To the right of the main street, on a short alley that looked like the moon, were the doors to Hell. And since that was the name of the saloon, we jokingly would say things like «Let’s go to Hell» those afternoons when there was nothing else to do but lull the afternoon with a beer on hand and paly darts or «Come with us to Hell» to our cousins from the city or … «Why do you think I work for? To go to Hell, of course». To this joke, my grandmother, a respectable and  gray haired woman on her 70s whom always went to mass, would raise an…