The Kid from Spain

The most surprising new character to emerge upon the Argentine scene in many a day is a ten-year-old Spanish boy called El Galleguito (the little Galician). El Galleguito arrived in Buenos Aires last May as a stowaway aboard the liner Yapeyu, expecting to find an earthly paradise; Argentine seamen in the Spanish port of Vigo, where the boy led a catch-as-catch-can existence begging and running errands, had filled his ear with wondrous tales of their homeland. Argentine immigration authorities were not so encouraging, planned to send El Galleguito back to Spain. But a few weeks ago somebody helped him write a letter to President Juan Peron. "I do not want to return to Spain," the letter said, "and I know you will not fail me. Is this not the country where children are the only privileged ones?"*

Peron, mildly interested, sent a military aide to look into the case. El Galleguito greeted the colonel contemptuously. "You are not Peron," he said. "I want to see Peron." Amused and impressed, Peron dispatched a presidential car to bring the lad to the Casa Rosada. Ushered in, El Galleguito cockily seated himself on the President's desk. Asked the President: "Why did you come to Argentina?" Replied El Galleguito, looking the President in the eye: "I'd heard a lot about you."

President: And what do you plan to do here?

Boy: I've got many plans. I'll tell you about them when we have time.

President: What kind of work do you plan to do when you grow up?

Boy: I don't like any kind of work.

President: But you have to do some kind of work.

Boy: Well, if you say so, I guess I'll have to.

Peron chuckled, promised to see what he could do for the boy. "But I can only stay in Argentina if you bring my family here," said El Galleguito. "How big a family do you have?" asked Peron, taken aback. "Mother, father, and 19 brothers and sisters," said El Galleguito. Peron said he'd think it over.

Captivated, the childless, widowed President installed El Galleguito in the presidential residence with two tutors and a collection of fine toys. El Galleguito, cannily aware that he had no real boss but Peron, gave tutors and servants a bad time, tormented them with diabolical pranks.

Last week the public got its first look at Peron and El Galleguito together. It was a spectacle to remember. Ready to depart on a trip to a provincial capital to speak at a political rally, Peron stood at the train window waving to the crowd and holding up his pet toy poodle, Tambor. El Galleguito jealously tried to pull the dog from the President's arms. Flustered, the President handed the dog to the boy, who dumped it to the floor and shoved up to the window, mugging furiously. Peron moved the boy back, leaned out the window to wave goodbye to the crowd. El Galleguito angrily grabbed the window and pulled it down, barely missing the President's hastily retracted head. As the train pulled away, astonished spectators could see on the President's face that off-balance look of mingled pain, sorrow, anger and resignation that now and then crosses the countenance of every father.

* A motto of the late Eva Peron.

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