That Happened to Him with That Man
I didn't feel very safe in that town,so the next day I went to a place named Maqueda.There I met up with a priest (it must have been because of all my sins).I started to beg from him,and he asked me if I knew how to assist at mass.I told him I did,and it was the truth:even though that sinner of a blind man beat me,he'd taught me all kinds of good things,too,and this was one of them.So the priest took me in,and I was out of the frying pan and into the fire.Because even though the blind man was the very picture of greed,as I've said,he was an Alexander the Great compared to this fellow.I won't say any more,except that all the miserliness in the world was in this man.I don't know if he'd been born that way,or if it came along with his priest's frock.
He had an old chest that he kept locked,and he kept the key tied to his cassock with a leather cord.When the holy bread was brought from church,he'd throw it in the chest and lock it up again.And there wasn't a thing to eat in the whole place,the way there is in most houses:a bit of bacon hanging from the chimney,some cheese lying on the table or in the cupboard,a basket with some slices of bread left over from dinner.It seemed to me that even if I hadn't eaten any of it,I would have felt a lot better just being able to look at it.
The only thing around was a string of onions,and that was kept locked in a room upstairs.I was rationed out one onion every four days.And if anyone else was around when I asked him for the key to get it,he'd reach into his breast pocket and untie the key with great airs,and he'd hand it to me and say,"Here.Take it,but bring it back as soon as you're through,and don't stuff yourself."And this as if all the oranges in Valencia were up there,while there really wasn't a damned thing,as I said,besides the onions hanging from a nail.And he had those counted so well that if I (being the sinner that I am)had taken even one extra onion,I would really have been in for it.
So there I was,dying of hunger.But if he wasn't very charitable to me,he was to himself.A good five coppers'worth of meat was his usual fare for supper.I have to admit that he did give me some of the soup,but as for the meat--I didn't even get a whiff of it.All I got was a little bread:that blasted man wouldn't give me half of what I really needed!And on Saturdays everyone around here eats head of mutton,and he sent me for one that cost six coppers.He cooked it and ate the eyes,the tongue,the neck,the brains and the meat in the jaws.Then he gave me the chewed-over bones;he put them on a plate and said,"Here,eat this and be happy.It's a meal fit for a king.In fact,you're living better than the Pope."
"May God grant you this kind of life,"I said under my breath.
