sábado, 15 de julio de 2017

An advice from a dead man.

Siento los fallos que haya cometido al escribir este relato. Salvo en dos ocasiones, me he valido de vocabulario y estructuras gramaticales que ya conozco, así que seguramente la calidad disminuya bastante con respecto a mis relatos en español.
De todos modos, me apetecía compartir con vosotros mi segundo intento de escribir un texto en inglés.
Un beso, mis niños. ¡Sed felices!


We were sitting by each other at one of the dirty tables in the town's bar, the one most distant from the door.
I could hear the uncomfortable noise of the men yelling at the waiter as if it was being produced near my ear, but the man who was with me didn't seemed to care about it.
He drunk a sip of his beer and then, gently,  put the mug back in the table.
"I didn't think of the storm when I decided to come here".He said it without looking at me, but I knew he was talking to me.
I wasn't even expecting him when I entered the bar, evenmore, I didn't even knew him before.I was drinking my first beer of the night when he came in without been perceived and sat by my side. I not usually let strange men share my table, but this old man looked like a good person, gave me confidence, so I didn't protest.
"There's always rain in here, you should had count on it. Did you come here before?" He looked at me, confused and interested. I realised that, despite he had talked to me before, he didn't was waiting for a response.
"Never. Coming here it's something I should have done before, but I never was in the mood". That was an strange answer, like he was telling me secrets he really wasn't interested in share. "Are you from here, young lady?"
I thought his question was too familiar coming from a man who was an stranger to me, so I took time before answering. "Yeah, I have been living here for years, near the North Path".
"Are you still an outsider for this people?", he asked.
I looked around the room, paying attention to the drunken men.Although I could have said the name of most of them, I was sure I have had talked to only two.Somehow, most of the people at town still thought I was a stranger, an unwanted visitor who could put them in danger at any time.Usually, the mothers didn't let me talk to their children, and the sellers were unconfident when I wanted to buy their products.I only had a friend, Sehila, the wife of one of the farmers, who apparentely didn't care about my red, fuzzy hair and my pale skin.
"I don't know", I said, looking at my glass.
"Do they accept you as one of them?".
I looked at him, and his grey eyes were kind and wiseful.He understood and nodded."Do you feel bad about it?".
Sometimes, alone in my house, I really felt sad and lonely, like I had been exiled by my own neighbors at the center of the town.I loved talking to the kids, teaching things to them and learning at the same time, and I always definitely enjoyed meeting new people, going to parties and local meetings.I losted most of these things the first moment I moved into my house, and I missed them terribly."I don't want to, I know I don't have to".
"You're right, kid, but it doesn't mean thats not a reality".
"It's just, unfair, most of them don't want to even talk to me" I realized I was complaining like a little, angry child.
"Strange, you look like a nice girl", his words sounded innocent and friendly.
I smiled, shy, and then a lock of red hair fell in front of my eyes. I sighed. "They think I'm a witch".
"Believe me, I have met a lot of witches, and no one looks like you".
I stared at him, shocked. "Have you met witches? Where? How?".
He laughed, and the sound was cozzy and warm, like a laugh which a caring father would express at home. "If you want me to tell you about that, we are going to need two more beers".
When we finished our drinks, I ran to buy two more, ignoring the insistence of my new friend about paying them himself. I put them at the table and sat like a curious kid, facing him directly and looking into his eyes. He burst into laughs. "Okay, okay. I'll tell you my story".
His name was Poll, and he was a traveller. He was born in a place which I have never heard talk about, and when he was old enough to leave his home he started to walk across cities, woods and whole civilitations, living on thousand places and triying to learn all that he could. He told me that, slowly, he was reaching his objective, although it was a goal that he could never definitely achieve. Through the hours, he told me his incredible adventures, stories filled with spectres, witches and amazing people able to make magic and horrible misfortunes. He said that some of this people were his friends, other his enemies, and a few of them only marvellous strangers.
When he stopped talking, I kept in silence. "Do you think you'll find this kind of people here too, if you stay?"
He smiled, "Well, I'm not going to stay, but I already met a really special person".
He looked at me and I smiled, blushed. "Thank you". I letted pass some seconds in silence "Why are you not going to stay?"
He shrugged "My heart tell me not to".
"Like an intuition?", he nodded. "Let me go with you".
He smiled, moved "Do your heart tell you to go with me?"
I didn't know, but at this moment I didn't care about what he has to say. I just wanted to live with Poll some of those beautiful adventures. "Is it really so important what my heart says?".
"It's the most important thing! What does your heart want?"
"How am I supposed to know that?"
"Just think. If I asked you right now to come with me, to let everything you have here back, would you do it without regrets?"
The answer seemed to be obvious, but I thought about it anyway. I thought about my uncomfortable neighbors, the looks which hurt and the displacements, and I could hear my heart yelling a big "yes" to Poll question. But then I thought about Sheila and her daughter, their smiles and the smell of wood and hot cake which invaded the town every sunrise. My heart suddenly shut up. Again, he seemed to know what I was thinking.
"Listen to me, I'm going to give you an advice. There's nothing more important than listen to your heart, accept and follow his desires. If you go against them, the only thing you will achieve is hurting you. I don't want you to do that".
I nodded, silently, and he squeezed my shoulder. "It's the best for you, I promise, you'll see it someday".
"I'm sure". He smiled tenderly and took his glass to his lips.
When the waiter closed the bar, we got out to the street and I enjoyed the feeling of the nocturnal wind on my face. He looked the path during a few minutes and then looked into my eyes.
"You are a good person, kid. It had been really nice to meet you". "I'm glad, too" I answered. He smiled  and grabbed his bag, sighing "I want you to be happy, okay? As usually as you can. Take care of yourself, have a good live".
"I'll try", I was moved, and I could feel a few tears on my eyes "You too". "Don't worry. I promise I will".
We smiled, and he faced the path and started walking. He was just a profile in the darkness when I decided to yell: "Good bye, Poll, good luck!"
"Bye, young lady!"
This was the first and last time I saw him.
During years, I lived in the town, finding ways to be happy over the adversities and, when my heart told me to do it, I left. I started walking, just like Poll used to do, and I never forgot to use my intuition to make every decision I had to face.
I was happy, mature and free and, when my heart told me that Poll had died, I assumed the fact the best way I could, remembering him at every step I take.

viernes, 2 de junio de 2017

Microcuento: The world´s end.

Un grito de júbilo mientras el mundo termina, mientras el cielo se parte en dos.
A cualquiera podría parecerle extraño, estando perdido en aquella plaza abarrotada de gente, pero nadie le conoce.
Él puede ver más allá: un punto lejano tras el horizonte, la figura oscura que se esconde tras el cuerpo del inocente.
Por eso sus ojos ahora se encuentran tan abiertos, contemplando el firmamento con ilusión, por eso sonríe con la boca abierta en una silenciosa carcajada.
Lleva esperando esto largos años, está preparado.

domingo, 14 de mayo de 2017

Escena: Wave's rythm.

Hace unas semanas se me ocurrió hacerme un tablero en Pinterest de temática surfera/veraneo/playa/loqueestainocenteimaginaqueesCalifornia. Está en privado porque de momento es pequeñito y no me siento con ganas de compartirlo al mundo, dado que siento que podría contarme miles de historias. 
De momento, me ha inspirado esta escena, por lo menos la primera mitad de ella. Desde hace días vivían en mi cabeza dos chicos tumbados plácidamente en una casita soleada cercana a la playa, y finalmente los he reflejado en un papel. El resto de la mini-trama vino sola.


Escuchó el sonido errático de las gaviotas alzándose contra el murmullo de las olas al romper en la orilla, audibles desde su casa a pesar de encontrarse varias calles alejada de la playa.
Se habían asentado en el salón y ahora ambos yacían tumbados en el suelo, con las cabezas a escasos centímetros de distancia y los cabellos rubios de ella mezclándose entre el pelo aún más claro de él. La luz de sol se colaba a raudales por las ventanas abiertas, reflectándose en las paredes beige para inundar toda la habitación. El silencio era total, sólo interrumpido por los ruidos de la naturaleza producidos más allá, y Laura respiró hondo, disfrutando de aquella paz.
Miró a Erik y le descubrió haciendo figuras con las manos, totalmente abstraído en su labor. En los momentos siguientes pudo ver cómo su amigo creaba las formas de un gato, un caballo y un enorme ave.
Se dedicó a contemplarle durante un largo rato, sintiendo cómo sus pulmones se llenaban y vaciaban de aire de manera constante y tranquila, sin sufrir ningún estímulo que acelerara su ritmo. Casi sonrió, sencillamente feliz y entonces, de improviso, recordó a Meghan.
Hacía días que ninguno de ellos la veía: desde que su hermano regresara de aquel campamento en Chicago no había vuelto a quedar con ellos y no respondía a las llamadas. Sólo Lily había hablado con ella desde entonces, cuando Meghan le mandó un Whatsapp para decirle que se encontraba bien, que simplemente quería disfrutar de la compañía de su hermano tras haber pasado más de un mes sin verle.
Pero el tiempo seguía corriendo, y su amiga continuaba sin dar señales de vida. Ella no era así: por mucho que hubiera echado de menos a su hermano, amaba surfear y Laura nunca la había visto más de dos semanas sin cabalgar una ola junto a alguno de ellos. Además, se había perdido la última quedada nocturna en la playa, algo que no había hecho jamás.
De pronto, la calma y la paz parecieron ausentarse de la habitación.
- ¿Has sabido hoy algo de Meghan?
Las manos de Erik se detuvieron al instante en el aire y él las posó sobre su vientre.
- No. La verdad, empiezo a estar preocupado.
- ¿Crees… crees que le ha pasado algo? – la voz de Laura se volvió un susurro al formular la pregunta.
- ¡No! No, de algún modo lo habríamos sabido, estoy seguro.
Laura recordó la casa de su amiga, situada en el segundo piso de un edificio de apartamentos adentrado en el centro de la ciudad, pero demasiado lejos de la costa. Sólo había estado en ella un par de veces, pero le resultaba un espacio frío e impersonal únicamente amenizado por el pequeño dormitorio de Meghan, que había logrado gracias a su dueña adquirir un aspecto cálido y acogedor.
La imaginó allí encerrada, sin apenas salir durante semanas, y sintió cómo se le encogía el corazón. Ella estaba allí con Erik, disfrutando de la luz y el sonido del mar en el frescor de su salón y la alegría de encontrarse en compañía de una agradable amistad.
- Vamos a buscarla.
Se levantó resuelta de un salto y, mientras mesaba su cabello para que volviera a su forma natural después de haber permanecido esparcido por el suelo, observó a su amigo que la miraba asombrado, todavía tumbado.
- ¿Ahora?
- ¿Por qué no?
- Bueno, simplemente no me esperaba este plan. ¿Avisamos al resto?
- No hay por qué. Sólo quiero verla, saber cómo está, llamar a todos requerirá mucho tiempo que podemos emplear en ir ya a su casa.
- Relájate, respira un segundo. Si de verdad Meghan se ha aislado todos estos días porque quiere estar con su hermano, será más probable que nos dedique tiempo a nosotros si estamos todo el grupo, o al menos más gente que sólo nosotros dos. Dame un segundo, ¿quieres?, en seguida lo arreglo.
Erik se incorporó sin esfuerzo y, móvil en mano, comenzó a teclear de manera aparentemente descontrolada. Laura se quedó de pie a su lado con los brazos en jarras y, con un hondo suspiro, admitió su derrota.
- Está bien, llevas razón, tú ganas. Pero date prisa.

domingo, 7 de mayo de 2017

Microcuento: Huida.

- Esta es la libertad de un mundo que se pierde a sí mismo, hijo mío.
Lucas contempló las docenas de aves que, piando escandalizadas, se alejaban hacia el anochecer del horizonte.
- ¿Por eso parecen tener tanta prisa al volar?
- Claro. Tienen miedo de que nuestra realidad las ate a tierra y ya no las deje escapar.