A Four-Legged Drive To Help Rural Readers

Then, three years ago, Soriano found a sponsor. Addis Marilyn, the director of a community library in Santa Marta, a city about 180 miles away on the Caribbean coast, heard about his operation and signed him on as a satellite employee.

Picking up on Soriano's idea, Marilyn sponsored two other biblio-burro programs; the three now share an annual budget of about $7,000. Soriano said he has had no luck getting local authorities to help him establish a proper library, but the national government has taken more of an interest. Recently, a senator proposed creating a donkey-driven library network throughout the Colombian countryside.

To prepare for this trip, a three-hour trek to the village of Las Planadas, Soriano also packs about 40 paper piglet masks he has obtained with Marilyn's help. He plans to distribute them before reading "The Three Little Pigs" to the children there.

At his most idealistic, Soriano thinks that if enough people fall in love with the stories, a 40-year cycle of violence between guerrillas and paramilitary forces might be broken. The paramilitary fighters, believed to use drug profits to finance a system of deadly intimidation, rule many of the villages here. But Soriano said that he and his donkeys steer clear of them and they, in return, respect him.

The eight-mile donkey path to Las Planadas is lined with ceiba trees. Birds alight on the backs of wattle-necked cows and remain there unmolested. Iguanas dart across the trails in flashes of lurid green. Hours pass during which Soriano does not meet a single person.

It is Sunday, and Soriano knows that a Pentecostal church service will attract up to 100 people from many nearby villages.

"I think the pig theme will be very popular," he said as he neared the church, which has a concrete floor and half-built brick walls.

Soon, clusters of children, who also traveled to the service on donkey-back, begin to crowd around Soriano's little caravan. In a clearing under a stand of trees, he unfolds the canvas sheets and hangs them from branches, displaying all the books in the clear plastic slots.

Soriano passes out the piglet masks to the youngest of the 40 gathered children, who range in age from 4 to 15. They kneel around him, the girls careful not to dirty their Sunday dresses. He then begins to read the story, pausing to show them pictures.

"This is a house of what?" he asks.

"Straw!"

Many of the children cannot read, so Soriano often tutors them. Sometimes he tutors their parents, too.

Alberto Mendoza, 11, kneels alongside the rest. His family, unlike those of some of the other children, has a book at home.

"We have one," he says. "The Bible."

On a previous visit, Soriano showed Alberto an illustrated book about a bear cub that spends the afternoon building sand castles and watering a flower garden with its grandfather. Today, the same book is hanging from a branch.

When Soriano finishes the story and tells the children to pick their own books, Alberto sprints to the tree and grabs the bear book before anyone else can.