This is an English translation from a tale from the Spanish book Memorias del Fuego or

“Memories from the Fire” written by Eduardo Galeano, in this passage it’s a little bit of
history of Potosí one of the cities of my country at sometime was the most expensive
place in the earth.

1600
Potosí

The eight Wonder of the World

Incessant caravans of Lamas and Donkeys take to the dock or port of Arica, the silver
that, for all it’s mouth, bleed the mountain of Potosi. At the end of long navigation, the
ingots go to Europe to finance there, the war, the peace and the progress.

In exchange arrive to Potosi, from Sevilla or for contraband, wines of Spain and hats
and silk from France, fitment, mirrors and carpets from Flandes, german swords and a
Genovese stack of papers, socks from Naples, crystals from Venice, wax from Chipre,
diamonds from Celian, ivory from the India, perfumes from Arabia, Malaca and Goa,
carpets from Persia and porcelains from China, black slaves from Cabo Verde and
Angola and Horses from Chile with a lot of determination.

All is very expensive in this city, the most expensive in the world. Just are cheap the
Chicha and the leaves of coca. The Indians, grabbed by force from the communities
from all Peru, pass the Sunday in the corrals, dancing around the drums and drinking
chicha until to roll for the grounds. At the dawn of the Monday they are forced to go
inside the mountains, they chew coca and also follow through hits, the veins of silver,
serpents whitegreens, that surround and run away through the guts of that giant belly, no
light, no air. There work the Indians all the week, prisoners, breathing dust that kills the
lungs and chewing coca until arrives the night not when dawns, until that at the end of
Saturday sounds the touch of praying and go to exit. Go ahead then, opening pass with
candles turned on, emerge the Sunday at the dawn, that thus of deep are the caverns and
the infinites tunnels and galleries.

A priest, that just arrived to Potosi, see them appear in the suburbs of the city, long
procession of weak phantoms, the marked swords for the whips, and says:

- I don’t want to see this portrait of Hell.

- Then close your eyes, they advise him.
- I can´t –says the priest-. With closed eyes, I see more.