The days in the field glide smoothly. The number of hours of light and the ambient temperature marked by the four seasons of the year define the rhythm of the activities: preparation of the soil, sowing, harvesting etc. It would seem that the only topic of conversation in this area is the climate and any unusual event can become due to loneliness and distance in a real tragedy.

My grandfather used to tell me what had happened to Don Belisario, the vet of his village, a country village.

On a Friday night, Don Belisario receives the visit of Juan, the pawn of Don Pascual. He asks her to go to her field the next day to see Rosamora, her favorite mare because she didn't see her well.

Don Belisario lived in the village with his wife and daughter. They had planned to go over the weekend to visit their sister, which they did every two or three months.

Don Pascual lived in La Rosada, his 100-hectare farm with his wife since his children worked in the city. Juan, the pawn, lived in La Rosada during the week and on weekends he returned to the village with his parents and brothers.

That Saturday Don Belisario took his wife and daughter to the bus terminal and then got into his old van to head towards La Rosada. It was difficult for him to start it, surely it would be the battery, but after a few minutes, he turned on and slowly turned on the old dirt road to the countryside of Don Pascual.

It was hot. Belisario thought he'd be back at noon and already savored the mattes that Don Pascual would surely invite him.

When he arrived at the gate, he got off without shutting down the van, he went down, opened the lock and then closed it in case there was any loose horse.

From the gate to the house there were about five hundred meters. I'm looking for the shadow of a nearby eucalyptus and parked the van.

He took the briefcase and as he set out to get out of the vehicle, an unknown, black, big dog pounced barking mad as he leaned his legs on the door of the truck.

He tried to speak soft words to try to calm him down, but the dog looked like a monster. He barked and gasped endlessly. He foamed at his mouth, his eyes seemed to deviate, and the bristling back hairs made him notice that he was in front of a rabid dog.

Don Belisario sounded the horn, but no one looked out. He tried to start the truck, but this time he didn't answer.

The heat was felt and Don Belisario was imprisoned in his van of a rabid dog. Right to him. A veterinarian!

It was the first time that Belisario was in such a situation and was not prepared. He had no water or food with him. No way of guns. I didn't have, and I couldn't use them either.

The heat and nerves made him sweat more than usual. The van, which parked in the shade as the hours ran, was exposed to the rays of the sun that seemed to concentrate on the cab of the van turning it into an oven. He was thirsty and was afraid to pass out at any moment.

Belisario tried to fall asleep, but from time to time the dog pounced over his window foaming through his mad mouth. He was worried about the absence of Don Pascual. What if the rabid beast had destroyed him?

In the village no one would miss him, if they did not find him, they would think he had gone to some field near to see animals. So I had to resist until Monday. The day when Juan returned to the field to work. He had no other goal: to resist.

He wished it would rain. He, who always thought that God was for children, who still innocent could deposit their Faith in the Magi, suddenly saw himself trying to remember the Our Father. Yeah, yeah. Belisario remembered God. He made promises: “If I save myself from this one I will go to Mass every Sunday”, “If I leave alive, I will go to Luján walking” and things like that.

A lot of things went through Belisario's head. Especially how sad it would be to die in such an absurd way: of thirst, prisoner of a rabid dog. Just him, a village vet who all he wanted was to live in peace.

The beast continued to spin blindly. He killed a pigeon and cut it apart with his teeth. Then it hit a wooden drawer. The madness of the monster grew with the hours as the temperature increased.

He got dark and took the chance to sleep.

On Sunday he tried to start the truck, but apparently he had become infatuated and again he did not reply. He took advantage of the fresh morning. He already knew what awaited him in the afternoon: the relentless sun drying his mouth already hurt by lack of liquid.

He didn't take long to pass out. This is what John found when he arrived on Monday morning. They all say it was a miracle that I've resisted so many hours without water at such high temperatures.

Don Pascual and his wife lay shattered on the other side of the house. And the black beast, dead by the van.

por Mirta Fenandez