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.