Macario tells us that he loves Felipa more than Godmother, but that Godmother is the one who pays for the all the food in the house, so he and Felipa follow her orders. Felipa shops and cooks for Macario and Godmother, and we get the impression she is a housekeeper who receives food and lodging in exchange for the work she does. Godmother divides up and serves the food. The protagonist then begins to tell us of the most dominant force in his life, hunger. Godmother has heard them say that. She goes to confession everyday to help rid Macario of the devils he has inside by confessing for him.
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Toads are black. Frogs are good to eat. The only thing Felipa does is stay in the kitchen and fix food for the three of us. Bringing in wood for the stove is my job, too.
After she eats, she makes two little piles, one for Felipa, the other for me. Even if people say you should be full after eating, I know I never get full, even if I eat everything they give me. My godmother has heard people saying this. She puts me right next to her and ties my hands together with the fringe of her shawl. No, my godmother treats me well. Besides, Felipa lives here.
Felipa is very good to me. I just liked it better because, while she was passing those mouthfuls on to me, Felipa would tickle me all over. Then what happened is that she would always fall asleep next to me, until daybreak.
But sometimes I am. But Felipa comes and scares away my fears. She tickles me with her hands like she knows how to and she blocks that fear I have of dying. And for a little while I forget about it… Felipa says, when she feels like being with me, that she will tell the Lord all about my sins.
Every day. Every afternoon of every day. I bang it against the pillars in the corridor for hours on end and nothing happens to it, it can stand all that banging without even breaking. And I bang it against the floor; first slowly, then harder and it sounds like a drum. But what I love is to listen to the drum. The road to bad things is dark. I sweep the street and get back to my room before daylight catches me.
Things happen on the street. Like people can split open your head from throwing stones as soon as they see you. It rains big, sharp stones from everywhere. And then you have to mend your shirt and wait several days for the cuts on your face and knees to heal. Now I stay still. I lie down on my sacks, and as soon as I feel a cockroach crawling up my neck with its scratchy feet, I smash it to smithereens with my hand. I never kill crickets.
The day crickets disappear, the world will be filled with the screams of holy souls and all of us will start running scared out of our wits. Besides, I like to have my ears peeled to listen to the noise of the crickets. There are many in my room. Perhaps there are more crickets than cockroaches in the folds of the sacks where I sleep. There are scorpions, too. They fall from the ceiling every so often and you have to wait, holding your breath while they make their way across you until they reach the ground.
Because if your arm moves or your bones start shaking, you feel the burn of the sting right away. That hurts. Once Felipa got stung in her behind by one of them. I rubbed spit on her. Nobody does anything to me here.
She knows how much I want to eat all the time. She knows my hunger never ends. She knows that no food is enough to fill my gut, even though I go about snitching things here and there all the time. She knows I gobble up the chickpea slop I feed the fat hogs with and the drycorn I feed the skinny pigs with. So she already knows how hungry I am from dawn to dusk. My father was a similar man. And his name was Richard Cheney, though he never went by Dick, and he never lived at the Naval Observatory.
Along the wall. PETER ARSCOTT This apple I have only just bitten into… tastes of November, already old and fading, and my tongue… was ambushed by the apple's unexpected weariness, yes, a tired and indecisive flavor that was perhaps on the turn… its wrinkled skin an obvious warning of what lay in wait.
Home Subscribe Issues Support Us. May 14, Malus PETER ARSCOTT This apple I have only just bitten into… tastes of November, already old and fading, and my tongue… was ambushed by the apple's unexpected weariness, yes, a tired and indecisive flavor that was perhaps on the turn… its wrinkled skin an obvious warning of what lay in wait.
The Burning Plain and Other Stories Summary and Analysis of "Macario"
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See the full list. Macario lives in a world in which he perceives everything in complete darkness or complete light. He is a giant vessel with the mind of an infant. His innate desires to survive, immediate need for gratification in the form of food, sex, love, and shelter. As we experience life our super ego informs our culture behaviors and our ego which allows for navigation between the two modes of conscienceless. Macarico is void of the ability to function with this triplicate of personalities as he is tethered within the chambers of his ID or a primal state of being, which causes him to seek those bare essentials which provide humans with what they desire the most.