his concern, including horses badly infested with lice, I would think. And what about your feet?”
“My feet?”
“Yes. What’s wrong with them?”
“Nothing’s wrong with my feet. Why would anything be wrong with them?”
“I saw the way you were walking.”
“My feet are perfectly healthy.”
Walking backwards through the village on his perfectly healthy feet, Tomás finds Hipolito’s smithy down a lane. He is astonished to discover that the blacksmith has an enormous barrel of moto-naphtha. Tomás is dizzy with joy. The supply will not only glut the automobile with fuel but will also soothe his ravaged body.
“My good man, I’ll buy lots of it. I have twelve horses that are badly infested with lice.”
“Oh, you don’t want to use this stuff on horses. That would be doing them a great disservice. It’s very harsh on the skin. You need a powder that you’ll mix with water.”
“Why then do you have so much moto-naphtha? What’s it for?”
“For automobiles. They’re a new device.”
“Perfect! I have one of those too, and as it happens it desperately needs to be fed.”
“Why didn’t you say so?” says the jovial rustic.
“My horses were on my mind. The poor beasts.”
Hipolito the blacksmith is moved by the drama of Tomás’s twelve afflicted horses and goes into tender, lengthy details about how the lice powder should be mixed with warm water, applied topically, allowed to dry, then carefully brushed and combed out, starting at the top of the head and working one’s way back and down across the horse’s body. It’s a task that takes much time, but a horse deserves nothing less than the best treatment.
“Bring your horses and I’ll help you do it,” Hipolito adds in a burst of fellow equine love.
“I’m not from these parts. I only have my automobile here.”
“Then you’ve come a long way searching for the wrong remedy for your horses. I have the powder right here. Twelve horses, you say? Six cans should do you, eight to be safe. And you’ll need this comb-and-brush kit. The highest quality.”
“Thank you. You can’t imagine how relieved I am. Tell me, how long have you been selling moto-naphtha?”
“Oh, about six months.”
“How’s business?”
“You’re my first customer! I’ve never seen an automobile in my life. But it’s the carriage of the future, I’m told. And I’m a smart businessman, I am. I understand commerce. It’s important to be up to date. No one wants to buy what’s old. You want to be the first to spread the word and show off the product. That’s how you corner the market.”
“How did you get this enormous barrel all the way up here?”
“By stagecoach.”
At the word Tomás’s heart skips a beat.
“But you know,” Hipolito adds, “I didn’t tell them it was for automobiles. I told them it was to treat horses with lice. They’re funny about automobiles, those stagecoach drivers.”
“Are they? Any stagecoaches coming soon?”
“Oh, in the next hour or so.”
Not only does Tomás run back to the automobile, he runs
forward
to it.
When he roars up to the smithy in his uncle’s Renault with the alarm of a bank robber, Hipolito is surprised, stunned, aghast, and delighted at the throbbing, clanging invention Tomás has brought to his shop.
“So this is it? What a big, noisy thing! Quite ugly in a beautiful sort of way, I’d say. Reminds me of my wife,” yells Hipolito.
Tomás turns the machine off. “I completely agree. I mean about the automobile. To be honest with you, I find it ugly in an ugly sort of way.”
“Hmmm, you may be right,” the blacksmith muses, perhaps pondering how the automobile will wreck his commerce and way of life. His forehead wrinkles. “Oh well, business is business. Where does the moto-naphtha go? Show me.”
Tomás points eagerly. “Here, here, here, and here.”
He has Hipolito fill the fuel tank, the barrel, and all the glass bottles of vermin lotion. He eyes the bottles
“My feet?”
“Yes. What’s wrong with them?”
“Nothing’s wrong with my feet. Why would anything be wrong with them?”
“I saw the way you were walking.”
“My feet are perfectly healthy.”
Walking backwards through the village on his perfectly healthy feet, Tomás finds Hipolito’s smithy down a lane. He is astonished to discover that the blacksmith has an enormous barrel of moto-naphtha. Tomás is dizzy with joy. The supply will not only glut the automobile with fuel but will also soothe his ravaged body.
“My good man, I’ll buy lots of it. I have twelve horses that are badly infested with lice.”
“Oh, you don’t want to use this stuff on horses. That would be doing them a great disservice. It’s very harsh on the skin. You need a powder that you’ll mix with water.”
“Why then do you have so much moto-naphtha? What’s it for?”
“For automobiles. They’re a new device.”
“Perfect! I have one of those too, and as it happens it desperately needs to be fed.”
“Why didn’t you say so?” says the jovial rustic.
“My horses were on my mind. The poor beasts.”
Hipolito the blacksmith is moved by the drama of Tomás’s twelve afflicted horses and goes into tender, lengthy details about how the lice powder should be mixed with warm water, applied topically, allowed to dry, then carefully brushed and combed out, starting at the top of the head and working one’s way back and down across the horse’s body. It’s a task that takes much time, but a horse deserves nothing less than the best treatment.
“Bring your horses and I’ll help you do it,” Hipolito adds in a burst of fellow equine love.
“I’m not from these parts. I only have my automobile here.”
“Then you’ve come a long way searching for the wrong remedy for your horses. I have the powder right here. Twelve horses, you say? Six cans should do you, eight to be safe. And you’ll need this comb-and-brush kit. The highest quality.”
“Thank you. You can’t imagine how relieved I am. Tell me, how long have you been selling moto-naphtha?”
“Oh, about six months.”
“How’s business?”
“You’re my first customer! I’ve never seen an automobile in my life. But it’s the carriage of the future, I’m told. And I’m a smart businessman, I am. I understand commerce. It’s important to be up to date. No one wants to buy what’s old. You want to be the first to spread the word and show off the product. That’s how you corner the market.”
“How did you get this enormous barrel all the way up here?”
“By stagecoach.”
At the word Tomás’s heart skips a beat.
“But you know,” Hipolito adds, “I didn’t tell them it was for automobiles. I told them it was to treat horses with lice. They’re funny about automobiles, those stagecoach drivers.”
“Are they? Any stagecoaches coming soon?”
“Oh, in the next hour or so.”
Not only does Tomás run back to the automobile, he runs
forward
to it.
When he roars up to the smithy in his uncle’s Renault with the alarm of a bank robber, Hipolito is surprised, stunned, aghast, and delighted at the throbbing, clanging invention Tomás has brought to his shop.
“So this is it? What a big, noisy thing! Quite ugly in a beautiful sort of way, I’d say. Reminds me of my wife,” yells Hipolito.
Tomás turns the machine off. “I completely agree. I mean about the automobile. To be honest with you, I find it ugly in an ugly sort of way.”
“Hmmm, you may be right,” the blacksmith muses, perhaps pondering how the automobile will wreck his commerce and way of life. His forehead wrinkles. “Oh well, business is business. Where does the moto-naphtha go? Show me.”
Tomás points eagerly. “Here, here, here, and here.”
He has Hipolito fill the fuel tank, the barrel, and all the glass bottles of vermin lotion. He eyes the bottles
Similar Books
