Читать книгу All Love Letters Are Ridiculous - Diego Maenza, Diego Maenza - Страница 14

They marched during nine days so that my humanity entered the limpid portal of her house in the fifteen years party. I arrived early, with my bloody innocent gift (at that time my mother worked as a dressmaker and the present I brought her was a cut from a cheap cloth) and with a smile that camouflaged nervousness. Half an hour later I was sitting in the main room orchestrating the way not to go dancing. At the bottom, in the anteroom, angry voices of experts talks were intensified in the same proportion which increased the force of music. Surely there were their parents, relatives and close people, people of Saturday dinners, all enjoying the pleasures of the coexistence of the moment (or at least that's how I imagined it, because I was not approached by the curiosity of observing who they were and I venture to say that even if I had, it is likely that I would not have recognized any of them). Most of my high school classmates surrounded me. My ineptitude to interact flourished at every moment and I did not know how to respond to the moment: the cave animal was facing for the first time the jungle world of the wild beasts.

It was time for the dance. My legs stuttered and implored me to rest and not because they were tired but because they were ashamed of their crudeness. She was the expert and she took my hands as if she wanted to teach me the dances that I might not learn in a lifetime. I don't remember if I danced with someone else. The most possible thing is that I did not. I left with the anticipation imposed by my watch and when I left the party she said goodbye with a kiss on my cheek. Dessert, unattained by my urgency, appeared a couple of hours later on my porch. Her delicate arms extending the disposable plate constituted one more step towards falling in love.

Although the fat man was the roughest, the dumb was the strongest. They squeezed me outside and inside while they silenced my despair by covering my mouth that moaned with dismay and helplessness, and my tears hit the pavement.

The young man was the most impetuous and contrary to what you might think. He never showed indecision and lashed out at me with the same predisposition as his elders.

Surely some scary soul must have seen the atrocity. I am sure of it. In the distance I noticed a light, some vehicle that focused the debauchery and then escaped. You may think, dear friend, that it was a hallucination of my own despair, as those refuges of water that the pilgrims of the desert imagine in the aridity of their exiles. It could have been a vision or a memory invented by my aging memory, but I'm sure it´s not. It was real, so real with the three-headed beast that possessed my body that night.