Viajando para os Anos 60: A Criança Mimada que Todos Amam

In the bitter winter of nineteen sixty, in Willow Mountain Village, nearly the entire village had gathered beneath an ancient tree that had long since lost all its leaves and now stood with only its trunk remaining.

Everyone had their hands tucked deep into their sleeves. The knife-like northern wind could not hide the sallow pallor on their faces. Some were already so cold that their noses were running, and one of them spoke toward the man seated on a stone beside the tree trunk.

“Village head, in this freezing weather, what on earth is so urgent that you had us all come to a meeting? Everyone’s here now, isn’t there? If there’s something to say, can’t you say it quickly? We’re cold—freezing cold!”

The village head of Willow Mountain Village, who showed no sign of getting up, shook the long pipe in his hand and glared at the speaker. “What’s the rush? At every meeting it’s always you making the most trouble! If I called you here, of course there’s business!”

“If there’s business, then say it quick. This weather’s frozen the snot right out of my nose!”

His words won instant agreement from the crowd. Some even pinched the numb tips of their own noses in sympathy.

The village head cleared his throat and quickly pressed down the restless murmuring. “I called you here today for one matter!”

“These past few days, you’ve all heard about the children being taken in by the villages, haven’t you?”

The crowd fell silent, but the meaning in everyone’s eyes was plain enough.

How could they not have heard? In these years of famine