Starting upon that birthday, the happy sounds of his childish laughter, gradually became less frequent.
Outside the front door, his mom had placed a large, long table. It was in the terrace that ran all along the front of the house. There, in its shade, the air was nice and fresh. They keep the old red machine there, so rusty now, by so many years of wear and tear.
Upon this table, she had arranged the Tolima-style tamales, the same ones she prepared with ingredients she obtained from the farm. Of course, there was plenty of candy; she had made with the goat’s milk.
But what really provoked a nostalgic, cheery feeling in the bottom of his heart, was the enormous, huge birthday cake, with its nine multicoloured candles and the pine tree, carefully etched in the centre.
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