Usually there were two big ones and a small one for a family. I remember how it was: in one of the big ones, the beds were distributed around the perimeter and in the other one, with a fire in the middle, people cooked, and in the winter nights, sat around the fire, the grown ups talked about their things, while the children played or fell asleep. I didn't like going back to the house where we lived, on the top of a stony and unpleasant hill, after taking a cup of freshly milked milk, in winter, raining, covered with a blanket riding a donkey that, in despite of walking between stones and thicket in closed nights, never fell down.
No me gustaba volver a la casa donde vivíamos, en lo alto de un cerro pedregoso y desapacible, después de tomar un tazón de leche recién ordeñada, en invierno, lloviendo, arropados con una manta encima de una dócil borrica, que, a pesar de andar entre piedras y matojos en noches cerradas, nunca se cayó.