Once there was a farmer who lived in Mexico. He lived in a little village, in a house which had only one room.
The farmer was not happy.
“Nothing ever happens,” he said.
The people in the village thought the farmer was foolish.
“We have everything we need,” they said.
“We have a school, and a market,
and a church with an old bell that rings on Sundays. Our village is the best there is.”
“But nothing ever happens,” said the farmer.
Every morning, when the farmer woke up, the first thing he saw was the roof of his little house.
Every morning for breakfast he ate two flat cakes of ground corn. His wife had made them the night before.
He put honey over the cakes, and drank cinnamon tea from a clay mug.
“Nothing ever happens,” he said.
It was still dark and the farmer got ready to leave for the field. His son Pablo was still asleep.
“Perhaps today,” said his wife, “something will happen.”
“No,” said the farmer. “Nothing will.”
The farmer led his ox away and did not look back.
At night the farmer returned. He fed his ox.
Then he sat down by the fire.
Pablo played with five smooth stones. He threw the stones at a hole he had dug in the earth.
“See, Papa!” said Pablo. “I got one in!”
But the farmer was tired. He did not answer. Every day was the same.
One morning the farmer woke up very early. He pulled on his woolen shirt. He took his big hat from a peg on the wall.
“I must go to the field early,” he said. “The plowing is not done. Soon it will be time to plant the corn.”
All morning the farmer worked in his field. The ox helped him.
When there was a big rock in the way, the ox stopped and lay down,
The farmer pushed the rock away.
“Tst-tst!” said the farmer.
The ox looked at the farmer. Then the ox got up and pulled again.
Late in the morning, when the sun was high, Pablo came to the field.
“Pablo!” said the farmer. “Why are you not in school?”
“There is no school today, Papa,” said Pablo. “I have come to help you plow.”
The farmer smiled. He reached into his pocket, and gave the boy a small wooden toy.
“A bull!” cried Pablo.
The farmer had made it for his son during the hot time of the day when he rested from his work.
Pablo helped the farmer plow the field.
The ox pulled, and the plow turned up the soil.
Suddenly the plow stopped.
The farmer and his son pushed, and the ox pulled, but the plow did not move. It sank into the earth. It went down, down, down, into a little hole.
The little hole became a bigger hole. There was a noise deep under the ground, as if something big had growled.
The farmer looked. Pablo looked. The ox turned its head.
White smoke came from the hole in the ground,
“Run!” said the farmer. “Run!”
There was a loud CRACK, and the earth opened wide.
The farmer ran, Pablo ran, and the ox ran too.
Fire and smoke came from the ground.
The farmer ran all the way to the village.
He ran inside the church and rang the old bell.
The other farmers came from their fields. People came out of their houses.
“Look!” said the farmer. “Look there!”
That night no one slept. Everyone watched the fire in the sky.
It came from where the farmer's field had been.
There was a loud BOOM, and another, and another.
Hot lava came out of the earth.
Steaming lava spread over the ground, through the trees.
It came toward the farmer's house.
It came toward the village.
Pieces of burning stone flew in the air.
The earth was coughing.
Every time it coughed, the hill of fire grew bigger.
In a few days the hill was as big as a mountain. And every few minutes there was a loud BOOM.
Squirrels and rabbits ran, and birds flew away from the fire. People lead their burros and their oxen to safety.
Pieces of burning ash flew everywhere.
The farmer and his neighbors put wet cloths over their noses to keep out the smoke.
Some of the people went close to the steaming lava. They carried big crosses.
They prayed for the fire to stop.
The farmer and Pablo watched from the side of a hill.
When the booming stopped and the fires grew smaller, the farmer's house was gone.
The school was gone.
The market was gone.
Half the village was gone.
One day some men in uniform came in cars ans trucks.
“So you are the one with the plow that opened up the earth,” they said to the farmer.
They laughed.
“You are lucky to be alive, amigo.”
The soldiers looked at the village.
“Everyone must go!” the captain said.
“It is not safe to live here any longer.”
The farmer and his wife and Pablo and all the people of the village went with the soldiers.
They rode away in the trucks.
The farmer found a new house. It was bigger than the one they lived in before.
It was not far from the olde one. But it was far enough away to be safe from El Monstruo, which means “The Monster.”
That is the name the people gave to the great volcano.
The people made a new village. They made a new school and a new market.
They had a great fiesta because now they were safe.
At the fiesta the band played, and the people danced and clapped their hands.
People from the city came in a bus to see El Monstruo. The people of the village sold them oranges and melons and hot dogs and corn cakes to eat.
Now the farmer had a new field.
Every morning he woke up early.
It was still dark, and El Monstruo glowed in the sky.
Every morning for breakfast he ate two flat cakes of ground corn. His wife had made them the night before.
The farmer went to his new field. His ox went with him, just as before.
Sometimes Pablo brought the children of the village to see the farmer. From the field they could see the volcano smoking, like an old man smoking his pipe.
“Can you make another hill of fire?” the children said.
“No, my friends, no, no,” said the farmer. He laughed.
“One hill of fire is enough for me.”
The farmer was not happy.
“Nothing ever happens,” he said.
The people in the village thought the farmer was foolish.
“We have everything we need,” they said.
“We have a school, and a market,
and a church with an old bell that rings on Sundays. Our village is the best there is.”
“But nothing ever happens,” said the farmer.
Every morning, when the farmer woke up, the first thing he saw was the roof of his little house.
Every morning for breakfast he ate two flat cakes of ground corn. His wife had made them the night before.
He put honey over the cakes, and drank cinnamon tea from a clay mug.
“Nothing ever happens,” he said.
It was still dark and the farmer got ready to leave for the field. His son Pablo was still asleep.
“Perhaps today,” said his wife, “something will happen.”
“No,” said the farmer. “Nothing will.”
The farmer led his ox away and did not look back.
At night the farmer returned. He fed his ox.
Then he sat down by the fire.
Pablo played with five smooth stones. He threw the stones at a hole he had dug in the earth.
“See, Papa!” said Pablo. “I got one in!”
But the farmer was tired. He did not answer. Every day was the same.
One morning the farmer woke up very early. He pulled on his woolen shirt. He took his big hat from a peg on the wall.
“I must go to the field early,” he said. “The plowing is not done. Soon it will be time to plant the corn.”
All morning the farmer worked in his field. The ox helped him.
When there was a big rock in the way, the ox stopped and lay down,
The farmer pushed the rock away.
“Tst-tst!” said the farmer.
The ox looked at the farmer. Then the ox got up and pulled again.
Late in the morning, when the sun was high, Pablo came to the field.
“Pablo!” said the farmer. “Why are you not in school?”
“There is no school today, Papa,” said Pablo. “I have come to help you plow.”
The farmer smiled. He reached into his pocket, and gave the boy a small wooden toy.
“A bull!” cried Pablo.
The farmer had made it for his son during the hot time of the day when he rested from his work.
Pablo helped the farmer plow the field.
The ox pulled, and the plow turned up the soil.
Suddenly the plow stopped.
The farmer and his son pushed, and the ox pulled, but the plow did not move. It sank into the earth. It went down, down, down, into a little hole.
The little hole became a bigger hole. There was a noise deep under the ground, as if something big had growled.
The farmer looked. Pablo looked. The ox turned its head.
White smoke came from the hole in the ground,
“Run!” said the farmer. “Run!”
There was a loud CRACK, and the earth opened wide.
The farmer ran, Pablo ran, and the ox ran too.
Fire and smoke came from the ground.
The farmer ran all the way to the village.
He ran inside the church and rang the old bell.
The other farmers came from their fields. People came out of their houses.
“Look!” said the farmer. “Look there!”
That night no one slept. Everyone watched the fire in the sky.
It came from where the farmer's field had been.
There was a loud BOOM, and another, and another.
Hot lava came out of the earth.
Steaming lava spread over the ground, through the trees.
It came toward the farmer's house.
It came toward the village.
Pieces of burning stone flew in the air.
The earth was coughing.
Every time it coughed, the hill of fire grew bigger.
In a few days the hill was as big as a mountain. And every few minutes there was a loud BOOM.
Squirrels and rabbits ran, and birds flew away from the fire. People lead their burros and their oxen to safety.
Pieces of burning ash flew everywhere.
The farmer and his neighbors put wet cloths over their noses to keep out the smoke.
Some of the people went close to the steaming lava. They carried big crosses.
They prayed for the fire to stop.
The farmer and Pablo watched from the side of a hill.
When the booming stopped and the fires grew smaller, the farmer's house was gone.
The school was gone.
The market was gone.
Half the village was gone.
One day some men in uniform came in cars ans trucks.
“So you are the one with the plow that opened up the earth,” they said to the farmer.
They laughed.
“You are lucky to be alive, amigo.”
The soldiers looked at the village.
“Everyone must go!” the captain said.
“It is not safe to live here any longer.”
The farmer and his wife and Pablo and all the people of the village went with the soldiers.
They rode away in the trucks.
The farmer found a new house. It was bigger than the one they lived in before.
It was not far from the olde one. But it was far enough away to be safe from El Monstruo, which means “The Monster.”
That is the name the people gave to the great volcano.
The people made a new village. They made a new school and a new market.
They had a great fiesta because now they were safe.
At the fiesta the band played, and the people danced and clapped their hands.
People from the city came in a bus to see El Monstruo. The people of the village sold them oranges and melons and hot dogs and corn cakes to eat.
Now the farmer had a new field.
Every morning he woke up early.
It was still dark, and El Monstruo glowed in the sky.
Every morning for breakfast he ate two flat cakes of ground corn. His wife had made them the night before.
The farmer went to his new field. His ox went with him, just as before.
Sometimes Pablo brought the children of the village to see the farmer. From the field they could see the volcano smoking, like an old man smoking his pipe.
“Can you make another hill of fire?” the children said.
“No, my friends, no, no,” said the farmer. He laughed.
“One hill of fire is enough for me.”