by Claudia Rey
Elvis (the names you find in Mexico!) is painfully thin, could be any age from thirty to sixty, has a marvellous sculpted face that seems to come directly from an Orozco mural, but is no warrior: he sells papayas he grows in his orchard. Every morning he rises at five, arranges the fruits in a wheelbarrow and walks from one pueblo to the other, advertising his produce with the ringing of a small brass bell. His papayas are carefully wrapped in newspaper sheets, sometimes old magazines. "That way" he tells me, "when I'm tired and need a minute to rest, I can read something. The news might not be fresh, but it doesn't matter. The important thing is reading. Keeps your mind working." This is real wisdom, I think. As simple and natural as his fruits.
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