He estado soñando con este momento, bueno es uno de varios sueños que tengo actualmente. Mas este es uno sobre un cuento corto en inglés que sirve como precuela, de cierta manera, para una historia que estaré trabajando próximamente. Se trata de The Cursed Word que ha sido publicada en la revista Hiperreal vol 4. Adoro este cuento que narra una escena donde una joven boricua, descendiente de esos que su ADN ha sido cambiado por los alienígenas que viven en el Yunque y dotados con dones especiales, hace un trato para convertirse en una inmortal —no para vivir eternamente—, para conseguir la manera de salvar a sus hermanos. Espero que lo disfruten. Les dejo por aquí el enlace para que lo lean y también disfruten de los otros relatos por autores puertorriqueños.

Hasta la próxima semana.

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“Where#8221; She asked in a commanding voice.

His was graspy and ancient, “Write it in the sand near the water’s edge.”

She took out her sword, walked towards the edge where the water would touch the sand when the tide came and wrote: Fall from grace into the hands of your enemies, be humiliated and in darkness suffer, Melvin, Lord of the West, king of the Eaglekin.

“Done, lets go.”

“You can’t leave! You must be present when the sea swallows the words or they’ll become your curse. It’ll be an insult to the goddess and she is never mercifull.”

An inconvinent, her enemies where close and she was loosing the war. Dark magic was her only chance, one filled with danger.

Slowly the tide came closer to her words and her patience grew smaller, but she needed to wait. She thought of the humiliation she would put him throu, pull the feathers from his head one by one. A discrace for an Eaglekin. For her kin, the Graykin, would be to be pintch with a thorn of a red rose; it’s venom would run through her white blood and change its color to red and her skin would turn pinkish as that of a Humankin. A most painful humiliation, but imposible for she exterminated them all.

The sea elegantly swang back and forth as if toying with her. She watched it closely, thinking the goddess might call upon it and retreat it. There was no reason for it. The ill words would crush Melvin and she will have once more around her long grayish neck the amulet, The claw of their queen, Melvin’s dead wife, to control the Eaglekin.

The foam almost touched the words and retreated quickly. The shamman made a long sharp sound, she looked back. A lance pierced his chest, he fell on the sand. She looked at the forest behind her and saw nothing.

As she turned around to watch the words, Melvin stood in front of her, his head golden plumage sparkling under the moonlight. His deep brown eyes filled with rage, his square jaw tensed. He grabbed her by the neck, threw her to the air. As she fell, he grab her with his tallons and flew to a near rocky point where he dropped her. Inmediatly she looked for the beach where her words were written, but Melvin grab and pulled her towards his face.

In her heart she felt the touch of darkness, a whispper of her words in her ear were carried by the soft salty breeze. Melvin looked pleased, “This is your fall from grace, Your Highness, and my lover awaits you at the bottom of the sea, where you shall live in darkness for all eternity. But first, a gift from a goddess worthy of a queen.” And in his hand he held a red rose.

This story is part of a prompt from Write on Edge. Go check it out.

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Las sirenas no existen es un cuento corto por Susi de la Torre para su blog Durmiendo en una papelera. Susi se adentra a la psiquis de una tripulación que pasa por una de las necesidades primordiales del hombre, donde la idea de la sobre vivencia late en sus mentes mientras se repiten “las sirenas no existen”.

En un viaje visual nos lleva Susi de la Torre para hacernos sentir que estamos allí entre las olas del mar, la penumbra de la tripulación y la sirena frente a ellos.

Les invito a pasar por Durmiendo en una papelera para que disfruten del cuento corto Las sirenas no existen.

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            There are so many questions for something so simple.  The truth is that I am making all these questions in order not to look inside my manhole.  Is in front of me and I have no desire to look upon it, for I don’t wish to pull its top.  I do not want to know what monsters or strange beings will crawl out of it.  I fear a shadow is residing inside that manhole and that it will consume me if I let it out.  It should stay there!

           But wait!  What if it just goes away What if this shadow, cloaked in a purple fear, leaves when I free it from the prison I have kept it all these years It’s a chance I have to take.  I will do it!  I will open that manhole and let it be free.  I will let it be transformed into hope.  For in the shadows of my fears my hope has become a black sad being.  Kept from the light inside a manhole I created for it.  I will let it be free so it can grow by my side.  I will let it transform me into a new person with out fears and with new hopes and let it teach me to be brave. 

            I open the manhole with a little difficulty for it is a small one.  Put the iron oval top aside and waited for the shadow to come out.  It is a little afraid to come out for the rays of the sun are too bright and its eyes are accustomed to the darkness.  After a while it came out and stood in front of me looking straight to my eyes.  Its eyes were as black as the night as its hole body was.  Looking at it more closely I realize it was me. 

            We stood there in front of each other waiting for words to be spoken.  But all that came out was a tear drop from my eyes and a smile from the shadows lips.

This short story was made for an excersise for Soul Food Café

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I felt scared as I approached Güarionex for I have always been afraid of horses. If they don’t trust you there is much that can happen. I looked deep into his black eyes at the same time he stared at mine. A moment of eternity passed between us while we gaze upon each other reading our souls.

Suddenly he made a nod and I came out of the trance. “He will let you ride him”, said the Horse Whisperer. I smiled for what I saw in his eyes was a story so extraordinary it was both uplifting and inspiring. This horse was no ordinary steed, he was a warrior amongst his kin who was the companion fo legendary warriors. I felt unworthy of such an honor of being able to ride him.

“We must go know, is getting late”, the Horse Whisperer added as he climbed up his white horse. “The trail is long, but inspiring. Let Güarionex feel the road and do not be scared for he will take good care of you. He has seen something special in you.”

“Why you say that?” I asked.

“He is letting you ride him. Last time he let someone ride him was a century ago by a great king of kings.”

“Maybe his bored and want to feel the road under his hooves.”

“No. He saw something in you, so do not think of yourself as entertainment for him. He knows when someone is worthy.”

I look at Güarionex once more wanting to ask him what he saw in me, but as I gaze upon him I felt a warm feeling inside my heart that took my fears away. I smiled, he nodded.

I climb on to his saddle and waited for the Horse Whisperer to tell me what to do. He just said, “Hold on and seat tight, is a bumpy ride.” Suddenly the horses started galoping fast. Tightly I hold on to the rope in order to slow him down, but Güarionex did not give in.

“Loose him up!”, the Horse Whisperer shouted.

I did not want to do that. A chill went up my spine as the only thing I could do was hold on. I got closer to his neck trying not to fall down for I knew it was going to hurt a lot if I fell.

“You have to let go!” The Horse Whisperer shouted again.

I looked at him not understanding what he said. I was really scared, the wind blowing hard at my face. The road passed fast underneath us as Güarionex rode faster and faster each passing second. The valley was hard to admire at that pace. Everything was a blur because I could not distinguish one color from the other, a wild flower from the grass. The only steady things were the sky above and the mountains beyond. They looked as if they were spectators looking down on us, not wanting to miss the action that went on in the valley beneath them.

The Horse Whisperer’s words echoed in my mind as I tried to understand their meaning. “Let go,” I said to myself. “Just let go,” as I said that my hands relaxed their grip and loosened the rope on Güarionex. A sense of freedom revolved around me and confidence took over my soul. It felt great! I let go of my fears and enjoyed the ride letting Güarionex ride faster than before and trusting myself to him.

A rush of adrenaline flew thru my veins as the wind in my face felt exhilarating. Then it came out of my mouth like it had been there all my life trying to get out, but never had the chance. A loud scream, yes I screamed so hard it was heard throughout the valley as we rode fast through its green pastures.

The Horse Whisperer laugh and I joined him. “Oh, this is awesome!” I exclaimed.

“Every time, every time,” he repeated with a huge smile.

“Can he go like this for a long time?” I asked out loud.

“A little longer!” He answered.

“Well then, let’s have a race!” As I said that I let out a “Hia!” and Güarionex went even faster. It was a glorious experience that uplifted my spirits. The Horse Whisperer caught us in seconds and he pointed to a group of trees for us to stop and for the horses to rest.

We stopped at the chosen spot and when I got down Güarionex caressed me with his face. I smiled and said to him, “Thank you, too.” I kissed him in his forehead and hugged him. We stayed there under the covers of the tree for an hour eating and laughing. The Horse Whisperer told me of his craft and talents, of his family and how he was chosen to be a horse whisperer. He explained that they choose a name that only the horse appointed to him must know, but I could call him Rob. He was taught at the University of Centaurs by one of the legendary centaurs of old. Playing wiht a leaf grass on his hand, he explained that the centaurs are the only creatures capable of teaching that craft, for after all they are half horses.

The road was waiting for us and we climbed up on our horses, this time, for we were closer to the Hermitage as we covered most of the road in our ride, we took it slow. I wanted to enjoy the sites as we past beautiful trees and enchanting roads. Soon enough the sanctuary of the Hermitage was visible in the distance. It look beautiful, I smiled as I saw it. I was finally there and my heart was full of joy to gaze upon it.

“When we get there I will attend to the horses. You go in and relax and enjoy your stay. It’s a good place for meditation so take advantage of your time.”

“I will.”

“I’ll see you when your party are ready to live.”

“Thanks for the wonderful trip!”

“Don’t thank me, thank him,” Rob, the Horse Whisperer, said pointing to Güarionex.

I smile and gave Güarionex a pad on his mane. We entered the Hermitage and left the traveled road behind.

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Oscar had just woken up and saw something awful in front of him.  There was a body being consumed by vultures lying on the sandy floor of the scorching desert.  He looked harder at the corpse for it looked very familiar.  He felt a chill all over his body.  Oscar took a step back horrified and gagging.

He closed his eyes and he began to cry desperately, but no tears came.  A sudden strong wind blew over him spreading sand everywhere.  Oscar turned away and covered his face with his hands.  Then it stopped.  He stood up and looked towards the place the vultures where devouring the body, and there was nothing. 

“It was a mirage,”- he said in a hopeless way.

He walked in search for some source of water to survive, and as he did, he felt lighter. But at the same time, the desert kept getting unbearably hot. Oscar walked for endless miles gradually feeling lighter, but hotter at the same time.  He could not understand what was happening, but kept going refusing to loose hope.  Suddenly, in the distance he saw what he was looking for, an oasis.  Oscar hesitated not knowing if it was an illusion or reality. 

“What if?”- Oscar wished.

Then he got a rush of excitement. “This most be it, I know it,”- he was determined not to stand there a second more guessing himself, for his life depended on it.  So he ran as fast as he could, looking straight to the oasis just in case it was a pigment of his imagination. 

When he reached the oasis, Oscar dropped to his knees.  The water looked cool and refreshing.  Oscar submerged his hands in the water, but it went straight trough them and he noticed they were not even wet. He tried again just in case he was hallucinating, but got the same results as the first time.  Oscar freaked out backing away from the water. 

“What’s happening?”- he said out loud, putting his hands on top of his head.

Oscar felt dizzy and lost, and couldn’t understand what he was experiencing.  Then he heard the squeak of a bird. He looked at the sky where a bird was passing by in an ode kind of way. A terrible thought came to his mind and he remembered an unbearable scene. The birds he saw before where really consuming a body and it was his own. 

“That could mean only one thing.  I am dead!”- He realized perplexed.  “It can’t be,”- he argued with himself. Oscar remembered blacking out, and when he regained consciousness he saw the birds feasting upon his flesh.  The wind that blew strongly afterwards covered his cadaver, saving it from the hungry vultures.  Oscar fell to the ground numb.

“I am a ghost wandering the sandy desert,”- said bewildered. He got up and looked once again at the water with sadness.  “How could it be that I can’t drink water, but still feel the unbearable heat of the sun and the thirst in my mouth If I am a ghost, I should feel nothing at all.”

These words made him very nervous, and looked around in panic.  He felt hotter! Oscar backed away from the oasis, always in the look out.  He heard cynical laughter from far away getting closer to him.  When he closed his eyes, a sudden burst of heat surrounded him. 

“Now I understand why the water was out of my reach,”- Oscar said crying, while he heard the sarcastic laughs right beside him, realizing his eternal fate.

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In August 22, 2005, I had the chance of being part of a creative writing online retreat on a marvelous place called Soul Food Café, and made a journey to the Island of Ancestors. In this exercise I got a chance to say goodbye, more of a farewell, to someone I love dearly. This piece is for those that I love and have been denied my last goodbye. My grandfather, for whom this piece was first created; my loving grandmother, I know you waited for him those three months you laid on that bed, that sacrifice will never be forgotten; my dear brother, who last time we saw each other we laughed, who I see through the round dark brown eyes of my son, to you I would love to say happy birthday. Even though they him and abuelita have been gone for almost four years, I never will forget their love.

Enjoy this story, warning, grab a tissue. Read you soon, my friend, and don’t forget: Always say I love you to someone special. Love you!

Journey to the Island of Ancestors

The meditation room in the hermitage gave me enough time to get in tune with myself and my soul. It truly was a peaceful experience and at this point I’m waiting for more. I think of myself as a complete unit- mind, spirit, body and soul –and that all of them are getting to a state, were each can live in peace with one another. Especially my mind, it is always in the clouds and not where it belongs, but still I love when it takes me to places I never been or want to be.

There was in front of my room door a piece of paper lying in the floor. I pick it up and opened it. The journey was going to take me now to another place, this time an island; but for what it’s called it seems this is not a regular island. You see it is called The Island of Ancestors. A chill ran down my spine for no reason I can explain. I figure it this will be an experience I will never forget. If it was an island of ancestors, maybe I might find great philosophers of old, like Aristotle or maybe Pluto. Who knows!

I went to the stables to see Güarionex whom was waiting for me and was ready, Rob, the Horse Whisperer, was holding him. When Güarionex saw me, he got much exited moving his head up and down. I smiled and went to him immediately giving him a kiss on his forehead. He made a sound with his nose that tickled my neck. The Horse Whisperer climbed his horse and I climbed Güarionex. We set out as we did the first time we met going as fast as the wind, like we were on a race against it. It was really lots of fun.

As we slowed down Rob told me a thing or two about the island. He explained that weird things happen to those who visited it. Some come out full of joy, others are traumatized by the experience. None are allowed to tell what happened there to them, for that will decrease the curiosity in people and travelers alike who want to visit the island. But it seems it is a most popular place for the waiting list is long. Only especial invitations are granted like the one I had. He instructed me not to pass this opportunity.

“Have you been there?” I asked him curious for he spoke of it as he knew it very well.

“Yes,” he answered looking ahead watching the Island from afar.

“How long was it that you visited it?”

“Many years ago,” his voice sounded sad and his expression changed completely. I wanted to asked, but remember what he had told me of not speaking of the experience gain on that island. I wonder if he was one of those who where traumatized by it. It seems that was not the case, for if it was like that he would not have accompanied me here and would have stayed in the hermitage.

As we approach the coast a ferry was visible from the top of the hill we were standing. A beautiful island was visible in the distance. It was all covered with nature and looked as an emerald was drop in the middle of the river. I breathed deeply for I was a little nervous for I didn’t know what to expect.

We went down the hill and got closer to the port. A woman was waiving her hand to us and we approached her. She was very happy and a little weird I might add. Well this woman was not a woman and you could see that after getting closer to her. Her skin was covered with scales, green ones and she had no ears. Her hands and feet were a strange mix of fingers and fins. Her arms were like those of a human being, but she had no nose and her mouth was of a round shape like those of a fish. When we got down of our horses and stood in front of her I smiled slightly. Rude of me, of course, but I was perplexed with what I saw. To think I should expect to encounter everything in this journey.

Suddenly, the fish-woman opened her arms wide and went to Rob who was doing the same thing. They both grab their hands up high and hit their foreheads. Then they laughed hard.

“It is good to see you again, Rob,” the fish-woman said, but it sounded more as if she was underwater than in land.

“It is good to be here, Trucha. I’m here to take her to the Island of Ancestors.”

Trucha turned to me and did the same as before. Probably that was the way she greeted people so I did the same. The hit in the forehead was not that hard and it was a cool way of salutation, for you feel like you are under water for an instant. Then just like that you feel you are back on land.

“I have been expecting you, my dear. You may leave the horses here, they will be taken to a place where they can relax and stretch their legs. Come on board for everything is ready for you, but we have to wait until nightfall. It’s the best way to navigate for the guardian of the Island is sleeping. He gets a little cranky during the day for the spirits are sleeping and he doesn’t want anybody disturbing them,” Trucha said much exited.

We got on board the ferry and ate on the deck that had been prepared with a dining area. We chat, drank and laughed for hours until the stars appeared. That’s when Trucha got up and said to me, “It is time. You may wait here while I navigate.”

Trucha stood up from the table, then she went up some metal stairs and got into the cabin on the second floor of the ferry were the control room was. I stood up and walked towards the rail as I admired the elegant night covering us completely. The stars looked like tiny diamonds sparkling elegantly. The breeze was soothing but it carried a strange smell that was sweet. Maybe it came from the island, were flowers bloom at night and perfumed everything around them like a special gift for those who dare to go to the island.

The journey on water took approximately fifteen minutes and the island was very visible indeed. A port could be seen getting nearer as we got closer. It was lighted by torches that made visible the beginning of it for the ferry fish-woman to see her way to it. When we got to the port Trucha came to me, as I was very nervous for the time had come for me to live and start my journey into the depths of the Island of Ancestors, and said, “We will wait for you here until you come back, we cannot go any further. Follow the torches until you find an apple groove. There is a path that goes inside the groove, take it. Keep walking forward; do not take any other paths, only the one that goes between the apples trees. If you do take another path you will be lost. When you reach the end of the groove you will find a mound and there a door, you must go through it. The rest is up to you.”

“What will happen if I take another path?”

“The ancestors will claim you. I do not need to say more.”

“Very well, off I go.”

I got down from the ferry and walked to the path as instructed, always looking at the trail beneath my feet. I didn’t want to get lost and be claimed by the Ancestors of the Island. Passing the apple groove I took one apple to eat it as I walked. At the end of it I saw the mound and in it the door. Two large torches lighted the way, I made my way through.

The passage was narrow and dim, it went downward. At the end of it I saw a light like that of a fire. I hurried my pace so I could find out what was in that room at the end of the corridor. Once there, in front of a great fire, sitting on an armchair there was a person covered with a black hood. Slowly I got near the figure, once in front of it I sat down on a marble bench. I waited for him or her to say a word, but nothing happen. Nervousness ran my whole body as I stared at the person in dismay not knowing what to do. My head was trying to understand the situation, but it was too complicated for it had never been in this kind of situation before.

Then, the person’s hands removed the hood and there I was looking at his face. My jaw dropped as I was astonished and out of breath. For in front of me was a man that still is the love of my life. The person that even thou passed away many years ago, still had a special place in my heart. Tear drops came from my eyes as they could not believe what they were seeing.

It was inevitable, an explosion of sentiments took over me completely. He approached me and hugged me tight as he used to do when I was a little girl. His smell was already gone from my memory and I could not remember it as I smelled him when he got closer. I cried more and more trying to hold on and didn’t want to let go of his grip. I was not letting go ever again.

When he died the only person he wanted to see was me, but the doctors at the hospital did not grant his last wish for I was a little girl and wasn’t allowed to go to the rooms. I knew he was gone for his sister, my great-aunt, came down crying inconsolable. But it did not hit me until my mother explained to me what happened. Then and there I knew the Lords of Time had denied me of a moment that was mine, of a wish that might have changed my life and my healing process. Now that I was there holding him tight no one was going to deny me of that moment.

“I have missed you so much!” I sob.

“I know.” He said.

“Grandpa, I wish so much you could still be alive. Sometimes I think life would have turned so different for me if you just been there. I know I would have been someone else with you by my side.”

“But think of all the things you would have lost if our story was written differently. Think of my great-granddaughter. She reminds me of you so much and it made me so proud that you thought of me when naming her.”

I laughed full of joy and looked at his blue eyes. They were as I used to remember.

“Well,” he said, “you are here to ask me a question. What would that question be?”

“I just want to talk a little longer. I don’t what to ask questions right know. Can we just talk, please?”

“You see, mi reina, we will have time for that in another life. When God sends for you I will be waiting at the entrance to greet you and forever be together. Know we have but little time to spend and I want to answer whatever question you have for me.”

“Then I shall stay here with you. So we could have an eternity know and not later!” I exclaimed crying.

My grandfather dried my tears and his hand felt soft. Looking at me straight in the eyes he said, “I can’t let you do that. There is too much at stake. Besides you are needed back there, Versaly needs her mother and our family too. Think of your grandmother that loves you as much as I do. Your mother, your husband and of your brother that even thou he sometimes looks as there is no hope for him there still is. But you must be there and as always be strong for them.”

He kissed my forehead gently and I finally stopped crying understanding that my time with him was limited. I grab his hands tight and smiled once again not knowing what to ask.

“I have always asked myself if you were proud of me. Of what I have become and what I wanted in life. You have always been in my thoughts when I think of my life. What would you say or do or advice?”

“There is no doubt that I have always been proud of everything you have accomplished in life and of what you want of it. I know sometimes you feel alone and without guidance, but I’m always there for you. Look for me inside your heart and feel the warmth of my arms hugging you whenever you feel alone and lost.”

We both smiled and I kissed his hand. The fire dimmed a little and my grandfather looked at it and said, “Time is running out. Know I have a question for you.”

“What is it?” I ask curiously.

“Will you promise me to take care of yourself and our family?”

“Always.”

“Then, please heal your heart of my loss. Do not cry for me with sadness, but with joy for I am in a better place know. A place you will be when your time comes. So no sad faces only happy ones, ok.”

“I promise.” As I said that, we hugged for a few minutes and I felt in peace with myself as I accomplished one of my most desired dreams. To see him one more time before living my life to the place he is now.

“I have a gift for you grandpa. It’s a lock of Versaly’s hair from when she was a baby, I always carry it with me to feel her closer. I want you to have it so you could have a little of her until you can finally meet her.”

“Thank you. I see her every day you know, even thou is from afar I’m always watching over her and praying for her. Here’s something for you too. I think someone lost this and couldn’t find it.”

He opened his hand and inside it was a small image cover in plastic of the Sacred Heart he used to wear every day. It was lost when my brother and I argued about who should have it. My heart rejoiced when I saw it for I thought it was lost forever. He had taken it to guard it and to give it back when the time was right.

“This means so much to me. I’m just sad I have to go.”

“Me too, but we’ll see each other again and spend eternity together.”

“We’ll do that; I will hold you to it.”

We hugged me again and he gave me his blessing. My heart, my soul and my spirit felt like crying again, but I hold it back. I had gained what once was denied to me, a final goodbye and a farewell. That moment right there could never be replaced.

So I got up and walked away only looking back once to see him smiling and throwing a kiss to me saying, “This is for your grandma, but don’t tell her is from me. Just give it to her.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I walked away feeling the tears come down my cheeks. I kept walking toward the port just looking at the relic my grandpa had given me. When I looked up I saw Rob, the Horse Whisperer, waiting for me at the port smiling happy to see me. I stopped to look back to the trail that had given me such an immense gift hoping to see a final glimpse of him. But he wasn’t there. Smiling joyfully and content I turned back to Rob and climbed aboard the ferry.

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I just enjoyed reading this poem by William Thomas, it is deep and touches the core of the soul. Enjoy and hope you think in this season of love of those who spend it in solitude.

A Frozen Tear

By William Thomas©

Winter in Kodiak, a time of little light.
The snow brightens the ground and the stars light up the night.
A cluster of Spruce sag deep, a drift in front of my car.
My heart weighs heavy. Thoughts of relatives afar.
A blustery wind blows, north then south.
A cold winter thirst, warm java for my mouth.
A homeless man sleeps, all bundled in clothes.
His heart deep with thoughts of past Christmas woes.
A handshake, a smile, a sip of my coffee.
A friend in waiting, I became to he.
Some food from the shelter, a warm place to rest.
His life for the moment, felt happy and blessed.
He told me the stories of days long ago.
My full attention, he required, to him I happily bestowed.
A veteran of the war, a father of four.
A long distance call seemed to matter no more.
The blanket of stars and the snow under his feet,
only brought back memories of a scar so deep.
A story from my life, I understood his loss.
To spend Christmas without family, there’s no greater cost.
One more handshake. A “man-hug” goodbye.
His face looked of worry, wondered if I would be back tonight.
A job in Kodiak sometimes is so rare.
But I am happy to tell you, where I work is here.
A smile, a thought, the lending of an ear.
A thousand times more helpful than a frozen tear.

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Just before Christmas, an honest politician, a generous lawyer and Santa Claus got into the lift (elevator) at the Ritz Hotel in London. As the lift travelled from the 5th floor down to the ground level, one-by-one they noticed a £50 note lying on the lift’s floor.

Which one picked up the £50 note, and handed it in at reception?

Santa of course, the other two don’t actually exist!

Christmas is for love

Author unknown

Christmas is for love. It is for joy, for giving and sharing, for laughter, for reuniting with family and friends, for tinsel and brightly decorated packages. But mostly, Christmas is for love. I had not believed this until a small elf-like student with wide-eyed innocent eyes and soft rosy cheeks gave me a wondrous gift one Christmas.

Mark was an 11 year old orphan who lived with his aunt, a bitter middle aged woman greatly annoyed with the burden of caring for her dead sister’s son. She never failed to remind young Mark, if it hadn’t been for her generosity, he would be a vagrant, homeless waif. Still, with all the scolding and chilliness at home, he was a sweet and gentle child.

I had not noticed Mark particularly until he began staying after class each day (at the risk of arousing his aunt’s anger, I later found) to help me straighten up the room. We did this quietly and comfortably, not speaking much, but enjoying the solitude of that hour of the day. When we did talk, Mark spoke mostly of his mother. Though he was quite small when she died, he remembered a kind, gentle, loving woman, who always spent much time with him.

As Christmas drew near however, Mark failed to stay after school each day. I looked forward to his coming, and when the days passed and he continued to scamper hurriedly from the room after class, I stopped him one afternoon and asked why he no longer helped me in the room. I told him how I had missed him, and his large gray eyes lit up eagerly as he replied, “Did you really miss me#8221;

I explained how he had been my best helper. “I was making you a surprise,” he whispered confidentially. “It’s for Christmas.” With that, he became embarrassed and dashed from the room. He didn’t stay after school any more after that.

Finally came the last school day before Christmas. Mark crept slowly into the room late that afternoon with his hands concealing something behind his back. “I have your present,” he said timidly when I looked up. “I hope you like it.” He held out his hands, and there lying in his small palms was a tiny wooden box.

“Its beautiful, Mark. Is there something in it#8221; I asked opening the top to look inside. ”

“Oh you can’t see what’s in it,” He replied, “and you can’t touch it, or taste it or feel it, but mother always said it makes you feel good all the time, warm on cold nights, and safe when you’re all alone.”

I gazed into the empty box. “What is it Mark,” I asked gently, “that will make me feel so good#8221; “It’s love,” he whispered softly, “and mother always said it’s best when you give it away.” And he turned and quietly left the room.

So now I keep a small box crudely made of scraps of wood on the piano in my living room and only smile as inquiring friends raise quizzical eyebrows when I explain to them that there is love in it.

Yes, Christmas is for gaiety, mirth and song, for good and wondrous gifts. But mostly, Christmas is for love.

The “W” in Christmas                                                      
                                                                           
Last December, I vowed to make Christmas a calm and peaceful experience.   I had cut back on nonessential obligations – extensive card writing, endless baking, decorating, and even overspending. Yet still, I found myself exhausted, unable to appreciate the precious family moments, and of course, the true meaning of Christmas.       
     
My son, Nicholas, was in kindergarten that year. It was an exciting season for a six year old. For weeks, he’d been memorizing songs for his school’s “Winter Pageant.”  I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’d be working the night of the production. Unwilling to miss his shining moment, I spoke with his teacher.  She assured me there’d be a dress rehearsal the morning of the presentation.  All parents unable to attend that evening were welcome to come then.  Fortunately, Nicholas seemed happy with the compromise. 
                 
So, the morning of the dress rehearsal, I filed in ten minutes early,  found a spot on the cafeteria floor and sat down. Around the room, I saw  several other parents quietly scampering to their seats. As I waited, students were led into the room. Each class, accompanied by their teacher, sat cross-legged on the floor. Then, each group, one by one, rose to perform their song. Because the public school system had long stopped referring to the holiday as “Christmas,” I didn’t expect anything other than fun, commercial    entertainment – songs of reindeer, Santa Claus, snowflakes and good cheer.

So, when my son’s class rose to sing, “Christmas Love,” I was slightly taken aback by its bold title. Nicholas was aglow, as were all of his classmates, adorned in fuzzy mittens, red sweaters, and bright snowcaps upon their heads.  Those in the front row- center stage – held up large letters, one by one, to spell out the title of the song. As the class would sing “C is for Christmas,” a child would hold up the  letter C. Then, “H is for Happy,” and on and on, until each child holding up his portion had presented the complete message, “Christmas Love.” 

The performance was going smoothly, until suddenly, we noticed her; a small, quiet, girl in the front row holding the letter “M” upside down –  totally unaware her letter “M” appeared as a “W”.  The audience of 1st through 6th graders snickered at this little one’s mistake. But she had no idea they were laughing at her, so she stood tall, proudly holding her “W”.  Although many teachers tried to shush the children, the laughter continued until the last letter was raised, and we all saw it together.  A hush came over the audience and eyes began to widen. In that instant, we understood the reason we were there, why we celebrated the holiday in the first place, why even in the chaos, there was a purpose for our  festivities. For when the last letter was held high, the message read loud and clear: 

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THE GOLD WRAPPING PAPER – An Inspiring Christmas Story

Once upon a time, a man punished his five-year-old daughter for using up the family’s only roll of expensive gold wrapping paper before Christmas.

Money was tight, so he became even more upset when on Christmas Eve, he saw that the child had used the expensive gold paper to decorate a large shoebox she had put under the Christmas tree.

Nevertheless, the next morning the little girl, filled with excitement, brought the gift box to her father and said, “This is for you, Daddy!”

As he opened the box, the father was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction, now regretting how he had punished her.

But when he opened the shoebox, he found it was empty and again his anger flared. “Don’t you know, young lady,” he said harshly, “when you give someone a present there’s supposed to be something inside the package!”

The little girl looked up at him with sad tears rolling from her eyes and whispered: “Daddy, it’s not empty. I blew kisses into it until it was all full.”

The father was crushed. He fell on his knees and put his arms around his precious little girl. He begged her to forgive him for his unnecessary anger.

An accident took the life of the child only a short time later. It is told that the father kept this little gold box by his bed for all the years of his life. Whenever he was discouraged or faced difficult problems, he would open the box, take out an imaginary kiss, and remember the love of this beautiful child who had put it there.

In a very real sense, each of us as human beings have been given an invisible golden box filled with unconditional love and kisses from our children, family, friends and God.

There is no more precious possession anyone could hold

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Blanca como las nubes del cielo, carga en su torso un letrero que sereno y tranquilo, como la brisa salada que le acaricia, declaran en negras palabras lo que es, será o lo que fue: “x siempre María”.

Más no se puede decir o asumir, sobre el estado de María. Su bicicleta estacionaria descansa en el áspero tronco de un cocotero. Simula una lápida que corona el lugar en el que quizás el último suspiro de María se dio, y allí bajo las sombras de las pencas donde el mar se alarga hasta besar el pálido azul del cielo, descansa un espíritu que no será olvidado. ¡María!

Tu nombre será por siempre lectura y de él nacerá el anhelo de conocerte, de tenerte en un momento y ser parte de tu historia. ¡Oh, María! Por siempre María.

Mary’s bicycle

White as the clouds carries in its torso a sign that serene and tranquil, like the salty breeze that caress it, declares in black letters what is, will be or was: “forever Mary”.

More cannot be said or assume, about Mary’s state. Her stationary bicycle rests on the rough trunk of a coconut tree. Simulates a headstone that crowns the place, where maybe Mary had her last breath, and under the shadows of a coconut tree where the sea elongates until it kisses the blue sky, rest a spirit that will never be forgotten. Mary!

Your name will always be reading and from it the yearning to know you will be born, to have you in a moment and to be part of your story. Oh, Mary! Forever Mary.

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 Deseaba compartir con ustedes este link de mi cuento “El Amante de Marta” que esta participando en el certamen “Un cuento en mi blog” de Zona Literatura. Les exorto ha pasar por el link de abajo y votar por mi cuento. Mientras más votos tenga más las oportunidades de ganar el certamen. Gracias como siempre por su apoyo y espero disfruten del cuento “El amante de Marta”.

Cómo votar:

Luego del cuento hay una explicacion sobre como votar, pero es sencillo tan solo como darle al botón del dedito pulgar hacia arriba si te gusta, que espero que sí.

Así que ve a este link y da tu voto: El amante de Marta, cuento de Alexandra Román.

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     Clare’s parents woke up very early in the mornings, her father to go to work and her mom to prepare breakfast and wake Clare up to take her to school.  Her mother owned a bookstore, she loved books and Clare loved them too. 

       Clare looked at herself in the mirror to comb her hair.  When she looked at the mirror she saw a little note.  She took it and saw that there was a drawing on it.  It was a picture of an eye! 

         A picture of an eye! –she said to herself. 

         Who could have drawn an eye and left it on her mirror She took the drawing and put it in the pocket of her pajamas. As always, Clare went to the bathroom to take a shower and clean her teeth.  When she took her toothbrush she noticed there was another note.  The note had another drawing.  It was a red heart! 

       A red heart! –she exclaimed.  

       Who could have drawn a red heart and left it in my toothbrush?  -she thought. 

       After pondering for a while, she said: 

       “Hum!  This is a mystery.” 

       Could it be a clue And what do they mean.  Could someone be trying to tell me something –Clare asked herself looking for answers. She took out the other note from the pocket of her pajama and looked at the two pictures very closely, but could not figure out what they meant.  She paused for a while. 

       “Well, I could solve this mystery later.  If I do not hurry up I will be late for school.” 

       Clare took a shower and went back to her room.  She put on her blue uniform on and brushed her hair making a ponytail.  Last, she put on her socks and went back to the closet to look for her shoes. When Clare looked at her shoes she exclaimed.  

       “A third note!” 

      She took the note and this time she noticed that there was not a picture in it, but a letter.  The letter U! 

      “The letter U?” -she asked confused. 

      Clare took the three notes and placed them on the bed in the same order that she had found them. 

      “An eye, a red heart and the letter U.  What do they have in common?”- asked Clare. 

      She took the note that had the picture of the eye. 

      “What do you mean?”- she asked.  

      Then she remembered something her mom told her last night.  She said that some names of things sounded like pronouns.  Clare remembers because she was studying pronouns!  That was it!   The eye stands for I.  Yes she solved the first clue.  

       Now, to the second one. –Clare said to herself. 

      So she took the second picture and look at it very closely.  A red heart. 

      “What do you mean?”- said Clare. 

      She paused for a while and remembered something else her mom told her last Saint Valentines.   About hearts meaning love. She remembers because she asked her mom why she was decorating the bookstore with so many red hearts. 

       “Oh!”- she exclaimed- “I solved the second clue.  It means love.”  

       So she had solved the first clue which meant I, and the second clue meant love.  But she was not sure what they meant together, until she looked at the third clue. 

      The third clue was the letter U.  

     “U!”-she exclaimed. “Now I know what they mean, but who left them on my things

       She had figure out the mystery of the three clues, but pondered on who was so kind to expressed that to her. Suddenly she heard a humming coming from the kitchen, and Clare’s face lighted up with joy. She immediately ran towards the kitchen and there serving her breakfast was her mother. 

        Clare jumped on her and gave her a huge hug and said: 

        “I love you too, mom.” 

         Her mother smiled and gave Clare a kiss. 

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            In that box she keeps the memories of the family alive.  The treasure of many decades kept in a fragile box that means so much to us as a family.  She sat in the chair in front of me and removed the top box to reveal a world of photos, old and new, which have made their way to that enchanted place of memories.  It looks like a sea of memories, of past events frozen in a moment cherish by those who lay they’re eyes on them.  I have discovered for the first time drops from the stream of Mnemosyne.

            Mnemosyne was a goddess from the Greek era and she is the guardian of memories.  Some remember her strolling along her stream waiting for the immortals to come to her for she was the wisest of them all.  She has now disappeared into the invisible land of shadows and from there she guards her stream and watches over her new recruits.

            This time there was something different with the woman sitting in front of me.  I love this woman dearly; she is the matriarch of the family, my grandmother.  Her skin is the color of sweet delicious chocolate and her heart is fool of feelings that are beyond words.  She is not the same today and is not because of her age or her many illnesses, but because of her sent.  It is Mnemosyne’s sent, a sweet sent of water and lilies.  She is within her today letting me know that my grandmother is one of her chosen ones.  No wonder my grandma’s name is Pastora witch means The Shepherdess.  She is the one to guard us, the one that protect us like she has always done.  She might look fragile, but she is not.  Her name tells her strength and courage; her box of pictures tells her story, our story, my story, the story of my children.

            Pastora took one of the pictures in her aged hands and smiled, it was one of her youth.  It was black and white and she was sitting in the ledge of a window wearing a long white skirt and a black blouse; long black wavy hair tossed on her left shoulder.  She looked just like a model does when posing for the camera!  If you look at her you can still see in her eyes that moment for she has, still, the same look in her deep black eyes.

            Another picture she took after handing me hers.  It was of my grandfather squatting with his back on a wall.  My mother was at his right and my uncle on his left, both little children looking straight at the camera.  My grandfather was looking else where like his gaze was gazing beyond that moment.  In those days they lived in Old San Juan a beautiful small city filled with history, with cobblestones on the streets and barricaded by a wall build by the Spaniards.  The same place my mother wishes to spend her last days remembering her childhood like the one in the picture.     

            There are so many memories of lost souls that have gone to their Creator and are mourned, of living souls that still struggle with everyday life, of souls that are happy and those souls that are lost in the meaning of life. It is so overwhelming to plunge oneself in a stream like this one full of so many feelings.  I do not have the knowledge to swim, but I feel like I was always thought how to flow in this stream since I was a child for I’ve been in it since I can remember.  Mnemosyne has thought me how to swim, how to survive in the sea of memories from which I have taken part and made my own.  Yes, for if you visit my closet you will see a small brown shoe box.  In it there is part of that sea, because I have been chosen to be the new Shepherdess.  My name is Alexandra it means the Leader of Men, I am in training to become one of the keepers of memory in my family and I have started with a simple box and a digital CD prepared, for people like me, by the magical land called Digital Photography. 

            The world of memories is fool of grace and feelings.  It is a magical place that resides in the simple things guarded by a mortal and escaping from the wrath of time.

I wrote this many years ago, by that time she, Pastora, was still alive. Don’t despare I have taken all of her well guarded memories and kept them safe in an album and scaned them so they can out run the wit of time.

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            “Should we open it?” –I asked Ela for she was my companion in this adventure.   

“Why not There’s nothing stopping us.” –she whispered, like always for that’s the way she talks.

“Yes, let’s see what lies beyond that door.”

We walked to the door, took the iron handle, holding it very tight, and pulled with all our strength.  It was a heavy door and as it gave way it made a loud noise like screws that have not been oiled for a long time.  We opened the door completely and look to see what lay inside that room.  To our amazement it was not a room but a garden, a gorgeous garden.

We went in to have a closer look and admire its beauty.

“Wow!” –I exclaimed.

Ela was speechless; she looked at the enchanted place not believing what her eyes were seeing.  I was in the same state of shock.  How would a place like this exist inside a mine I remember I have read of the existence of this rare gardens and worlds in the book One thousand and one nights, but I thought they were only legends. It harvested elegant green trees, flowers of all sorts of colors and shapes.  Green pastures and a lake of crystal waters.  Willows were caressing the surface of the lake with its branches that fell elegantly down to the ground.  The breeze was soothing and perfumed with all the aromas of the flowers. What caught my attention was that inside that place instead of being dark it was daylight.  There was no sun, but as you looked closer to the ceiling you could see that it was filled with clear crystals.

We walked beside the shore of the lake and inside it were fishes of all sorts of colors swimming by as we walked.  One of them was very curious and jump trying to grab our attention.  We kept walking and the fish, which was a deep red color with golden fins, kept jumping gracefully out of the water. I was having fun watching him and all of the sudden he smile at us.  I froze and immediately exclaimed to Ela pointing to the fish:

“I think he smiled at us!”

The fish with his head out of the water said:

“I smiled because she smiled.”

I looked at Ela, who had a huge smile on her face, and as I was ready to tell her something I realized the fish gave me a response!

“Do not be rude by commenting that he talks.  Just approach him and converse with the lovely fish.” –said Ela catching up with my thoughts.

She was actually right and I didn’t want to be rude.  As I was pondering on what to talk about with the fish, I sat down near the water.  Ela sat down beside me with the same smile as before.  I looked at the fish that was just emerging from the water witch I imagine he went down for a breather.  He looked at me for a while with out saying a word probably waiting for me to speak.

“This place is incredible.  What is it doing here?” –said Ela excited.

The fish that looked very happy to have a conversation said cheerfully:

“Well it is very interesting story.  Long ago the god Zeus in his battle with the Titans threw one of his most powerful bolts to the earth witch it stroked so hard to the ground that it open a crack and it gave way to a passage to this world.  Zeus, after that great battle, came down to relax and have a walk along the great garden that once lay above us. 

“He noticed the crack and making himself small enough to fit in it came down and found an enormous cave that extended for miles underground.  He felt in love with the clear crystals that are incrusted in the ceiling.  So he, there and then, open the crack to let the rays of the sun come down through the crystals so the light could shine inside this cave.”

“But what happens at night when only the moon is up and there is no sunlight to shine upon the crystals?” –I asked full of curiosity. 

The fish went down to catch his breath again and continued -“The rays of the moon shine upon the crystals and submerge us in a blue magical light.  If you stay long enough you might see it and maybe you can see the magic of this place.”

I smiled for I was not going to miss that opportunity.

“Zeus was so excited with the out come that he, almighty that he was and all, started walking back works looking at the ceiling.  The all powerful king of the Olympians Gods stumbled on a rock.  That one you see over there.”

He pointed at a big rock that was covered with bright green moss and beautiful ferns grew majestically around it.  From it crystal water flowed to the lake.

“The waters of this lake come from the water that flow from that rock.” –said he emerging once again- “You see when Zeus fell down on the rock he opened a small opening and water came out of it.  When he tried to get up he cut his hand with a crystal, nothing serious of course, he is a god after all.  He washed his hand with the water that flowed from the rock.  The combination of these magical waters, called ‘El Manantial’, and that of the blood of Zeus was what this place needed to start life.  From the drops of blood that fell in the ground emerge creatures just like yourselves.  But with dark black hair and bluish skin, for the blood of Zeus is of a bluish color.  These creatures can make things grow out of the simplest things.  They live in the farthest corner of the Manantial cave and love their privacy.  So do not disturb them.  They also pass their days playing with their magic and waiting for the return of Zeus, their father.”

“What happen to Zeus, did he die?” –asked Ela intrigued.  She was really paying very close attention to the fish.

“No!” –he exclaimed- “He is a God.  He just grew bored of this place.”

“So, who built that door?” –asked Ela.

 Emerging form the waters the fish answered –“Well the King of the Manantial people.  They don’t stay here for they do not like the door.  It reminds them that there is a strange world out there that they don’t know and might bring contamination to theirs.  That’s why the followed the river down stream, that grew from the lake, where they found another bigger one and settle there.”

He went down once again and continued when he came up –“It’s getting late and I have to go know.  It was really good talking to you.  I hope to see you tomorrow and we can talk more.”

“Of course, thank you for your help.” –said Ela.

“You welcome.” –said the fish smiling.

“Wait!  You haven’t told us your name” –I exclaimed.

“Oh! What clumsy of me.  My name is Zep.” –saying that he swam away living us alone.

There was silence as the light became dimmer.  Only the sound of flowing water from the ‘El Manantial’ echoed in the cave.  The light change rapidly to a blue dim and the crystal of the ceiling sparkled majestically.  Sparkling lights came alive when the night finally came and even the rock from the ‘Manantial’ sparkled full of magic.  Ela took out of my back pack a sleeping bag witch she told me Morpheus had given to her ‘cause he knew I will need it in case I wanted to spend a night inside the mines’.

We lay down staring at the sparkling crystals embracing the beauty of that place.

“They look like stars.” –commented Ela.

“Yes.” –I said inhaling the pure air that surrounded us.

“What are we going to do tomorrow Are we going to stay here or go back to the mines?”

“I do not know Ela.  What ever tomorrow brings I know it will be good and full of blessings.  Let us, for know, enjoy what we have been blessed with.”

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Once there with the corner of her eyes Saly looked at her Grandma, shyness portrayed in her innocent face. Her sight came upon a collage of memories set there to spark a smile on the faces of those that came to pay their respects and give support. She sighted and a smile followed as the flow of memories of fun and loving times she spend with her came to her young mind.

On a big couch Saly sat just to look at her in silence, “She’s sleeping?” asked a familiar voice. It was her little brother whom looked at her unaware of what was happening. Saly just gave a little smile. A familiar person came to sit by her, his hand on hers giving comfort.

“I’ll miss her,” he said to Saly.

“I’ll miss her too, Grandpa,” she answered sadly resting her head on his hand.

“I love you so much,” he told her and kissed her forehead, her curly brown hair flowing lightly on his arm.

She embraced him holding back the tears being strong for him, replied in a whisper, “I love you!”.

Holding each other hands minutes went by while they stared at the Lady that filled their lives with laughter, love and fun times. Talking amongst themselves they exchange words of love that can only be expressed not to say goodbye, but farewell. Strong pillars for a family worried for their well being for they lost a part of their hearts. Those concerned could breathe easily for Saly was going to be fine, she understood. Pride filled their aching hearts for she was more mature than they thought of her; a smile was painted in their faces every time they came upon her. All trying to take from her strength for she knew her Grandma will always live in her heart and will never be forgotten.

Saly kissed a small yellow note she wrote to her and said farewell, “You will always be in my heart”.

In loving memory of Norma I. Santiago, you will forever be in our hearts.

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Cuando sales de la cordillera central, luego que has pasado el monumento al jíbaro, en el horizonte se divisa un pequeño trazo de azul aún rodeado de verde esmeralda. Luego se pierde para que tu mirada quede hipnotizada  con los valles que nacen de las faldas de las montañas. Es entonces que comienza un juego visual de colores familiares y que caracterizan a una isla tropical. Los deseos no se pueden contener y mientras el carro viaja a la velocidad máxima establecida por el departamento de carreteras, se capturan imágenes. Se sonríe y se vuelve a capturar otra imagen, y otra y otra. Si decides detenerte para poder realizar esta tarea, te tomaría una eternidad llegar a tu destino. Sí, es cautivador el paisaje, y aquellos que lo conocen lo llevan marcados en su memoria.

El albergue olímpico con su ondeante bandera de cinco anillos, sirve de punto de dirección. Pero más adelante te espera el largo trecho que te lleva finalmente a la costa, y a lugares inesperados que solo surgen cuando la espontaneidad te saca de la cama en un día como ese. Una parada en un McDonald para recargar las baterías del cuerpo, sí algo inusual cuando se debe comer algo típico, pero no había tiempo para buscar gastronomía boricua.

La decepción de visitar un museo que no se encontró, nos llevó a una bahía marcada por la historia y serena como el mar. En un balcón distante personajes de la tercera edad disfrutaban de su compañía y la vista familiar, como de la brisa que refrescaba el calor que nacía del candente sol. Subiendo una antigua carretera con vista al mar, mariposas blancas revoloteaban por todos lados creando una mágica alusión de un mundo detenido en el tiempo. En donde yacen caminos a playas escondidas, un faro en el que es palpable el pasado, y un hotel cinco estrellas.

Arriba en una montaña cerca del sol, yace un bosque seco lleno de vida y secretos escondidos en sus tramos. La visita es corta dejando las águilas atrás y la entrada de piedra que descansa en el camino angosto, pues el calor que le arropa es insoportable aunque es entrada la tarde. Con un corto viaje improvisado el camino embreado espera para el regreso al área metropolitana, solo se hace una parada más para comprar la ambrosía puertorriqueña, la quenepa ponceña. Se le dice adiós a los cactus que toman el lugar de los árboles en las rocas de los montes, a los flamboyanes que parecer intensificar su color más en el sur que en el norte como una oda a aquel que les baña diariamente, y a las fincas que se extienden hasta perderse en la distancia. Se bajan las ventanas del carro para gozar, en una forma de hasta luego, del viento frío de las montañas del centro de la isla y respirar aire puro. Antes de que se pierdan en la distancia, se apunta a las colinas que simulan bustos para que la descendencia les conozca y se quede con un detalle más de su isla natal en la memoria.

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El Amante de Marta

Él se enamoró de ella desde el primer día en que la vio, cautivado por sus ojos negros llenos de compasión y ternura. Marta era su nombre, una mujer de piel sedosa que gustaba de cambiar de color de pelo, aunque ella prefería teñirlo de rubio.

Marta se había percatado de la existencia de él, pero nunca se detenía a conversar. Le veía rondar de vez en cuando por los alrededores de su casa, caminando por el balcón, mirando a través de las ventanas de cristal. Marta nunca le mencionó nada a nadie, se guardaba a aquel hombre como un secreto. Hasta que una noche fría de enero le vio al final del largo y angosto pasillo de su casa. Estaba parado allí inmóvil esperando por ella, por una palabra de su boca. Si ella no quería hablarle, él prefería que rosara su piel al pasar a su lado como hacía a veces. Él se conformaba con ellos, pues eran la prueba de que Marta conocía de su existencia, que sentía su presencia.

Lo diferente de ese día a otro, fue que Marta se detuvo al otro lado del pasillo; le miraba fijamente, estudiando su mirada. Ella, al igual que él, estaba inmóvil y esperaba impaciente que él le hablara, pues deseaba escuchar su voz. Esa voz a la cual ella se había negado a escuchar par tantos años, pero él se mantenía quieto y callado ni tan siquiera su respirar se podía escuchar retumbar por el angosto y largo pasillo.

Fue entonces, que Marta no pudo más y desesperadamente dijo, “No tengo tiempo para ti hoy.”

“Nunca lo tienes,” contesto él. Su voz era rara, nunca había escuchado una voz tan dulce y serena como la de él.

Entonces Marta le contestó, “Aceptarte a ti seria aceptar mi propia ruina.”

“No, sino tu verdad, la que vives día a día en esta casa. Por la cual tantas veces has llorado en mi regazo.”

“Nunca he llorado en tu regazo,” contestó Marta indignada.

“Por favor, no te molestes,” le dijo el hombre con ternura. “Han sido tantos años de sufrimiento. No recuerdas las tardes que pasamos juntos en el balcón mirando a lo lejos sin decir palabra alguna, como de costumbre. Deseando por otra oportunidad, otro tiempo, otra vida, un final diferente para los que amas y no dejas ir de tu corazón.”

“Sabes que son sangre de mi sangre y los guardaré en mi corazón,” expresó Marta tocando su pecho.

Marta comenzó a caminar hacia el hombre sin dejar de mirarle a los ojos, los cuales eran distintos a los de una persona normal, pues al mirarlos era como si te transportaran a un mundo diferente. Su mirada era profunda y misteriosa. Todo él era un misterio cautivador, una atracción que iba más allá del placer: era una escapatoria. Fue entonces, que Marta cerró sus ojos y de ellos se escapó una lágrima y se detuvo en medio del pasillo a llorar.

EI hombre se acercó a Marta y secando sus lágrimas le dijo, “Me gusta cuando lloras, porque me das la oportunidad de consolarte. Me gusta cuando a mi te entregas y dejas que te acaricie la espalda. No me niegues tu corazón, sabes que ya me pertenece.”

Él sonrió, ella se marchó y se encerró en su cuarto. Se tiró en su cama y lloró hasta quedarse dormida. Al despertar notó que aún vestía la ropa del día anterior, y estaba sola en su cama. Tomó un baño y se dirigió a la cocina para tomar una taza de café. Se sentó a la mesa a disfrutar de su desayuno cuando su mirada se perdió en el paisaje que se podía disfrutar desde la gran ventana de su comedor. Percibió la presencia de alguien, al mirar a la sala vio al hombre parado frente a la puerta de cristal, quien le miraba con ternura desde el otro lado. Sintió deseos de gritarle que se marchara y la dejara en paz, pero antes de que pudiera hacerlo un carro subía por la cuesta de su casa. Se levantó rápidamente y se asomó por la ventana. Era Ramón, su marido, que llegaba a su casa.

Marta de un brinco se asomó a la sala para ver si el hombre aún permanecía en el balcón, pero había desaparecido. Se asomó a las escaleras para ver si permanecía allí, pero no encontró a nadie. Entró rápidamente a la casa y recogió los platos de la mesa para lavarlos. Ramón entró y escuchando ruido en la cocina se dirigió a ella. Saludo a Marta y la besó, ella le preguntó un poco nerviosa, “¿Deseas que te prepare el desayuno?”

“Sí,” contestó Ramón. “Voy a tomar una ducha y me voy a cambiar que voy a salir de nuevo. Te voy a dejar una camisa para que me la planches.”

Ramón se dio cuenta que había algo extraño en Marta. “¿Estás bien Te noto un poco nerviosa.”

En un corto silencio Marta pensó en lo que iba a contestar, como si ella tuviera algo que ocultar. Continúo lavando los platos y finalmente dijo mas calmada, “Nada, estoy bien.”

Luego le miró y sonrió como si la pregunta nunca hubiese sido hecha. Ramón se retiró para ducharse y cambiarse. Marta preparo el desayuno, lo sirvió y fue a su cuarto a buscar la camisa que iba a planchar. Su esposo comenzó a hablarle del trabajo y la política. Marta contestaba asintiendo la cabeza o haciendo la pregunta común para continuar con la conversación. Al terminar Ramón de vestirse, desayunó y dándole un beso a su esposa se marchó dejándola sola, nuevamente.

Encima de la cama estaban tirados la camisa y el pantalón de Ramón. Marta cogió la camisa y se dio cuenta de un aroma particular. Perfume de mujer emanaba de la camisa azul de su marido, Marta se sentó en el borde de la cama y suspiró. Sabía de donde provenía el perfume, su esposo había pasado la noche con su otra mujer. Marta notó que rastros de la cabellera rubia de la otra quedaban en la camisa. Un cabello largo de color rubio, no era uno de sus cabellos porque, aunque era rubia, su cabellera era corta. Tomo el pantalón crema junto con la camisa y los puso en la cesta de la ropa sucia.

Ya no valía la pena gritar o molestarse, estaba acostumbrada y a veces ni le importaba. Aún lo amaba. No como al principio de su relación, pero lo amaba a su manera como Ramón le amaba a ella. Una vez pensó en divorciarse, pero todo quedo en nada. Palabras fuertes se escucharon por toda la blanca casa. Moretones quedaron marcados en su piel por la forma en que Ramón le sujeto los brazos. El tiempo se encargó en borrar los moretones en su piel y de enviar al olvido los pensamientos de divorcio.

Al salir de la recamara notó que al final del pasillo estaba nuevamente el hombre. Marta bajó su rostro y comenzó a caminar como si no le hubiera visto. El hombre dijo, “Ahora recurres por ignorarme. Sabes que eso ya no funciona entre los dos. ¿Por qué no me hablas como lo hiciste ayer?” Le preguntó a Marta tiernamente.

Marta se detuvo, le miró a los ojos y contestó fríamente, “No tengo nada que decir hoy.”

“¿Vas a mantenerte en silencio todo el día Estarás sola hasta el anochecer, nadie vendrá a verte. Por lo menos no hoy y no es hasta mañana que irás a visitar a tus hermanos y a tu madre.”

“¡Calla!” Exclamó enojada. “Para eso vienes, a mortificar mi pobre existencia.”

“No,” contestó él, luego sonrió y dijo. “Para consolar tus penas y amarte más.”

El rostro de Marta cambió y sus labios se entreabrieron. No sabía que decir, estaba vulnerable a tal declaración. El hombre continúo, “No te preocupes por contestar. Mis palabras son fuertes para ti, pero de algo estoy seguro.”

Hubo un corto silencio entre ambos. Él se fue acercando lentamente a Marta, tomó su mano y comenzaron a caminar hacia el balcón. Marta temblorosa le miraba confundida sin saber que decir o pensar. Deseaba saber que quería él con ella. Finalmente, él dijo, “Estaba seguro que sabías que te amo. Lo se por tus miradas, por tus roces en el pasillo y por la forma en que te enojas y lloras cuando estas a mi lado. Lo haces para que te consuele. Deseas en lo más íntimo de tu alma atormentada, que te lleve lejos de este lugar.”

Frente a ella estaba un barranco, un abismo profundo, y junto a él descansaba la blanca casa de Marta. Aquella con la cual soñó toda su vida. El risco era profundo y terminaba al pie de un verdoso valle lleno de frondosos árboles. Flamboyanes de flores anaranjadas que pintaban pintorescamente el valle. Marta entonces preguntó, sin dejar de contemplar el profundo abismo, “¿A dónde me llevarías ¿Que lugar en este mundo me puede hacer olvidar mi pena?”

“Mi hogar,” contestó el hombre lleno de orgullo.

“¿En tu hogar puedo olvidar la muerte de mis hijos ¿La forma en que su sangre bañaba el negro pavimento ¿Puedo yo olvidar en tu hogar la forma en que sus cuerpos yacían fríos sin yo poder recogerles y ponerles a descansar en sus camas#8221;

Mirándole continúo, “Mi angustia de no poder abrazarles por qué no me permitían tocarles. ¿Tú me harás olvidar mi pena ¿Sacarás de mi corazón estas dos espadas que tengo clavadas No.

“Mas me ofreces tu amor para que yo pueda olvidar. No hay amor en este mundo que me haga olvidar mi pena. Solo el de ver a mis hijos vivos, llenos de vida y con un final feliz. Ese es el amor que espero. El de mis hijos a mi lado.”

“Ya no puedes dar marcha atrás. No puedes borrar o rehacer lo que ya está hecho,” contestó él. “Más yo te ofrezco una vida sin penas llena de mi amor. Sin recuerdos, ni torturas al alma. ¿Por qué ahora que te ofrezco todo no lo deseas Si me lo pediste tantas veces.”

“Nunca te pedí nada. No fue hasta ayer que te dirigí la palabra por vez primera,” contestó Marta.

“He estado contigo toda la vida.”

Marta estaba confundida con esas palabras, no entendía lo quería decir.

“De Ramón. El día en que lo conociste yo estaba frente a ti admirando la belleza de tus negros ojos,” al decir esto rozó el rostro de Marta. Una lágrima bajó por la mejilla de ella.

“¡Eran tus ojos los que yo miraba!” contestó Marta desconcertada. Comenzaba a comprender tantas cosas en su vida. Aquel día ella se sentía sola con una angustia en su corazón. Marta no había comprendido el porqué de ese sentimiento que la consumió por tanto días, hasta que conoció a Ramón. Cuando le conoció sus sentimientos de soledad cambiaron, y pensó que Ramón era la persona que la acompañaría el resto de su vida. El tiempo le enseñó lo equivocada que estaba. Cuando sus hijos nacieron perdió todo sentimiento de soledad, estaba completa. Hasta que les perdió y esos sentimientos resurgieron y fue cuando se dio cuenta de la presencia de ese hombre en su vida.

“Por eso te ame desde ese día, pero tus sentimientos se vieron confundidos y amaste a Ramón y no a mi. Más me veías pasar a tu lado, perderme en tu mirada y me ignorabas. Sabía que tu vida con Ramón no sería un cuento de hadas. Su familia te escondió tantas cosas que al final las aceptaste, y te conformaste con tu destino. Es contigo y para ti que vivo. Es en tu soledad que existo y en ella me apasiono por ti.”

Marta le miro estupefacta, comenzaba a comprender por vez primera su destino, su vida. Un abismo profundo en su ser inundaba su alma, y una angustia que no podía contener explotaba dentro de ella.

“Quédate conmigo por el resto de tus días. Seré tu consuelo, nos perderemos en el paisaje que siempre admiramos juntos desde este balcón,” le propuso el hombre mientras tomaba sus manos entre las suyas.

Marta imaginó su vida sentada junto a él en el balcón de su blanca casa. Ella recostando su cabeza en su hombro, viendo pasar los años y con ellos cómo cambia su cabello y su cutis. Deleitándose en el silencio del campo y la brisa matutina sin que ninguna tuviera un significado para ella. Unos ojos negros perdidos en el olvido. Sin decir palabra. sin vida. Comprendió su destino y sonrió. Se acercó a él y acarició su rostro, le beso tiernamente y le abrazo con amor.

“Iba a preguntarte tu nombre, pero ya no tiene sentido. Te dan tantos. Eres el amante perfecto para una mujer en soledad. Me amas porque conseguiste en mí una compañera. Somos tal para cual, tú y yo. Un par de solitarios buscando compañía en un mundo sin compasión, en especial, de los seres que uno le ha entregado tanto amor. Te agradezco tanto amor hacia mí, pero no puedo quedarme contigo.”

El hombre anonadado esperaba otra contestación, pero antes de que pudiera decir palabra alguna Marta le interrumpió, y dijo, “No digas nada, será más difícil para ti que para mi decir adiós, pero te voy a pedir algo.”

“Lo que sea,” le contesto él acercándose a ella.

“Un beso.”

Él sonrió tiernamente, sus rostros se acercaron y la beso apasionadamente.

Marta le miró tiernamente y se perdió en sus ojos. Él no dejaba de mirar los suyos, que estaban llenos de lágrimas. A un gesto de Marta, él la ayudó a sentarse en la baranda del balcón y le beso la mano.

“¿Estás segura que esto es lo que deseas hacer?” le preguntó a Marta.

“Si,” contestó ella con una sonrisa. “Es mejor, que vivir muerta.”

El hombre gritando fuertemente cerró sus ojos, y lo único que vio fue oscuridad al llenarse nuevamente su existencia de soledad. Marta encontró su paz en el verdoso valle al final del profundo abismo, entre los brazos de los pintorescos flamboyanes anaranjados.

Historias

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