry yourself, sir, we\u2019re used to it. This is how Miss Blanquita is.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And so she is. I spent the afternoon in the kitchen chatting with them. I told them about Guanajuato and the tribulations we were going through. I wanted to repay them for the kindness of their hospitality and laughter. When it grew dark, Miss Blanquita came into the kitchen. She was quite sad. She took a seat and smoked two cigarettes without saying a word.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGo and see Chino. Ask if he\u2019ll give us something for dinner on credit,\u201d she said suddenly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I never would have thought that such a well-appointed house and such a finely dressed lady wouldn\u2019t have a cent for dinner. She seemed so rich!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMoney evaporates like water. It\u2019s cursed, isn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Very true that it was cursed. And I said as much to Miss Blanquita.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIs there a lot of hunger where you\u2019re from?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, child, very much.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Asking questions, and more questions, she had me tell her of my life, my sorrows, and the reason I had traveled to Mexico City. \u201cI\u2019m a cobbler by trade,\u201d I told her. \u201cBut because of all the poverty, no one in Guanajuato buys shoes anymore. That\u2019s why I collected a few pennies, which I borrowed from the loan shark, and I made a few pairs to come and sell in Mexico City, where rich people wear shoes. They turned out very pretty, with silver laces and high heels. We are miners there, and we like both gold and silver. In other times everything was gold: palaces, combs, altars, and at some houses even the bars on the windows were made of gold. But, as I said, those were other times. Now we are poor, that\u2019s why I brought my shoes here. Rosa, my oldest daughter, wrapped them up in silken paper and lent me her son Faustino to keep me company on my trip. My daughter Gertrudis prepared food for us and packed up some provisions. And one Thursday, well before dawn, we set out. At three in the morning, we took the highway and walked until midday. At that hour we sought shelter in the house of a coal merchant, who offered us his compassion, his fresh water, and his fire to heat our tortillas. We also stayed the night with him. We left in the early morning. When we said goodbye, he commended us to God and told us he would welcome us again on our return. In the nine days the trip took we made good time, and we found comfort with good people who took pity on us. On me, due to my eighty-two years. And on Faustino, my little grandson, because of his tender eight years. When we entered Mexico City, we went straight to the Villa de Guadalupe to give thanks. We spent the night in the entrance to the Villa, alongside other pilgrims who were also coming in search of solace for their hunger and sorrow. Talking with them, making conversation, one man assured me that people would certainly buy my shoes at any market.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow lovely, he said when I showed him the shoes. I didn\u2019t quite realize that he was looking at them covetously, until the next day when I woke up without them. Faustino said to me, Let\u2019s go find them, Grandpa, he can\u2019t have gotten far.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd that\u2019s what we did: we looked and looked without finding them. The man wasn\u2019t very tall, he wore a leather jacket, and he had very black hair and a nice laugh. But we couldn\u2019t find him. We were looking for him, without a cent to our name and no way to get back to Guanajuato, when we found you, Miss Blanquita.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Miss Blanquita looked at us sympathetically.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd how much did your shoes cost?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAround about a hundred or five hundred pesos. I never knew for sure, because, as I said, I never got to sell them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, what a bargain!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And Miss Blanquita burst out laughing. It must be said that she doesn\u2019t do anything halfway; either she laughs a lot, or else she\u2019s very angry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFive hundred pesos\u2026I\u2019ll give you that, and I\u2019ll pay for your bus tickets back to Guanajuato.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I thanked her profusely. I gave her my name along with my thanks: Loreto Rosales, at her service. And my grandson, Faustino Duque, her servant as well. Just then the maid, a curvy, good-looking woman named Josefina, returned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cChino said that he\u2019s already sold us a lot on credit, and he wouldn\u2019t even give me a bit of cheese.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMay he burn in hell!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And Miss Blanquita left the kitchen uttering coarse words, she who is so refined. That night we dined on black coffee and hard tortillas with salt. But we did not grieve over it, because, as Miss Blanquita herself told us, we were all under the protection of Divine Providence. As soon as we finished our supper, they turned off the lights in the room and drew the curtains of the windows that looked onto the street. They also turned off the kitchen lights. Miss Blanquita and her maids got down on the floor by the windows, where they could look out at the street through a gap in the curtain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThere he is, Miss Blanquita,\u201d Josefina murmured.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSee, ma\u2019am, he\u2019s looking this way, patrolling the house\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe bastard, I\u2019m going to call the police,\u201d said the lady.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, ma\u2019am, give him a scare before he kills us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We spied on the danger until who knows what time, because Faustino and I eventually withdrew to go to bed. I almost didn\u2019t sleep thinking about the enemy who was stalking Miss Blanquita. I heard the hours chime: twelve, one in the morning, and still they were down there, spying on the evildoer\u2019s steps so they\u2019d be ready. Good thing Miss Blanquita seemed quite frightened. So did Josefina and Panchita. With that thought, I slept.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHave you had breakfast yet, Don Loretito?\u201d the lady of the house asked me in the morning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, child.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cToday I\u2019ll give you your money, so you can return to Guanajuato\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And so the days began to pass, and I was ever more ashamed. Miss Blanquita didn\u2019t have a cent to her name, and I couldn\u2019t do anything for her, not even leave, because that would have offended her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLet me go, Miss Blanquita!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re crazy, Don Loretito!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She laughed, put on music, and danced. Nothing distressed her. She never went out, for she was very menaced. At night, she and her maids would peer out at the street.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019re under siege!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOnly God can help us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

During the day Josefina went to ask for things on credit. Before leaving, she spied from the balcony.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ll race on out before he comes and catches me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And she soon came back with the goods on credit. While she cooked noodle soup and squash blossom quesadillas, she sang. That Josefina had a pretty voice. Panchita also sang while she made the beds and cleaned the mirrors. Miss Blanquita would dance a little and do some embroidery. I felt just fine and no longer asked to leave. What more did I want? I was treated well and had good company. My grandson was allowed to play with the radio. I didn\u2019t even remember the city outside anymore. Someday Divine Providence would remember us and send us the money we needed. Then, with a heavy heart, I would return to Guanajuato. And I say with a heavy heart because I had grown fond of those three women: it\u2019s hard to find folks who laugh so easily. That\u2019s how my thoughts went, and that\u2019s how my days passed. One evening, as dusk was falling, someone came to the door. From my room I could hear Josefina\u2019s voice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry, sir, but I can\u2019t take the package\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy not?\u201d It was a booming, masculine voice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I heard Josefina slam the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMiss Blanquita, this came for you!\u201d Josefina called anxiously.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIdiot! Why did you accept it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I heard them unwrapping the package.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSee? See? Look! Look!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn\u2019t dare poke my head in to see what had come. Josefina entered, very upset.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe\u2019s going to get killed\u2026he\u2019s going to kill her\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A while later I saw Faustino playing with two broken dolls. They were both dressed as brides and their white gowns were ripped to shreds, their blonde tresses nearly torn out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhere did you find these, boy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey were there, on the floor.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We asked for needles and a little thread, and we began to repair them. That\u2019s what we were doing when a knock came again at the door. I prepared for a fight; I had to be good for something in spite of my eighty-two years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDo you want to kill her?\u201d Josefina shouted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo her grave will flower!\u201d I heard the same booming voice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMa\u2019am\u2026! Miss Blanquita.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I went out to see, too, and there they were, strewn over the ground: who knows how many red roses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe threw them, ma\u2019am, when I wouldn\u2019t take them!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFlowers on the floor of my house, what a bad omen! What a bad omen!\u201d Miss Blanquita cried.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

All red from indignation, she picked them up, then opened the window and threw them onto the street. Josefina helped her. Panchita, on the other hand, grabbed a dozen and hid them in one of the bathrooms.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCome and see, Don Loretito.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Miss Blanquita led me to the balcony. Night had fallen, and the flowers glittered like confetti under the streetlights. A pity how the cars were driving over them. We went back inside when we saw they were all crushed. After a while someone came to the door again, but this time the knocking was very hard, as if the person wanted to knock it down. It seemed to me that they were kicking it or pounding the butt of a gun against it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ll get it, Josefina!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We saw Miss Blanquita go by like a flash; she was enraged.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then we didn\u2019t hear anything. Cautiously, we came out of the room. The floor of the hall had another bunch of red roses, and the door to the street was wide open.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe took her!\u201d Josefina screamed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, he took her,\u201d Faustino repeated.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The four of us found ourselves quite frightened. God only knew where she\u2019d gone and if she would someday return. We were just about to say something, when Miss Blanquita reappeared to us. She was very disheveled, with her hair hanging limply over her face and her white dress torn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe ran me over with the car\u2026! Pour me a tequila\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The lady dropped into a silken chair. Her knees were scraped. Josefina cleaned the blood from her legs, fixed her hair, and wiped her face with a handkerchief. Panchita gave us all a generous pour of tequila.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGo ahead, Don Loretito, for the fright.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

With Miss Blanquita, a person goes from one shock to the next. She downed her tequila and seemed to recover. Then she stood up and went to the phone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDo me the favor of coming to the corner where my house is. Let\u2019s see if you\u2019re brave enough to say it to my face\u2026 I\u2019ll expect you in ten minutes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After a while she came into the kitchen all resolute, now in a different dress. She smiled at us, but I could tell she was extremely mad. She searched and searched among the knives, but then decided on a hammer. She put it under her arm with the head up and the handle close to her body, and she held it with her elbow. It looked like she was unarmed. She is crafty and knows what she\u2019s doing!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ll be right back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She blew us a kiss with her free hand and left. The girls stared at me. \u201cOld fool, what are you good for?\u201d I could read their thoughts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m going to follow her\u2026you never know\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I went outside, where I hadn\u2019t set foot in many days. There were just as many cars at night as at midday, and the street was filled with the reflections of their headlights. They kept me from seeing where Miss Blanquita was. Finally, I caught sight of her on the opposite sidewalk. There was a very tall, brawny man beside her. They didn\u2019t seem to be talking, just looking at each other: sizing each other up. I slipped between the cars, and, very cautiously, I approached.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFollow me!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot here,\u201d cried the lady.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The big man turned to look all around, searching.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou must have your Indians protecting you,\u201d he said fearfully.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFollow me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The lady started to walk and the man followed her, looking, looking all around, distrustfully. His eyes never landed on me. Who notices me? No one! No one knows how to look at a poor man. Plus, I know how to walk so no one sees me. I was taught as a child. We went down some streets with yards and no people. Very dark streets! I slipped between the trees and the few lampposts. I also pressed my back against doorways and metal bars. Miss Blanquita was very far ahead, walking without turning around, keeping her arms close to her body, hiding the weapon, very upright. She turned left and he followed. I pressed close to the corner and peeked out. His back was to me. She was approaching him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNow we\u2019re alone, tell me again what you said.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat I said\u2026? What did I say?\u201d asked the man, frightened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRepeat what you said!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou are bad. Very bad\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And after making his complaint, the man turned around. No sooner was his back to her than Miss Blanquita took out her hammer, raised it with both hands, and brought it down sharply onto the nape of his neck. The head of the hammer fell onto the sidewalk and bounced into the middle of the street. That\u2019s how hard the blow was! The man took a few stumbling steps. In the light of the streetlamps, I saw his eyes roll back. As though drunk, he went into the street and fumbled around for the hammer\u2019s head, picked it up, and managed to throw it into a yard. Then he collapsed into a seated position on the ground, clutching his skull. Miss Blanquita went over to him to finish the job with the hammer\u2019s handle. But the man snatched it away and threw it into the yard as well.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTraitor\u2026! You hit me from behind\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She was angry at having left her enemy alive. She was brave, because the enemy was quite strapping; he was a head taller than her and weighed twice as much. As he sat there, I could see large hands and a broad back. The lady looked at him for a while and then turned back toward her house. The man got up to follow her. They passed very close to me without seeing me. I followed them. \u201cAs long as she has the advantage over him, I won\u2019t interfere. She\u2019s very strong and doesn\u2019t need me to defend her,\u201d I went along saying to myself, and then we reached the last little street, the one that leads to her avenue. There, she stopped to think\u2014guess what about! There was a tobacco shop open near the corner.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBuy me some cigarettes!\u201d she ordered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I remembered that she hadn\u2019t smoked since the morning, because Chino wouldn\u2019t stand her the Monte Carlos.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, my love\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I heard her enemy give that answer. And, cautiously, he stopped at the door of the shop, where he could keep watch over the side street and prevent her from reaching the avenue. He was blocking her path. She looked at him and backed up slowly, very slowly. When the enemy went inside to pay for the cigarettes, Miss Blanquita looked all around, searching for an escape in the dark little street, but all escape routes would take her past the shop door. She looked up to the sky and found the branches of the ash tree. Without hesitating, she climbed the tree like a cat and disappeared into the dark foliage. The man emerged with the cigarettes in his hand and didn\u2019t see her anywhere. But he wasn\u2019t discouraged: alert, he went up the street, looking all around, scrutinizing the yards, the gates, the entrances of houses. Then down the street. Then up the street again, searching; then down the street again. I sat on the curb, lowered my hat, and pretended to be asleep as I watched him: up the street, down the street. Miss Blanquita\u2019s tree was very still. And the man kept going, upstreet, downstreet, looking all around. \u201cThe bastard knows she has not left this godforsaken place, and he\u2019s blocking her path.\u201d More than an hour went by. The shop closed, and the man kept going up the street, down the street. No doubt Miss Blanquita was watching him, and that\u2019s why she didn\u2019t move.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cToss me a cigarette!\u201d she shouted suddenly from the branches of the ash tree. I have always said that both man and woman are always betrayed by their vices.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhere, Blanca, where?\u201d asked the man, spinning around like a top.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cUp here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhere?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIn the ash tree!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The enemy grabbed the trunk of the tree and laughed so hard that his laughter spread to me. He laughed so much that it took some work to throw her the cigarettes, since she didn\u2019t want to come down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGo away, so I can go back to my house!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI want to see your face!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cImpossible. Only my friends can see it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow much does your face cost? I\u2019ll buy it!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFive hundred pesos!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe same amount you asked me for?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe same! I owe it to the little cobbler from Guanajuato.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stopped laughing. The little cobbler from Guanajuato was me, Loreto Rosales. I lowered my head. I didn\u2019t want anyone to see my face. I was ashamed that I, Loreto Rosales, could have put a lady in the position of taking a hammer to kill the evil man who refused her\u2014five hundred pesos!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd just where is your little cobbler, so I can give it to him?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIn a secret place, where you won\u2019t see him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She really must not have seen me. I approached the corner all hunched over. I passed by the shop with its closed doors. I turned onto the avenue and reached the house. I went inside and grabbed Faustino, and then we took the road back to Guanajuato. It took us eleven days, because at first I couldn\u2019t find the way out of Mexico City. I went without even saying goodbye, because there are times when it\u2019s more polite not to say goodbye. In the eleven days of walking, I was comforted by the thought that by leaving, I was freeing Miss Blanquita from prison. It\u2019s been seven days now since I arrived back home. But I haven\u2019t been able to rest easy. Last night I dreamed of Miss Blanquita, standing at the Benito Ju\u00e1rez Hemicycle and searching for me. Maybe she needs me. That\u2019s why, bright and early, I headed out on the road back to Mexico City. At a good pace, Faustino and I will reach it in nine days, and then we\u2019ll see what we need to do for her. Ultimately, as long as she has the advantage, I won\u2019t interfere\u2026 Although with Miss Blanquita, you never know, you just never know\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

\u201cThe Cobbler from Guanajuato\u201d (El zapaterito de Guanajuato) is a short story by Elena Garro, published in 1963 in the collection La semana de colores. It tells the story of Don Loreto, an eighty-two-year-old shoemaker, and his grandson Faustino, who arrive in Mexico City from Guanajuato in search of relief from poverty. Lost, hungry, and destitute, they are taken in by Blanquita, a charismatic and compassionate woman who, despite facing her own struggles, offers them shelter in her home.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":12600,"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":[1372,612],"class_list":["post-27328","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-short-stories","tag-elena-garro-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":1372,"label":"Elena Garro"},{"value":612,"label":"Mexico"}]},"featured_image_src_large":["https:\/\/lecturia.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/12\/Elena-Garro-El-zapaterito-de-Guanajuato.jpg",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":411,"filter":"raw","cat_ID":559,"category_count":411,"category_description":"","cat_name":"Short stories","category_nicename":"short-stories","category_parent":0}],"tag_info":[{"term_id":1372,"name":"Elena Garro","slug":"elena-garro-en","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":1372,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":2,"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\/27328","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=27328"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/27328\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":27329,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/27328\/revisions\/27329"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/12600"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=27328"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=27328"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=27328"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}