From Time to Time, an Entire Village is Plunged into Silent Pain
About Fernando, the man who passes by my house daily at 4 pm
I can’t help but feel sorry for Fernando. How could I not?
I usually see him in the late afternoon, walking briskly with his long legs at a frantic pace. His tall height—unusual in Portugal—his straight torso, with his back erect and arms reaching toward the ground, make him appear both a man who knows what he wants and intimidating.
His unusual posture matches his severe, rectangular face and bald head, accentuating his sternness. His blue eyes almost go unnoticed, obscured by his sharply defined features and sunburned, wind-chapped skin.
To those unaware of his story, Fernando’s healthy, bony, and muscular physique might seem like the result of his daily vigorous walks. The prominent muscles in his legs and pronounced veins in his arms, combined with his austere demeanor, convey the image of severity.
Nothing disrupts his grim routine regardless of the weather — be it scorching sun, fine, chilly rain, abrupt heat, or numbing cold.
His determined stride remains constant throughout the year. Around four or five p.m., our small town witnesses his hurried walk, with all of us offering “good days” or “good…
