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Marcela (English)

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-"Costa Rica?" - he said with such a  light "r" that if it wasn't because of the "i" the wind would have taken it away. -"Yes, Costa Rica"- I replied.

His look seemed to get lost at times, but I didn't pay much attention, after all, I was busier trying to hold on to the car, for we were five in a broken taxi driven by a beast. 

-"Costa Rica?" - he repeated, as if we had not been in silence for an instant that became an eternity to me. -"That is near Argentina, right?' - he added without hesitation. -"No, no, not at all. It is pretty far away"-. This time I clearly noticed how his gaze got lost even further away from the horizon. It went and came, and even though his face was wrinkled with sadness, I could still glimpse a smile on him.

Silence overtook us.

-"Once I had one thousand euros. I was ready to go to Argentina. Ah! Marcela! Marcela!"- He interrupted silence with such euphoria, that even the taxi driver tried to guess, ignoring our language, the reason for so much distress through his gestures. -"Marcela was the perfect woman, but I have been an idiot. I stayed here, bundled, lonely, and fighting for causes that don't belong to me.-". At that point he showed his front teeth and inhaled air producing a sound similar to that of frying something on a hot pan. -"And here we are, battling the ones against the others, all of us trying to be the biggest, the most glorious, the best. We are all a bunch of idiots."- I was feeling uncomfortable  and even though I considered he was right, I couldn't find what to say.  

- We stayed in touch  - he added after a brief pause - but she is married now, and has a family. 

- Well, but it must be worth to visit Argentina, it is never too late.

- Yes I know, but I am old now.

I didn't want to guess his age, for I knew his wrinkles were from sadness and winters rather than the twists of time. Maybe those were not even lines but pleats of rakia.

- I get off here. Have a nice day.

-Same for you. Sorry, what was your name?

He shouted his name but I couldn't hear it. I saw him  far-off, through the windscreen, from where thick drops fell stuffed with sighs and squashed with glints. He waked away crooked, like worn out from so much sorrow.

I sought a place to spend that night, feeling I knew Marcela intimately, without knowing the name of that old lovelorn who introduced her to me.

--
Pedro Acevedo.

Comentarios

  1. Jimmy17 de septiembre de 2011, 15:45

    Esa es Piedro... Mae el de Marcela lo tuve que leer como 4 veces para leerlo (Y en español!!!)) jeje yo mas lelo

    Que loco ese de los encuentros bizarricos, solo cuando uno anda con buena vibra y buen aura se le presentan esas situaciones.

    Tenemos q viajar juntos loco!!!

    Jimmiux

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  2. Pedro Acevedo22 de septiembre de 2011, 5:26

    Que me dice Jimmex!!! Pura vida viejox... si de fijo tenemos que mandarnos a dedo... que tal un tour por costa rica? Yo casi no conozco, manda la parada verdad? Saludos!

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