loneliness

 

 

Loneliness.Loneliness

 In the dark night
the wind whispers
grief
A solitary star
stands out in the night,
it takes the shape
of a crystal tear.
It reflects with melancholy
the withered longing.

The world is cold
and words fade away
but in the infinite sky
the light persists
of an eternal love
that did not fade.
It shines in the darkness
sustained by hope
of a new dawn
that prolongs its sadness.

Soledad

 Soledad.Soledad.

En la noche oscura
susurra el viento
la aflicción
Una estrella solitaria
destaca en la noche,
tiene forma
de lagrima de cristal.
Refleja con melancolía
el anhelo marchito.

El mundo es frio
y las palabras se desvanecen
pero en el cielo infinito
la luz persiste
de un amor eterno
que no se desvaneció.
Brilla en la tinieblas
sostenido en la esperanza
de un nuevo amanecer
que alarga su tristeza.

Land

Land

 

 I open this book that was once read,
And within it, I find
A flower that has withered,
And I remember all of it.

In the springtime of our days,
When friends
Walked as brothers,
Step by step,
Paving the way in life.

We could be anything,
And yet we weren't quite there.
But now, in the winter,
I see those who were left behind,
And I no longer recognize myself
Next to them.

When this book closes,
I will walk with sure steps
To sleep eternally
In the house of all.

Where everything began,
And perhaps could return to be

Tierra

Abro este libro que se leyó

y dentro encuentro

una flor que se secó

y me recuerdo de todo ello

En  la primavera de nuestros días

cuando los amigos 

caminamos como hermanos

paso tras un paso

abriendo camino en la vida

Todo podíamos ser

y aún no eramos

pero ahora en el invierno

veo los que quedaron

atrás

y ya no me reconozco 

al lado de ellos

cuando se cierre este libro

caminare con paso seguro

para dormir eternamente

en la casa de todos.

Donde todo comenzó 

y tal vez pueda volver a ser.

 

primavera

La verde hierba mostraba el color verde brillante, cargado de vida, de la primavera. El sol pegaba encima de nuestros cuerpos acostados en la hierba, cercanas a unos enebros, verde oscuro, que imprimían su olor en el ambiente. Un poco más apartado, detrás nuestra, había un muro de piedras y barro, cubierto de hiedra. Recién había comenzado la primavera y estábamos llenas de vitalidad contenida antes de llenarse todo de flores.
Desde allí espiábamos a los chicos que estaban en clases de gimnasia, en el otro extremo del campo de fútbol; el campo de fútbol estaba bordado por una pista de carreras con el suelo de tierra roja .
Veíamos a los chicos saltar y bracear con sus pantalones cortos azules y sus camisetas sudorosas. Las demás chicas de la clase, estaban apartadas, sentadas en los bancos de cemento de un campo de tenis; el suelo de la cancha estaba hecho con la misma tierra roja de la pista de correr. Según parecía eran restos de ladrillos defectuosos, triturados, convertidos en arena, que salían del horno de una vieja cerámica local.
Mientras mirabamos desde donde estabamos, Thelma hablaba.
  

    Thelma : - Bueno, pues yo tengo una amiga que tiene varios novios.
      Marise : - Eso no parece una amiga.
      Thelma : - La cosa es que sus dos mejores amigos se le confesaron por separado en secreto y como le cogió de sorpresa, ella le dijo en secreto que si a cada uno.
      Marise : - Nos están mirando.
      Thelma ( continua contando ) : - Y eso no es todo, porque con otro amigo que va a las mismas clases particulares que ella, este le pregunto también si quería salir y por un azar del destino también le dijo que si.
Marise: ¿ Y como pudo ser eso ?.
      Thelma : - Fue sin querer.
      Marise (haciendo señal para los chicos que están en el otro extremo del campo ) : - Mira, mira, parece que el capitán del equipo de fúltbol mira para nosotras.
      Thelma : - Desde allí no puede vernos.
       Marise : - Igual sabe que estás aquí. Ese te tiene echado el ojo, que te mira bien el culo.
      Thelma: - Que asqueroso con lo mal que huele culo. Pues a mi que no se acerque.
      Marise :- Que si. Mira. ¿Ves como mira para nosotras ?.
      Thelma: - Imposible, desde allí no nos puede ver
      Marise : - Para mi que si, que está mirando para nosotras el capitán del equipo. Mira ahora como salta.
      Thelma: - No puede vernos, marise.
      Marise : - Pero viene hacia acá corriendo por la pista del campo de futbol.
      Thelma : - Se estará entrenando, que el fin de semana van jugar un partido de fútbol, fuera. Ya veras como gira y sigue corriendo por la pista.
Pero en vez de seguir por la pista alrededor del campo de fútbol y dar la vuelta, el capitán del equipo de fútbol siguió corriendo recto, en dirección hacia ellas.
      Marise : - Si no lo veo no lo creo. Mira, mira …. si que viene hacia nosotras.
      Thelma : - ¿Y tu que crees que nos querrá ?
      Marise : Pues querrá pedir de salir por la tarde. Podemos hacer como tu amiga y ser cada una su novia.
      Thelma : - ¿Salir con las dos ?. Pues menuda osadía.
      Marise ( sonriendo ) : - Pues ya veras que nos dice.
      Thelma : - Pero, es que yo aún no sé siquiera, si quiero ser mujer.
      Marise : -¿Y que quieres ser entonces?
      Thelma ( dudando) : - Quiero ser un chico.
      Marise : Seas lo que seas, te prometo que yo siempre seré tu mejor amiga.
 

Al llegar junto a donde estábamos, el capitán del equipo de fútbol se plantó frente a nosotras con las manos en la caderas, y mirándonos fijamente nos dijo :
      
      El capitán del equipo : - !Thelma y marise ¡. Dice el profesor de gimnasia que dejéis de estar escondidas en la hierba, espiando a los niños, y que si no teneis clases, os pongáis a correr en la pista, alrededor del campo de fútbol hasta que deis veinte vueltas.
Thelma y Marise, se levantaron de la hierba y después de darse un beso y enseñarle las dos la lengua al capitán del equipo, cogidas de la mano, se fueron a correr para dar las veinte vueltas a la pista de carreras, a su manera.
“ una, dos, ocho, trece, dieciséis, diecinueve y veinte “
Aquel día de primavera  nuestros cuerpos mostraban su esplendor antes de brotar y echar sus flores. Entonces no sabía que se veía mal que a las niñas les gustase leer libros, o llevar pantalones como los chicos, de saberlo hubiera disfrutado más de hacerlo.
mvf

Spring

 

The green grass displayed a bright green color, full of life, of spring. The sun beat down on our bodies lying on the grass, near some dark green junipers, imparting their scent into the air. A little further away, behind us, there was a wall of stones and mud, covered in ivy. Spring had just begun and we were filled with contained vitality before everything burst into bloom.

From there, we spied on the boys who were in gym class, at the other end of the soccer field; the soccer field was bordered by a running track with red dirt flooring.

We watched the boys jump and swing their arms in their blue shorts and sweaty shirts. The other girls from the class were sitting on the cement benches of a tennis court; the court floor was made with the same red dirt as the running track. It seemed to be leftovers from defective bricks, crushed, turned into sand, coming from the kiln of an old local ceramic factory.

While we watched from where we were, Thelma spoke.

Thelma: - Well, I have a friend who has several boyfriends.

 Marise: - That doesn't sound like a friend.

 Thelma: - The thing is, her two best friends confessed to her separately in secret, and since it caught her by surprise, she secretly said yes to each one. 

Marise: - They're looking at us. 

Thelma (continues telling): - And that's not all because another friend who goes to the same private lessons as her also asked her out, and by some twist of fate, she also said yes to him.

Marise: How could that happen?

Thelma: - It was unintentional. 

Marise (pointing to the boys at the other end of the field): - Look, look, it seems like the captain of the soccer team is looking at us. 

Thelma: - He can't see us from there.

Marise: - He definitely knows you're here. He's checking out your butt. 

Thelma: - That's disgusting, considering how bad butts smell. He better not come near me. 

Marise: - He is. Look. See how he's looking at us? 

Thelma: - Impossible, he can't see us from there. 

Marise: - But he's running towards us along the soccer field track.

Thelma: - He's probably just training since they have a soccer match this weekend. You'll see, he'll turn and keep running along the track.

But instead of continuing along the track around the soccer field and turning, the captain of the soccer team kept running straight towards them.

Marise: - Seeing is believing. Look, look... he is coming towards us. 

Thelma: - What do you think he wants from us?

Marise: - Probably wants to ask us out for the afternoon. We can do like your friend and be each his girlfriend. 

Thelma: - With both of us? That's quite audacious. Marise (smiling): - Well, let's see what he says.

Thelma: - But I still don't even know if I want to be a woman.

Marise: - Then what do you want to be? Thelma (hesitating): - I want to be a boy. Marise: - Whatever you are, I promise I'll always be your best friend.

When we arrived next to where we were, the captain of the soccer team stood in front of us with his hands on his hips, and looking at us intently he said:

The captain of the team: - Thelma and Marise! The gym teacher says to stop hiding in the grass, spying on the boys, and if you don't have class, start running on the track around the soccer field until you've done twenty laps.

Thelma and Marise got up from the grass and after giving each other a kiss and sticking their tongues out at the captain of the team, holding hands, they went to run to complete the twenty laps on the racetrack, in their own way.

"one, two, eight, thirteen, sixteen, nineteen, and twenty"

That spring day, our bodies displayed their splendor before bursting into bloom and bearing flowers. Back then, I didn't know it was frowned upon for girls to like reading books or wearing pants like boys. If I had known, I would have enjoyed doing it even more.

 

 

mvf

 

el parroco de Menciños

 

Don Manuel, el antiguo párroco, era un hombre de fe y sabiduría, que dedicó su vida a servir a su comunidad. Había llegado a Menciños en la década de los setenta y durante cuarenta años ejerció su labor pastoral en la comarca, enseñando la fe y proporcionando guía espiritual y consuelo en momentos de aflicción, a las mujeres solteras y viudas de la parroquia. Con el beneplácito y conocimiento del arzobispado, de Santiago, que no veía con buenos ojos que su rebaño disminuyese. Ahora, jubilado, vivía sus últimos días en una casa antigua y sencilla ubicada en el centro del pueblo, con los recuerdos acumulados durante sus años en la parroquia; y la existencia de telarañas tejidas en las paredes y ventanas, que desafiaban cualquier intento de limpieza que pretendiese hacerlas desaparecer. 

 Don Manuel tuvo con una viuda del pueblo un sobrino juerguista e irresponsable llamado Juanito, quien siempre estaba buscando la manera de sorprender a su querido tío-padre. Juanito nunca quiso estudiar, ni seguir los pasos de su tío, en el cuidado del rebaño de la parroquia.

 Una mañana, Juanito se despertó con un pensamiento especial: recordó que su amado tío había nacido un veintinueve de febrero. Consciente de que con su avanzada edad, tal vez el próximo año bisiesto, no estuviera presente, decidió que este año, bisiesto, sería el momento perfecto para celebrar su cumpleaños de una manera única y memorable. Y para ello pensó en hacerle un regalo muy especial que sirviera de homenaje a su larga trayectoria de párroco, y a la vez mostrara el cariño y la admiración que sentía por su tío-padre.

Ese mismo día, por la tarde, Juanito se dirigió al bar de alterne ubicado en las afueras del pueblo. Y con determinación, pagó a dos mujeres rubias, ya pasadas la primavera, y les dio la dirección de la casa de su tío para que fueran hacer una limpieza del polvo que se acumulaba en sus rincones.

 Don Manuel se encontraba sentado en su antiguo sillón, observando con ternura los libros que fueran sus compañeros durante tantos años, y al abrir uno de ellos se encontró un trozo de billete de un concierto -¡Tío, tío! ¡Tengo una idea fantástica para sorprenderte!", recordó a su sobrino exclamando con entusiasmo, mientras sacudía un sobre frente a él. Dentro venían dos boletos para un concierto de música clásica, uno de los géneros favoritos del anciano - Juanito, esto es maravilloso, le vino a la memoria, con una sonrisa, mientras recordaba el abrazo a su sobrino, y su corazón llenó de emoción y gratitud hacia su travieso sobrino. Cuando Lola y Rosa, las dos mujeres contratadas, se presentaron en la puerta de la casa, y con un suave golpeteo en la puerta, anunciaron su llegada; llevaban una sonrisa amable en el rostro y un aura de energía positivas, listas para brindar su ayuda y hacer la vida del hombre por el que les habían pagado, un poco más fácil y agradable. Don Manuel, escuchó que alguien golpeaba inesperadamente en la puerta de entrada de su casa y se levantó para ver quien era, y al vislumbrar a través de la mirilla a las dos mujeres rubias sonrientes, pintadas y desconocidas, se llenó de temor creyendo que las mujeres que llamaban a la puerta, se trataba de ladrones intentando irrumpir en su hogar. Sin detenerse a reflexionar, se dio media vuelta y corrió hacia su habitación, donde aseguró la puerta con llave y se preparó mentalmente para enfrentar lo que creía sería un peligro inminente. Mientras tanto, Lola y Rosa, confundidas y un tanto desconcertadas por la falta de respuesta, llamaron a Juanito, para decirles que nadie les abría la puerta, y este rápidamente se puso en contacto con su tío-padre para explicarle la situación y calmar sus temores. Con un tono tranquilizador, le aseguró que las mujeres no eran ladronas, sino dos enfermeras enviadas para asistirle. Después de una breve conversación por teléfono, Don Manuel salió de su habitación para abrir la puerta. Con gestos de disculpa y algo de vergüenza por su malentendido, condujo a las mujeres al salón de la casa, donde las invitó a tomar asiento en los sillones mientras él se ofrecía a prepararles algo para beber. Don Manuel: - ¡Mis disculpas, señoritas. Ha sido un malentendido. Mi sobrino me ha informado de su llegada. Por favor, tomen asiento mientras les preparo un café! Lola: - No se preocupe, señor Manuel. Entendemos su preocupación. Estamos aquí para ayudarle en lo que necesite. Rosa: - Sí, estamos aquí para brindarle asistencia. ¿Hay algo en particular que necesite que hagamos?

 Don Manuel, mientras preparaba el café, se debatía en su interior, por lo que había pasado y al final se convenció de que las mujeres eran parte de un plan, urdido por su sobrino, para llevarlo a una residencia de ancianos.

 Don Manuel (pensando para sí mismo): - ¡Estas mujeres dicen ser enfermeras, pero estoy seguro de que vienen para llevarme a una residencia. No caeré en su trampa, debo estar alerta!.

Con esta idea en mente, Don Manuel continuó preparando el café, decidido a mantenerse firme en su posición. Y no dejarse engañar por lo que creía era un artimaña.

Pero cuando regresó con el café preparado, se encontró que las dos mujeres se habían quitado la ropa y estaban en el sofá, esperándole desnudas como habían venido al mundo. Don Manuel (sorprendido):

 

 - ¡Oh, dios mío! ¿Qué están haciendo? ¡Pónganse algo de ropa inmediatamente!

Lola (con una sonrisa traviesa): - Oh, señor Manuel, estábamos tratando de relajar el ambiente. Pensamos que así será más fácil limpiarle el polvo.

Rosa (asintiendo): -Sí, solo queríamos hacerle sentir cómodo y relajado en su hogar. Antes de empezar nuestro trabajo. 

Pero el pensamiento de Don Manuel se ofusco con la situación y creyó verdaderamente que las dos rubias insinuantes eran arpías como las que se veían en las películas de terror. Que quien había llamado por teléfono no era su sobrino, sino lucifer que le había engañado para que abriese la puerta y dejase entrar a estas dos mujeres para conducir su alma al infierno. Así que soltó la bandeja, dejándola caer al suelo con los cafés, y huyó al piso de arriba para encerrarse en el cuarto de baño. Las dos mujeres fueron detrás de él y petando en la puerta del baño, le rogaron que les abriese y las dejase entrar. - Abre la puerta y vamos al dormitorio que te vamos a untar de mantequilla. pero Don Manuel se metió en la bañera y se encerró con las cortinas para no oírlas y al final para no oír sus voces abrió los grifos de la bañera y a poco más muere de una hipotermia si no llega a aparecer su sobrino por la casa, con unas botellas de champan para participar en la fiesta.

 

Rosa (asintiendo): -Sí, solo queríamos hacerle sentir cómodo y relajado en su hogar."

Don Manuel (incierto): - Pero esto es completamente inapropiado. No puedo permitir este tipo de comportamientos ocurran en mi casa. Este tipo de cosas no está bien visto.

Lola (acercándose): Sentimos si le hemos hecho sentir incómodo, señor Manuel. Solo queríamos ser amables y brindarle un momento agradable. 

Rosa (asintiendo): -Sí, no queríamos ofenderle de ninguna manera. ¿Puede perdonarnos?"

 Don Manuel (algo desconcertado): - Bueno, supongo que no hubo daño real. Pero por favor, pónganse algo de ropa. Mientras mi sobrino acaba de hacer café. 

 

 Con el tiempo, Don Manuel partió de este mundo, dejando atrás un legado de amor y servicio que perduraría muchos años después de su partida. Pero su espíritu vivía en el corazón de Juanito, quien continuó el legado de su tío-padre, llevando consigo su sabiduría y su ejemplo a cada viuda y soltera de la parroquia en su propio camino de servicio y compasión hacia los demás. 

 

mvf.

the parish of Menciños

Don Manuel, the former parish priest, was a man of faith and wisdom, who dedicated his life to serving his community. He had arrived in Menciños in the seventies and for forty years had served as a pastor in the region, teaching faith and providing spiritual guidance and comfort in times of affliction to the unmarried and widowed women of the parish. With the blessing and knowledge of the archbishopric of Santiago, who did not look kindly on seeing his flock diminish.

 Now retired, he spent his last days in an old and simple house located in the center of the village, with memories accumulated during his years in the parish; and the existence of cobwebs woven on the walls and windows, which defied any attempt at cleaning to make them disappear. Don Manuel had a nephew named Juanito, a partygoer and irresponsible man, with a widow from the village, who was always looking for ways to surprise his beloved uncle-father. Juanito never wanted to study or follow in his uncle's footsteps in caring for the parish flock.

One morning, Juanito woke up with a special thought: he remembered that his beloved uncle had been born on February twenty-ninth. Aware that with his advanced age, perhaps next leap year, he might not be present, he decided that this leap year would be the perfect time to celebrate his birthday in a unique and memorable way. And for that, he thought of giving him a very special gift that would serve as a tribute to his long career as a parish priest, and at the same time show the love and admiration he felt for his uncle-father.

That same afternoon, Juanito headed to the bar on the outskirts of the village. With determination, he paid two blond women, already past their prime, and gave them the address of his uncle's house to go and clean the dust that accumulated in its corners.

Don Manuel was sitting in his old armchair, tenderly observing the books that had been his companions for so many years, and as he opened one of them, he found a piece of a concert ticket.

"Uncle, uncle! I have a fantastic idea to surprise you!" he remembered his nephew exclaiming with enthusiasm, as he shook an envelope in front of him.

Inside were two tickets to a classical music concert, one of the old man's favorite genres.

"Juanito, this is wonderful," he remembered, with a smile, recalling the hug he gave his nephew, and his heart filled with emotion and gratitude towards his mischievous nephew.

When Lola and Rosa, the two hired women, arrived at the door of the house, and with a gentle tap on the door, announced their arrival; they wore a friendly smile on their faces and an aura of positive energy, ready to offer their help and make the life of the man they had been paid for a little easier and more pleasant.

Don Manuel heard someone unexpectedly knocking on the front door of his house and got up to see who it was, and as he glimpsed through the peephole the two smiling, painted, and unknown blond women, he was filled with fear, believing that the women knocking on the door were thieves trying to break into his home. Without stopping to think, he turned around and ran to his room, where he locked the door and mentally prepared himself to face what he believed would be imminent danger.

Meanwhile, Lola and Rosa, confused and somewhat bewildered by the lack of response, called Juanito to tell him that no one was opening the door, and he quickly contacted his uncle-father to explain the situation and calm his fears. In a reassuring tone, he assured him that the women were not thieves, but two nurses sent to assist him.

After a brief conversation on the phone, Don Manuel came out of his room to open the door. With gestures of apology and some embarrassment for his misunderstanding, he led the women into the living room of the house, where he invited them to sit on the armchairs while he offered to prepare them something to drink.

Don Manuel: - My apologies, ladies. It was a misunderstanding. My nephew has informed me of your arrival. Please, have a seat while I prepare some coffee for you!

Lola: - Don't worry, Mr. Manuel. We understand your concern. We're here to help you with anything you need.

Rosa: - Yes, we're here to provide assistance. Is there anything specific you need us to do?

Don Manuel, while preparing the coffee, debated within himself about what had happened, and in the end, he convinced himself that the women were part of a plan devised by his nephew to take him to a nursing home.

Don Manuel (thinking to himself): - These women claim to be nurses, but I'm sure they've come to take me to a nursing home. I won't fall into their trap; I must be alert!

With this idea in mind, Don Manuel continued preparing the coffee, determined to stand firm in his position and not be deceived by what he believed was a trick. But when he returned with the prepared coffee, he found that the two women had taken off their clothes and were sitting on the couch, waiting for him naked as they had come into the world.

Don Manuel (surprised): - Oh, my God! What are you doing? Please, put some clothes on immediately!

Lola (with a mischievous smile): - Oh, Mr. Manuel, we were trying to lighten the mood. We thought it would be easier to clean the dust this way.

Rosa (nodding): - Yes, we just wanted to make you feel comfortable and relaxed in your home before starting our work.

But Don Manuel's thoughts were clouded by the situation, and he truly believed that the two insinuating blondes were harpies like those seen in horror movies. He believed that the person who had called on the phone was not his nephew, but Lucifer, who had deceived him into opening the door and letting these two women in to lead his soul to hell.

So he dropped the tray, letting it fall to the floor with the coffees, and fled upstairs to lock himself in the bathroom.

The two women followed him, knocking on the bathroom door, begging him to open it and let them in.

"Open the door and let's go to the bedroom; we're going to butter you up," but Don Manuel got into the bathtub and locked himself in with the curtains so he wouldn't hear them, and in the end, to avoid hearing their voices, he turned on the bathtub faucets, and he would have died of hypothermia if his nephew hadn't appeared in the house with bottles of champagne to join the party.

Rosa (nodding): - Yes, we just wanted to make you feel comfortable and relaxed in your home."

Don Manuel (uncertain): - But this is completely inappropriate. I cannot allow this kind of behavior to occur in my house. This sort of thing is not looked upon favorably.

Lola (approaching): We're sorry if we made you feel uncomfortable, Mr. Manuel. We just wanted to be friendly and provide you with a pleasant moment.

Rosa (nodding): - Yes, we didn't mean to offend you in any way. Can you forgive us?"

Don Manuel (somewhat puzzled): - Well, I suppose there was no real harm done. But please, put some clothes on. Meanwhile, my nephew will finish making coffee."

With time, Don Manuel departed from this world, leaving behind a legacy of love and service that would endure for many years after his departure. But his spirit lived on in the heart of Juanito, who continued his uncle-father's legacy, carrying his wisdom and example to every widow and single woman of the parish in his own path of service and compassion towards others.

 

 mvf.

an unexpected meeting

Marise and her friends are sitting on one of the terrace along the promenade, enjoying some lemonades and horchatas. The sun shines on their faces, and a gentle summer breeze causes the leaves of the trees along the promenade to sway gracefully. Laura, with a determined expression on her face, interrupts the conversation to ask for more details about Marise's action plan.

Laura: Yes, but how exactly are we going to do it? - she asks after hearing Marise ask for their help in defending the trees along the promenade from being cut down.

Marise: With a determined gesture, she takes some chains out of her backpack and places them on the table. The metallic sound resonates in the quiet terrace, attracting the curious glances of other customers. She explains fervently how she plans to use the chains to chain herself to the trees marked for cutting, thus protecting them from their fate.

- Well, I brought these chains. We're going to chain ourselves to the base of the trees that are marked for felling.

Maria: looks at Marise with concern. The nearby tables are occupied by families enjoying the day, oblivious to the tension at Marise and her friends' table.

Maria: Excellent idea! That way they won't be able to cut the trees without having to deal with us first.

Pedro: raises his hand to be heard and intervene in the conversation - But we have to make sure nobody gets hurt. What if someone tries to cut the trees while we're there?

Marise: Don't worry, I've informed the media. And if they try to cut the trees with us there, it will be a scandal.

Laura: Let's go then! There's no time to lose. We need to protect our natural environment.

Everyone agrees to meet the next day at the promenade, by the riverbank, where the marked trees are. There they will meet Marise who will bring the chains to chain themselves to the trees and banners with slogans in defense of the environment.

Marise: (dialing the phone) Hello, Juan! Where are you guys?

Juan: Hi, Marise! How's the protest going?

Marise: Bad! I'm here alone in front of the trees and nobody has come yet. What happened?

Juan: I'm so sorry. We had some setbacks and I won't be able to make it on time.

Marise: (makes another phone call) Hello Pedro, I need you guys here with me. This is important for all of us. Can you come now?

Pedro: Yes, we got delayed more than we thought. But we're with you in spirit.

Marise: (dialing the phone again) Maria, I was counting on you to save the trees along the promenade... and nobody has come.

Maria: I'm really sorry, Marise, but we're far away and we can't make it right now.

Marise: We need to be together physically to make a difference. I'm disappointed that you're not here.

Maria: Don't worry, we'll be with you as soon as we can. Don't give up!

Marise: (dials the phone again)

Marise: Thank you, guys. I'll be waiting for you here as soon as possible.

After talking on the phone with her friends, Marise feels very disappointed but decides to continue with the protest, without their help.

(sighs) Alright. I'm here, ready to defend our trees, and I won't fail.

Marise chains herself to one of the trees with determination, ready to halt the felling of the trees, and raises her banner in defense of the environment, to make her voice heard despite the absence of her companions. But nobody shows up.

The sun beats down. It's noon and the sun is high. Only a rooster with his hens, from the backyard of some houses that face the river, appears around. The rooster struts around her, at a safe distance, menacingly, making sure she poses no threat.

And Marise, finally, falls asleep.

—Ha! They're probably laughing at us at the police station. They don't understand anything about our way of life, and they don't care that someone cares about the environment.

And amid these reflections, an unusual desire emerges: she sees herself chained with a love lock, a symbol of love as strong as a bridge, unable to be broken by anyone.

—Can you imagine, Wigfredo —Marise says with a conspiratorial smile—. We chain ourselves together and throw the key into the river! Nobody will ever separate us, she says in her dreams

Next to her is Wigfredo, perplexed by what is happening.

—Would you collaborate by signing this petition, We need to stop the felling of the trees. They are part of our history and our landscape —you won't let me down, Marise pleads, handing him a paper.

And finally, Wigfredo responds.

What are we doing here together, Marise?

And then they both realized they were in bed together.

They looked at each other, and she, smiling, asked:

- What are you doing here? How did you appear?

- I was going to ask you the same thing.

But then Marise said:

- Let's see, stories are written like this: You have a lollipop, and I want it for myself.

- What are you saying, Marise?

- I want to make love with you. I want you to enter me and empty yourself inside me.

Wigfredo was paralyzed, but these other words came out of his mouth uncontrollably:

Marise. With those white breasts, so beautiful you have. I would drown in those breasts if you let me.  Marise's body contoured like that of a velvet cat and she approached Wigfredo, seeking to receive his caresses; He was surprised by the softness of her skin, when he felt her contact, he let himself be carried away by the sensation and hypnotized, he began to gently caress her with his hand.

And then he kissed her on the neck, and his mouth slid over it. - What beautiful breasts you have. He said, as Marise's nipples began to get hard as she felt the passage of her tongue around them. -You're going to get very sick if you let me continue touching you. And he continued kissing her until he reached her navel. There the tongue traced soft circles, leaving a trace of warmth on her skin, while her belly rocked with the rhythm of her panting breathing. Then the mouth continued to no one knows where. What I was looking for. While she felt the fingers enter her interior to caress her in a more intimate way. With the caresses Marise began to feel contractions under her belly. and with an explosion of pleasure and fear he exclaimed. - My God, what are you doing to me. Keep going, it's so beautiful. Marise was then ready, stretched out on the bed and opened her legs so that he could enter her. The two reached an ecstasy that overflowed in a wave of emotions. And she hugged him tightly, feeling him tremble in her arms as he poured himself into her. When it was all over they stayed next to each other, then the two separated to sleep; And before turning off the light, Marise looked at her bewildered lover and said: - Will you be there tomorrow, next to me, or are you a dream so stupid that you will disappear when you wake up? When the morning light returned, it broke the spell and Marise was no longer by my side. I kept thinking about the strange dream, and something wet on my legs reminded me of the intensity of the experience. He had ejaculated during the night and the sheets were wet with semen.

   

 

- Have we not created a sexist story here?
- Don't worry, this story isn't made by Wigfredo, but by Marise.

- What do you mean by that, Marise?
- I mean that it's not sexism for men to say they enjoy having sexual relations with women. What is sexist is that women can't express our enjoyment of sex without being judged as promiscuous.

 

 

mvf.

.

un encuentro inesperado

Marise y sus amigos están sentados, en una de las terrazas del paseo, tomando unas limonadas y unas horchatas. El sol brilla sobre sus rostros, y una suave brisa veraniega hace que las hojas de los árboles del paseo se balanceen con gracia. Laura, con una expresión de determinación en su rostro, interrumpe la conversación para pedir más detalles sobre el plan de acción de Marise.

Laura: Sí, pero ¿cómo vamos a hacerlo exactamente? - pregunta después de oir a Marise pedirles que le ayuden a defender los arboles del paseo del malecón.

Marise: Con gesto decidido, saca unas cadenas de su mochila y las coloca sobre la mesa. El sonido metálico resuena en la tranquila terraza, atrayendo las miradas curiosas de otros clientes. Explica con fervor cómo planea utilizar las cadenas para encadenarse a los árboles marcados para la tala, protegiéndolos así de su destino

- Bueno, traigo estas cadenas. Nos vamos a encadenar al pie de los árboles que están marcados para ser talados.

María: mira a Marise con preocupación. Las mesas cercanas están ocupadas por familias que disfrutan del día, ajenas a la tensión en la mesa de Marise y sus amigos.

María: ¡Excelente idea! Así no podrán cortar los arboles, sin antes tener que lidiar con nosotros.

Pedro: levanta su mano para ser oído e intervenir en la conversación - Pero tenemos que estar seguros de que nadie se lastime. ¿Y si alguien intenta cortar los árboles mientras estamos allí?

Marise: No te preocupes, estuve informado a los medios de comunicación Y si intentan cortar los árboles con nosotros allí, será un escándalo.

Laura: ¡Vamos entonces! No hay tiempo que perder. Necesitamos proteger nuestro entorno natural.

Todos acuerdan reunirse al día siguiente, en el paseo del malecón, en la ribera del rio, donde están los árboles marcados. Allí se encontraran con Marisé que llevará las cadenas para encadenarse a los arboles y las pancartas con consignas en defensa del medio ambiente.

Marise: (marcando el teléfono) ¡Hola, Juan! ¿Dónde están?

Juan: ¡Hola, Marise! ¿Cómo va la protesta?

Marise: ¡Mal! Estoy aquí sola frente a los árboles y aún no vino nadie. ¿Qué pasó?

Juan: Lo siento mucho. Tuvimos algunos contratiempos y no voy a llegar a tiempo.

Marise: ( hace otra llamada telefónica) Hola Pedro, Necesito que estén aquí conmigo. Esto es importante para todos nosotros. ¿Pueden venir ahora?

Pedro: Sí, nos demoramos más de lo que pensábamos. Pero estamos contigo en espíritu.

Marise: (marcando de nuevo el teléfono) María, contaba contigo para salvar los arboles del malécon... y aquí no ha venido nadie.

María: Lo siento mucho, Marise pero estamos lejos y no podemos llegar en este momento.

Marise: Necesitamos estar juntos físicamente para hacer una diferencia. Estoy decepcionada de que no estén aquí.

María: No te preocupes, estaremos contigo en cuanto podamos. ¡No te rindas!

Marise: ( de nuevo marca el teléfono)

Marise: Gracias, chicos. Los espero aquí lo antes posible.

Después de hablar por teléfono con sus amigos Marise se siente muy decepcionada pero decide seguir adelante con la protesta, sin contar con la ayuda de ellos.

(suspira) Está bien. Estoy aquí, preparada para defender nuestros árboles, y yo no voy a fallar.


Marise se encadena a uno de los árboles con determinación, dispuesta a paralizar la tala de los arboles, y levanta su pancarta en defensa del medio ambiente, para hacer oír su voz a pesar de la ausencia de sus compañeros. Pero por allí no aparece nadie.

El sol pega. Son las doce del medio día y el sol está en lo alto. solo un gallo con su corte, del corral de algunas de las casa que dan por su parte trasera al rio, aparece por allí. El gallo se pasea alrededor de ella, a cierta distancia, amenazante, asegurándose de que no significase ningún peligro para ella.

Y Marise, fianalmente se queda dormida.

—¡Ja! Seguro que se están riendo de nosotros en la comisaría. No entienden nada de nuestra forma de vida ni les importa nada que alguien se preocupe por el medio ambiente.

Y entre estas reflexiones, se asoma un deseo inusual: y se ve encadenada un candado de amor, un símbolo de amor tan fuerte como un puente, incapaz de ser roto por nadie.

—¿Te imaginas, wigfredo —dice marise con una sonrisa cómplice—. ¡Nos encadenamos juntos y tiramos la llave al río! Nadie nos separará nunca, dice ella en sus sueños

Al lado de ella está wigfredo, perplejo de lo que está ocurriendo.

—¿Colaborarías firmando esta petición, Necesitamos detener la tala de los árboles. Son parte de nuestra historia y nuestro paisaje —no me iras a fallar tu, suplicó Marise extendiéndole un papel.

y finalmente wigfredo le responde.

- ¿Que hacemos aquí juntos, Marise?

Y entonces se dieron cuenta de que estaban los dos en la cama

Se miraron y ella, sonriente, preguntó:

-¿Que haces tu aquí?.¿Como has aparecido?

- Eso mismo pregunto yo.

Pero entonces Marise dijo:


- A ver , estas historias se escriben así: !Tu tienes una piruleta y yo la quiero para mi

-¿Pero que dices. Marise?.

- Quiero hacer el amor contigo, quiero que te introduzcas dentro de mi y te vacíes en mi interior.

Wigfredo se quedó paralizado pero de su boca salieron estás otras palabras sin poder evitarlas:


Marise. Con esos pechos blancos, tan hermosos que tienes. Me ahogaría en esos pechos si tu me dejases.

El cuerpo de Marise se contorneó como el de una gata terciopelada y se acercó junto a wigfredo, buscando recibir sus caricias; este sorprendido por la suavidad de su piel, cuando sintió su contacto, se dejó llevar por la sensación e hipnotizado empezó a acariciarla suavemente con su mano.

Y entonces la besó en el cuello y su boca se deslizó por ella.

- Que pechos más hermosos tienes. Dijo, mientras los pezones de Marise empezaban a ponerse duros al sentir el paso de la lengua alrededor de ellos.

-Te vas a poner muy mala, si me dejas seguir tocándote.

Y continuó besándola hasta llegar a su ombligo. Allí la lengua trazó círculos suaves, dejando un rastro de tibieza en su piel, mientras el vientre se mecía con el ritmo de la respiración jadeante.

Después la boca continuó no se sabe a donde. Que buscaba. Mientras sentía que los dedos se introducían en su interior para acariciarla de una manera más intima.

Con las caricias Marise empezó a sentir contracciones, bajo su barriga. y con una explosión de placer y miedo exclamó. - Dios mio, que me estás haciendo. Sigue, es tan hermoso.

Marise, entonces estaba apunto, se estiró sobre la cama y abrió sus piernas para que entrase dentro de ella. Los dos llegaron a un éxtasis que se desbordó en una oleada de emociones. Y lo abrazó fuertemente, sintiéndolo estremecerse entre sus brazos, cuando se vertía en ella.

Cuando todo terminó quedaron uno junto al otro, después los dos se separaron para dormir; y antes de apagar la luz, Marise, miró para su desconcertado amante y le dijo: - ¿estarás ahí mañana, junto a mí, o eres un sueño tan estúpido que desaparecerás al despertar?

Cuando la luz de la mañana regresó, rompió el encanto y marise ya no estaba a mi lado.

Quede pensando en el extraño sueño, y algo húmedo en mis piernas me hizo recordaba la intensidad de la experiencia. Había eyaculado durante la noche y las sabanas estaban mojadas de semen.

 

 

- ¿No habremos creado una historia machista aquí?

- No te preocupes, esta historia no la hace Wigfredo, sino Marise.

- ¿Qué quieres decir con eso, Marise?

- Quiero decir que no es machismo que los hombres digan que les gusta tener relaciones sexuales con las mujeres. Lo que es machismo es que las mujeres no podamos expresar nuestro gusto por el sexo sin ser juzgadas como promiscuas.

mvf.

The green of my land

 

The green of my land

 

I have a palette

of colors from my land:

Forest green, chestnut green, pine green

Hidden

with stone houses

and red tiles

From here I see

a village against a green backdrop.

Spring green, apple green, grass green

and a wide river

gliding

majestic and opulent

among mountains

of green slopes.

Moss green, ivy green, hope green

Playful green

running everywhere.

Almond green, mint green, the green of some eyes

And if you think there's any green

missing from me,

it's because the green of my land

hides like a child

to greet you

with the joy of surprise

when you meet

in my green Galicia.

 

 

mvf.

Next to the sky

 

Next to the sky
there's a hidden house

At the entrance
a wooden rocking

Inside

an empty bed
and the scent of our bodies
amidst white sheets.
From the window you can see
a garden of lilies
An almond tree yearning to blossom.
and a line that connects
the sky with the earth
and the shadow of a nightingale
singing beneath the rainbow.

love
we will be together
someday
even if tears
well up in our eyes
for what lives
unable to be
We will kiss

watching the sun set
and we will surrender
to our desire
under the Moon 

Next to the sky there is
a hidden house
and a wooden rocking chair
beneath the shade of a white alder
in our twilight.

 

 

 

mvf

El verde de mi tierra

El verde de mi tierra

 

Tengo una paleta

 de colores de mi tierra:

Verde bosque, verde castaño, verde pino

  Escondido 

con casas de piedra 

y tejas rojas

 Desde aquí veo

un pueblo sobre fondo verde.

Verde primavera, verde manzana, verde hierba

y un río ancho

deslizándose 

majestuoso y opulento

 entre montañas

 de laderas verdes.

Verde musgo, verde hiedra, verde esperanza

Verde juguetón 

que corre por todas partes.

Verde almendra, verde menta, verde de unos ojos

Y si algún verde

crees tú que a mí me falta,

es que el verde de mi tierra

se esconde como un niño

para saludarte 

con la alegría de la sorpresa

cuando os encontréis

por a miña Galicia verde.

 

 

 

mvf

sometimes

 

Sometimes I am like the wind,

 or like the leaves it carries.

 Sometimes I am like the sky,

 or like the stars.

Sometimes I am like the wild boar,

 or like the root 

that refuses to be uprooted. 

Sometimes I am like the wolf,

 or like the sheep.

Sometimes I live in you,

 other times far from you.

 I sleep under the same sky 

that the cypresses dream of.

At the fountain, I drink water from the dawn,

 and I transform into ordinary things. 

Sometimes I am the letter 

that remains imprinted here.

 

 

      mvf 

*

a veces

 

 

A veces soy como el viento
o como las hojas que arrastra.
A veces soy como el cielo
o como las estrellas.
A veces soy como el jabalí
o como la raíz
que no se deja arrancar
A veces soy como el lobo
o como la oveja.
A veces vivo en ti
otras veces lejos de ti.
Duermo bajo el mismo cielo
que sueñan los cipreses.
En la fuente bebo agua
del amanecer
y me transformo
en las cosas comunes
a veces soy la letra
que queda aquí impresa.

 

 

mvf

the return by train

 

Father Avellana was named Genebrando and came from a humble family of farmers from Medina del Campo, or so it was said. They had given him that nickname due to his dark complexion and his shaved, round head, which remained inclined over a black-covered book while swaying gently to the rhythm of the train's clattering.

The station was on the outskirts of the town, and upon arrival, they got off the truck. The driver said a quick goodbye and left.

On the walls of the lobby, inside the station, there were large murals of peasants, representing Galician men and women, strong and corpulent, oblivious to the famine and misery of the land. It was disconcerting to understand what reason they could have for taking the train and leaving their homes. The father approached the ticket window queue, and when it was his turn, he pulled out his old leather wallet from a pocket in his cassock and requested two tickets: one for an adult and another at a reduced price for a child. After receiving the change and the tickets that came out through the window, they went out to the platform. The sun still showed its reluctance, hiding behind the clouds. Although the day was progressing, the morning remained cold and misty. They sat on one of the empty benches on the platform to wait.

On one of the tracks, a train awaited while water was loaded into its black locomotive, which occasionally released steam with a loud whistle under its imposing black belly, showing its impatience. On the platform, men with wooden suitcases, accompanied by their wives or family members, said their goodbyes, many of them heading to distant destinations. Some solitary travelers, impatient for their train's arrival, wandered back and forth along the station.

After a while, the train they were going to travel in entered the station platform and stopped with a sharp squeal of its huge iron wheels on the tracks. The wagon doors opened, and travelers who had reached their destination began to disembark with their belongings, while those departing waited to board.

Sisa and Father Avellana gathered their things and headed to one of the train cars. At the entrance to the car, people crowded in front of the door saying their goodbyes to their family members before departing. They passed through them and boarded the train. Once inside, they walked along the narrow aisle of the car, squeezed among people looking out the windows either to talk to someone outside or to observe another station in their journey, until they found an empty compartment and entered. Father placed Sisa's suitcase on the luggage rack above the rubber seats in the train compartment, and then they sat down.

Sisa let his feet hang while sitting on the bluish-gray rubber.

"Passengers on the train!" - was heard from outside, followed by a whistle. Travelers taking advantage of the last minutes by the car door, saying their goodbyes to their family members, hurried to board. The locomotive began to puff, releasing long jets of steam from the sides, and the cars, after a few tense seconds, started moving. Suddenly, everything came to life: people on the platform seemed to be running, the bookstore where newspapers were sold, the canteen, the station entrance door, the village houses... in the end, only a few iron rails were left behind by the locomotive as it moved away, leaving one world to enter another where Sisa's mother awaited him.

Turning his gaze back inside the car, Sisa noticed that a tab of blue paper protruded among the pages of one of his notebooks, which he kept in a leather bundle. He pulled it, and in his hand was a rectangle of blue paper: it was the ticket awarded at the school festival, which had wanted a mocking fate that he couldn't find to claim his prize. Ah... he sighed sadly. He held it up in the air, extending his right arm to show it to the world. Father Avellana raised his eyes from the book to look at Sisa. Seeing the number, 101 in black ink on the ticket, he understood what it was. He shrugged and returned to his reading.

Time, with its seconds in the form of pines, flowed through the window glass of the train compartment while, as the train passed, a silent and changing world displayed its semblances in the form of landscapes.

Sisa raised his ticket even higher, as a sign of triumph for having found it, albeit late, and placed it in front of the ceiling lamp that remained hidden behind it, as if a rectangular planet eclipsed the sun. For a moment, he contemplated the bluish eclipse of the paper under the light of the electric star on the train's ceiling until his hand turned to lower slowly, simulating with the ticket the glide of a propeller plane starting its descent from the sky.

He was the aviator making the plane spin in the air to chase the enemy plane with the bullets from his machine guns. Fiuuuuuu. Ta, ta, ta, ta, ta... He would have stood up if it weren't for the father's gaze, who again raised his eyes with a reproachful look. He turned towards the corner of the car and continued more quickly. - Tatattatatatata. The enemy plane, accurately hit by his bullets, began its nosedive in a somersault of smoke, while he, driving his blue rectangle, began his ascent to return to the sky.

The town was oppressed by its exploiters, and Sisa, who had realized it in his child's heart, spun in the air with his plane to chase with the bullets from his machine guns the enemies and the evildoers who robbed the humble and hardworking people. - Tatatttta, tatatatatta...

Once the enemies of the town were defeated, with one or two passes, the plane flew over the liberated fields, and the people, taking advantage of that unexpected moment in their lives when they ceased to be slaves, wiped their foreheads with their sweat-soaked handkerchiefs. Then, with their sweat-soaked handkerchiefs, they saluted the sky to their heroic aviator.

mvf.

Previously, this story was about the train journey.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

.

El regreso en tren.

 

 

 El padre Avellana se llamaba Genebrando y según se decía, provenía de una familia humilde, de campesinos de Medina del Campo. Le habían puesto ese apodo por su tez morena y por la cabeza rapada y redonda, que permanecía inclinada sobre un libro de tapas negras, que se balanceaba suavemente al ritmo del traqueteo del tren.

La estación se encontraba en las afueras del pueblo. Al llegar, descendieron de la camioneta con premura.. El conductor se despidió rápidamente y marchó, dejándolos solos ante el edificio de la estación.

 

En las paredes del vestíbulo, en el interior de la estación, se observaban grandes murales de campesinos, que representaban a hombres y mujeres gallegos, fuertes y corpulentos, ajenos a la hambruna y la miseria de la tierra. Resultaba desconcertante entender que motivo podían tener para coger el tren y abandonar sus hogares. El padre se acercó a la cola de la ventanilla y cuando llegó su turno sacó su antigua billetera de cuero que guardaba en un bolsillo de su sotana y solicitó dos billetes: uno de adulto y otro de niño con precio reducido. Después de recibir el cambio y los billetes que salieron por la ventanilla, salieron al andén. El sol aún mostraba su pereza, escondiéndose entre las nubes. Aunque avanzaba el día, la mañana permanecía fría y neblinosa. Se sentaron en uno de los bancos vacíos del andén para esperar.

En una de las vías, un convoy esperaba mientras cargaban agua en su locomotora negra, que de vez en cuando expulsaba vapor con un fuerte silbido bajo su imponente barriga negra, mostrando su impaciencia. En el andén, hombres con maletas de madera, acompañados de sus mujeres o familiares, se despedían, muchos de ellos partiendo hacia destinos lejanos. Algunos viajeros solitarios, impacientes por la llegada de su tren, deambulaban de un lado a otro a lo largo de la estación.

Después de un rato, el tren en el que iban a viajar entró en el andén de la estación y se detuvo con un chirrido agudo de sus enormes ruedas de hierro sobre las vías. Las puertas de los vagones se abrieron, y los viajeros que llegaron a su destino comenzaron a bajar con sus pertenencias, mientras los que partían esperaban para subir.

El Sisa y el padre Avellana recogieron sus cosas y se dirigieron a uno de los vagones del tren. En la entrada del vagón, la gente se agolpaba frente a la puerta despidiéndose de sus familiares antes de partir. Pasaron entre ellos y subieron al tren. Una vez dentro, caminaron por el estrecho pasillo del vagón, apretujados entre las personas que se asomaban por las ventanillas, ya sea para hablar con alguien en el exterior o para observar una estación más en su viaje, hasta que encontraron un compartimento vacío y entraron. El padre colocó la maleta del Sisa en el portaequipajes sobre los asientos de hule del compartimento del vagón, y luego se sentaron.

El Sisa colgaba sus pies mientras estaba sentado en el hule de color azul grisáceo.

¡Pasajeros al tren! - se escuchó desde fuera, seguido de un silbato. Los viajeros que aprovechaban los últimos minutos frente a la puerta del vagón, despidiéndose de sus familiares, se apresuraron a subir. La locomotora comenzó a bufar, soltando largos chorros de vapor por los lados, y los vagones, después de unos tensos segundos, se pusieron en movimiento. De repente, todo cobró vida: la gente en el andén que parecía correr, la librería donde se vendían periódicos, la cantina, la puerta de entrada de la estación, las casas del pueblo... al final, solo quedaron unos raíles de hierro que la locomotora dejaba atrás a medida que avanzaba, saliendo de un mundo para entrar en otro donde la madre del Sisa lo esperaba.

Al volver la vista al interior del vagón, el Sisa notó que sobresalía entre las hojas de uno de sus cuadernos, que llevaba en un atadillo de cuero, una lengüeta de papel azulado. Tiró de ella y en su mano quedó un rectángulo de papel azul: era el boleto premiado en el festival del colegio, que había querido una suerte burlona, que no pudiera encontrar para recoger su premio. ¡Ah...! suspiró con tristeza. Lo levantó en el aire extendiendo su brazo derecho para mostrarlo al mundo. El padre Avellana levantó los ojos del libro para mirar al Sisa. Al ver el número, el 101 con tinta negra en el boleto, entendió lo que era. Se encogió de hombros y volvió a su lectura.

El tiempo, con sus segundos en forma de pinos, discurría por el cristal de la ventanilla del compartimento del tren, mientras al pasar del tren, un mundo silencioso y cambiante mostraba sus semblanzas en forma de paisajes.

El Sisa levantó su boleto aún más alto, como señal de triunfo por haberlo encontrado, aunque tarde, y lo interpuso delante de la lámpara del techo que quedó oculta tras él, como si un planeta rectangular eclipsara el sol. Durante un instante, contempló el eclipse azulado del papel bajo la luz del astro eléctrico del techo del vagón, hasta que su mano giró para bajar lentamente, simulando con el boleto el planeo de una avioneta de hélice que iniciaba su descenso desde el cielo.

Él era el aviador que hacía girar el avión en el aire para perseguir con las balas de sus ametralladoras al avión enemigo.Fiuuuuuu. Ta, ta, ta, ta, ta... Se habría levantado si no fuera por la mirada del padre, que de nuevo alzó la vista con mirada de reproche. Se dio la vuelta hacia la esquina del vagón y continuó con más rapidez. - Tatattatatatata. El avión enemigo, certeramente herido por sus balas, iniciaba su caída en picado en una voltereta de humo; mientras él, conduciendo su rectangulito azul, comenzaba su ascenso para regresar hacia el cielo.

El pueblo estaba oprimido por sus explotadores y el Sisa, que se había percatado en su corazón de niño, giraba en el aire con su avioneta para perseguir con las balas de sus ametralladoras a los enemigos y a los malvados que robaban a las gentes humildes y trabajadoras. - Tatatttta, tatatatatta...

Una vez derrotados los enemigos del pueblo, con una o dos pasadas, el avión sobrevoló los campos liberados y la gente, aprovechando ese inesperado momento en sus vidas en que dejaban de ser esclavos, secaba sus frentes. Luego, con sus pañuelos empapados en sudor, saludaban al cielo a su heroico aviador.

mvf.

anteriormente esta historia era. el viaje en tren.

a detective story

 In the early morning, while having breakfast at the Sagrado bar, Quasimodo received a call from the town hall. He brought the phone's receiver to his ear and recognized the voice of the councilwoman, asking him to investigate a robbery that had occurred at the soccer field. He turned off his phone and put it in the back pocket of his pants.

He stood up to go pay but stopped and ordered a fried calamari sandwich and another coffee, to have while waiting for the sandwich and finishing reading the newspaper. He returned to his seat. Quasimodo had a keen ear, and he jokingly boasted to his friends that he could distinguish by the meow of an animal whether it was a male cat, female cat, or something else, and he didn't like the tone of the councilwoman's voice asking him where he was.

"Are you eating it here or is it to go?" asked the young waitress from the bar.

"To go!"

"You know, they forced the door of the soccer field and broke in," she said loudly for the kitchen, where she was now coating the calamari in flour to fry them.

The soccer field was a small leveled elevation reached after walking about two hundred meters on an unpaved road from a car parking area. Around mid-morning, Quasimodo parked his police motorcycle and began walking down the dirt path to his destination. The perimeter of the soccer field was delimited by a three-meter-high concrete block wall. The wall had only one small window where people bought tickets for soccer matches and a large metal door, tall and wide enough to allow entry and exit for a fire truck.

The peculiar dimensions of the door were due to objections from the local pharmacist, who, despite his lack of knowledge about soccer, had experience in pharmacy and firefighting. This concern arose from helping his son prepare for the firefighter exam, which he had bought a couple of days before. The young, carefree, and friendly individual, who had no direction in life, finally passed and now drives the region's fire truck.

Upon arriving at the soccer field, he found the door open.

Once inside, his gaze roamed the interior, passing by the cement stands where the audience sat, the green grass of the field, growing abundantly; the goalposts, one in front of the other at each end of the field; and a small building housing the shop where drinks and refreshments were sold on game days, and behind it, the men's changing room for soccer.

He headed there. The shop's door was open, and its interior was in disarray, with beverage crates scattered on the floor.

Inside the small booth, it was evident that the thief had made a hole in the corrugated roof to enter. Quasimodo took out his notepad and mechanical pencil; the pencil emerged from his shirt pocket and descended to jot down in the squared notebook:

"Robbery at the soccer field bar," noting the day and time of his arrival: half-past nine in the morning.

He began to explore the premises.

"Hmm... It didn't seem like the sodas disappeared, neither the orange nor the cola ones, but there was an open bag of potato chips and an empty one of toasted corn..."

He looked at the shelves where snack bags were displayed for sale—potato chips, nuts, crispy cookies— they were empty.

Quasimodo put the pencil to his mouth, thoughtful.

The pencil separated from his mouth and hung in the air. After a suspenseful moment, it seemed like it was going to descend, but it stayed in place. When it finally decided to lower, he wrote: "The thief doesn't like orange sodas or colas, but took snack bags from the premises."

The thief entered through the roof, had been in the shop, and then forced the door lock from the inside to exit instead of using the hole he had made.

The not very clever thief, since he had entered through the roof and had taken his time forcing the door lock to leave through it instead of using the hole he had already made. Quasimodo circled around until he solved the mystery: a beer barrel was missing.

When he exited the premises, he walked around the soccer field to look for more clues. Finally, he returned to the parking lot to get his car and head back to the town.

Quasimodo's investigation quickly bore fruit because the thief had awakened the neighbors at night while rolling a beer barrel down the cobblestone street, and several had complained about him. It didn't take much to connect the dots.

Quasimodo soon found Sisa.

"Quasimodo!" Sisa said when they met. "I was looking for you last night to invite you. Yesterday, my daughter was born. They didn't let me in to see her at the provincial hospital, but I organized a party with friends, and we celebrated in style: with bags of potato chips, toasted corn, and some barrels of beer."

 

 

 mvf

 

 

 

 

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Una historia de detectives

 

A primera hora de la mañana, mientras desayunaba en el bar de la Sagrado, Quasimodo recibió un llamada del ayuntamiento. Llevó el auricular de su teléfono a la oreja y reconoció la voz de la concejala, pidiéndole que fuera investigar un robo ocurrido en el campo de fútbol. Apagó su teléfono y lo guardó en el bolsillo trasero del pantalón.

Se levantó para ir a pagar pero se detuvo y pidió un bocadillo de calamares fritos y otro café, para tomar mientras esperaba a que le hicieran el bocadillo y terminaba de leer el periódico, y regresó a la mesa donde estaba sentado. Quasimodo tenía un oído muy fino, y el entre bromas presumía ante sus amigos que era capaz de distinguir por el maullido de un animal si era gato, gata u otra cosa y el tono de voz de la concejala, preguntándole donde estaba no le gustó nada.
- ¿Lo vas comer aquí o es para llevar? -  preguntó la joven camarera, desde la barra.
- ¡Para llevar!
-Sabes. Forzaron la puerta del campo de futbol y entraron a robar.
Dijo en voz alta para que le oyera la joven que atendía el bar, que en esos momentos ya estaba en la pequeña cocina del bar, rebozando en harina los calamares para freír.

El campo de futbol era una pequeña elevación nivelada por una pala excavadora, al que se llegaba, después andar unos doscientos metros por un camino sin asfaltar, desde una zona de estacionamiento para automóviles. Pasada la medía mañana Quasimodo aparcó su moto de policía y se puso a caminar por el camino de tierra hasta su destino. El perímetro del campo de futbol estaba delimitado por un muro de bloques de hormigón, de una altura de tres metros. El muro solo tenía abierto una ventanilla donde la gente compraba las entradas para los partidos de futbol y una puerta grande metálica, con la altura y la anchura suficiente para permitir la entrada y salida de un camión de bomberos.

Las peculiares dimensiones de la puerta se debían a las objeciones del farmacéutico local, quien, a pesar de su desconocimiento sobre fútbol, poseía experiencia en farmacia y bomberos. Esta última preocupación se originó a raíz de la ayuda a su hijo en la preparación del examen de bomberos, que había comprado un par de días antes. El joven, un individuo golfo y simpático, que no tenía destino en la vida, finalmente aprobó y ahora conduce el coche bomberos de la comarca.

Al llegar al campo de futbol comprobó que la puerta estaba abierta. 

Una vez dentro su vista recorrió el interior, pasó por las gradas de cemento donde se sentaba el publico, por la hierba verde del campo, que crecía abundantemente; las porterías, una enfrente de la otra en cada extremo del campo; y un pequeño edificio donde se ubicaba la tienda donde se vendían las bebidas y los refrescos los días de partido de futbol, y por su parte de atrás el vestuario de los hombres donde se cambiaban para jugar a futbol.

Se dirigió hacia allí. La puerta de la tienda estaba abierta y su interior estaba desordenado. Con unas cajas de bebidas tiradas por el suelo.

En el interior del caseto se podía ver que quien fuese el ladrón había hecho un agujero en la uralita del techo para entrar a dentro.
Quasimodo sacó su libreta y su lápiz aerostático, el lápiz salió del bolsillo de su camisa y descendió para anotar en el blog cuadriculado:

Robo en el bar del campo de fútbol, anotó el día y la hora en que había llegado: nueve y media de la mañana.


Empezó a explorar el local.

 - ¡Hum .. !.-  No parecía que hubieran desaparecido los refrescos, ni los de naranja ni los de limón, ni las colas, pero había una bolsa abierta de patatas fritas y otra vacía de maíz tostado... 

Miró para las estanterías donde se colocaban para su venta, las bolsas de snack: patatas fritas, frutos secos, galletas crujientes ...  estaba vacío.

 
Quasimodo llevó el lápiz a la boca, pensativo. 

El lápiz se separó de la boca y quedó clavado en el aire. Después de unos momentos de suspense ... parecía que iba a bajar ... tenía la palabra para escribir en la punta del lápiz pero no pensaba salir. Cuando decidió bajar escribió: al ladrón no le gustan los refrescos de naranjas ni las colas, pero se ha llevado del local las bolsas de snacks

El ladrón entró haciendo un butrón en el techo, había estado en el local, y después forzó la cerradura de la puerta del local desde dentro para salir por allí, en vez de por donde había entrado.

El ladrón muy listo no debía de ser por que había entrado por el techo y se había tomado su tiempo forzando la cerradura de la puerta para salir por allí en vez de hacerlo de nuevo por el agujero que ya tenía hecho. Estuvo dando vueltas hasta que resolvió el misterio. faltaba un barril de cerveza.

Cuando salió del local se paseo alrededor del campo del futbol por si encontraba más indicios.
Finalmente regresó al aparcamiento para coger su coche y regresar al pueblo.

Las pesquisas de Quasimodo tardaron pocas horas en dar sus frutos por que el ladrón había despertado a los vecinos por la noche cuando llevaba rodando un barril de cerveza por el empedrado de la calle, y varios se habían quejado de él.
No había que ser muy listo para atar cabos.

Quasimodo no tardó en encontrar al Sisa.

- ¡Quasimodo! - le dijo, el Sisa cuando se encontraron- A la noche te estuve buscando para invitarte. Ayer tuve una hija. No me dejaron entrar para verla en el hospital provincial, pero organice una fiesta con los amigos y lo celebramos por todo lo alto: con unas bolsas de patatas fritas, maíz tostado ... y unas jarras de cervezas de barril.

 

mvf

Essay on an Adelaide novel

 Adelaide wanted to become an evangelizing nun in the Amazon, and when she told her geography teacher at the Sisters' school she attended, the teacher immediately sent her to talk to the Mother Superior before the "disease" spread through the class.

The next day, her parents had to go talk to the Mother Superior after explaining what had happened with their daughter. The Mother Superior added:

"That cannot be, because the word of God is reserved for men, and obedience and patience for women."

"¡Yes, Mother Superior, I certainly know that!" responded Adelaida's mother. "Moreover, what could I teach those women from the jungle? It would be inappropriate to suggest that they could go to work, imitating the life of men.- replied Adelaide's mother.

On the same day as the conversation, upon returning home from school, Adelaide's parents punished her by confining her to her room.

Alone in her room, she lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling with tear-filled eyes. The ceiling was adorned with phosphorescent stars that her mother had pasted when she was little, to keep her company when the lights went out. She lay there for a while without moving, with her eyes fixed on a blurry universe. When she stopped crying, she sat up, took two dolls from the shelf on the wall, and brought them back, placing them on her lap on the bed. One doll had red stockings and blonde streaked hair; the other had black hair and was named Pepona. Both dolls also couldn't understand why Adelaide couldn't be an evangelizing missionary in the Amazon.

After a while, she got tired of playing with the dolls and put them back on the shelf. As she did, she noticed the book her aunt had given her for her birthday.

She took the book from the shelf and lay on the bed, placing it on the floor, on top of the carpet, to read while lying face down.

She had read a couple of chapters when she realized that the characters in the novel, a group of teenagers, were speaking inside her head, and she could hear their voices as she ran her finger over the pages of the book. After this discovery, Adelaide started reading everything she could get her hands on during the punishments she had to endure in her room.

At school, she gave up the idea of becoming an evangelizing nun in the Amazon and began writing things that, after some time, she secretly let her best friend read, and eventually, they ended up in the hands of her classmates for them to read.

"How vain," we said, mocking her by calling her Adelaide Fuertes.

One day, Adelaide appeared with a box full of books with the intention of selling us one.

We were astonished. Adelaide Fuertes had written a novel!

What had happened? Had a bug bitten her, or was she born to write? Did she have a seed inside her that sprouted with reading?

"Such a mystery!"

The only thing to do here to shed some light on this matter is an essay on Adelaide's novel.

---

Essay on Adelaide's Novel

At the age of twenty-two, Adelaide neither studied nor worked, and with no prospects in sight, she decided to return to school. She enrolled in a basic professional training course for administrative work. There, she met some friends from the convent school. To celebrate our reunion, we continued teasing Adelaide.

We led normal lives, going from school to home and from home to school. Most of us excelled in religion class. It was a couple of months before June when Adelaide showed up at school with a box full of identical books.

We thought she wanted to become a bookseller or a librarian, but the mistake was quickly revealed.

While we struggled to fry an egg and complained at home that we didn't like fish or soup with thick noodles, our classmate wanted to make a statement. To do so, she had written a book.

She secretly wrote her manuscript, sending copies to the addresses of publishing houses she found in the books she read—some of which no longer existed. Eventually, she received a response from a printing press in Albacete, saying they would handle the Galician correction and printing of her first novel for a thousand euros.

Without hesitation, she deposited the amount in the account they provided and sent them the bank receipt and the complete manuscript. The origin of the funds was completely unknown to us. Someone said she spent the money her aunt left her when she died, expecting Adelaide to lead a normal life, go to university, and get married.

Now, Adelaide was at school with a box of books sent by the printing press, asking us to buy one to make some money and buy some clothes.

The first to buy the book was the philosophy teacher, who, being absent-minded, thought the purchase benefits were for a class trip. The philosophy teacher showed the book to the guidance counselor, who couldn't believe a student from the school had written a book. Believing the purchase was for a school trip, the guidance counselor also bought the book.

While the teachers were in the cafeteria, the principal noticed the book they were carrying and asked what they were reading. When they told him that a student, Adelaide Fuertes, had written a novel, he decided that a student's work should be in the school library and instructed the janitor to buy several books for the school.

The janitor went to find Adelaide and also bought one more book for himself, just in case he would be foolish not to take advantage of the opportunity to buy a book that could be as valuable as Adelaide Fuertes' early letters in the future. Besides, the novel with a dedication to friends was only ten euros; a real bargain, according to the janitor.

By late morning, some classmates had bought the book, and others bought it not to be left out. As my local book club seller says, "Everyone has a pile of unread books at home, and one more won't hurt." Adelaide returned home with an empty box.

Surprised by the success, she told her parents that night she would make dinner, and the whole family enjoyed a large pan of french fries with eggs and ketchup.

• Adelaide never made a donation for a school trip -

The first reading of the novel came from her best friend, who wanted to read Adelaide Fuertes' work to criticize it.

The book was full of mistakes, and to the reader's astonishment, even though it was written in Galician, it used words like "fiasta" or "miou" because it was corrected on the fly by the linotype operator from the Albacete printing press, who happened to be from Tomiño, Pontevedra province. Despite the unconventional phrases spoken by the characters in the novel:

• "Come closer, miou, today I'm throwing a fiasta!" - these quickly became famous at all the fiestas.

However, we won't dwell on the unique use of the Galician language in the novel; instead, we'll focus on the complex plot.

Adelaide used paper notes stuck to the walls, as seen in detective movies where the detective hangs characters, events, and clues on the wall of their office, connected by red yarn. She used these as a guide to knit the plot of the novel onto paper with an old typewriter.

At some point, her parents decided to paint Adelaide's room, which hadn't been touched since her early childhood.

The appearance of the painters forced the author to unexpectedly pause in the novel. She had to remove the yellow notes from the wall, containing the main ideas of the work, and store them in a shoebox while the painters did their job. It took almost two weeks.

When the room smelled of freshly painted walls and the job was done, Adelaide returned with the shoebox and placed the yellow papers back on the walls. However, as they were second-hand, like relationships, they weren't rearranged like the first time.

This led to unexpected twists in the novel's plot, forcing readers to reflect:

• "But the story started differently!"

Readers often had to stop to make sense of what they had just read - "Did I make a mistake in reading?" - and at other times, it seemed as if multiple conversations were happening on WhatsApp.

The mystery in the novel begins in the first pages:

The victim hadn't died; she had been killed by receiving a package of chorizos filled with rat poison via express delivery.

When the police arrived at the victim's house, they asked the neighbors if they had witnessed anything. Everyone declared the same: around the time the victim died, they were watching TV with their phones in hand.

"I didn't hear anything because I was watching TV with my phone and asking a friend through messaging if she knew what had just happened in the movie I was watching on TV."

The first moments of mystery in the novel:

Who was on the other end of the phone?

But in the second chapter of the novel, due to a lack of experience in the detective novel genre, the mystery ends when we find ourselves in the funeral home, just before transferring the victim to her final rest. The only one who shows up wearing makeup is the killer.

After several attempts in the novel's reading, we discover the motive for the crime.

The killer, as described in the novel, with the same name as the author, had to be like Adelaide because her coworkers in fiction gave her a bottle of perfume, and her boss had an air freshener of lemon placed on her door just for her.

The victim, a young man with significant potential for advancement in life, had just been signed by the local football team with the promise of receiving a five-euro bonus for every goal he scored. After several years of dating the killer, they had just broken up due to a fight she had with two of his best friends, knocking one of them out.

When they separated, the victim recklessly posted online how badly the killer spoke about her friends.

On this, I agree with Adelaide.

"One doesn't have to be very perceptive to understand the natural feelings that lead to the outcome."

The killer learns from her best friend in a park bar. She was unaware of the publication of her confidences on a social relationship page. It was sunny, and the rays bounced off the aluminum tables while she waited, drinking a horchata.

When her friend arrived, sitting across from her and ordering another horchata, they began to talk. At a moment in the conversation, her friend stopped sipping her horchata and said:

"I would have preferred another friend, but you were always there for me."

Upon hearing what her friend just said, the killer discovers that her ex has posted her confessions on the internet, and while sipping her drink with all the naturalness, she vows to take revenge on him.

At this moment, reading becomes easy and fluid. Skipping a dozen chapters - the most recommended to avoid getting lost again - we reach the climax when the postman discovers the killer injecting poison into a bag of chorizos.

"For whom are these chorizos?"

"They're for my ex's dog!"

"But your ex doesn't have a dog!"

Or something like that.

After publishing our essay on Adelaide's novel, we started receiving emails from friends expressing interest in knowing the title of the work. We regret disappointing the expectations generated in your kind emails. However, we sincerely believe that with our essay, we have contributed to Adelaide's work gaining more interest beyond her close circle of intimate friends and acquaintances. Although Adelaide may think otherwise and relate the low sales and dissemination of her novel to our essay and the healthy warnings about the risks of reading it that we have included.

To avoid any anger and frowns from my friend, which could hinder the tranquility and forgetfulness of the novel beyond reading it, I feel obligated to maintain and guard the silence about the title of the work.

• Things among friends, you understand.

To our surprise, some readers believe that the fight described in the novel has its origin in the author's real life. Insinuating that Adelaide is referring to when she beat up her cousins Caramalos for not letting her ex score a goal against them in a local football match. We won't give more clues.

Some readers have asked about the neighbors' messaging while the victim was preparing chorizos with boiled potatoes. We think the killer could have sent the neighbors some fake news to entertain them with their readings while the victim was agonizing.

Will there be a sequel to the novel?

We don't know what might be going through the author's mind right now, but we recall that before starting the reading of her work, she warns readers that they have the first edition of the novel in their hands. Adelaide may have many flaws, but she is not a liar, and we have no doubt that the victim will not go without seeking revenge. Therefore, soon, at the latest, we will have the eagerly awaited second part of her novel, and we can read the revenge of her ex-boyfriend.