David, Rafael y Gabriel tocaron en el Astrolabi anoche. La familia al completo estaba allí, bueno, casi, faltaban algunos amigos. Jack se presentó con unos amigos y una chica muy guapa. Estuvo muy cariñoso con todo el mundo. Me evitó y me negó la mirada. No puedo soportar esta distancia. Es mejor no verle que estar en la misma habitación y no poder hablar con él. Me siento miserable hoy. He perdido todos los nortes.
Monday, March 27, 2006
lunes sin norte
Saturday, March 25, 2006
los niños
Los niños se han vuelto locos hoy al salir de la escuela. Fui por un instante uno de ellos.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
taronges i no pas mandarines
No era un dia qualsevol. Per fi feia bon temps. Camí de la feina estava ben desperta. Sentia que alguna cosa estava a punt de canviar. I qui no ho sent quan arriba la primavera? Pensava en el meu nou amic i en el seu missatge emprenyat/apassionat sobre la primavera. Pensava en les seves carícies de vellut, en la seva ànima, espill de la meva. Després he sabut que ha mort la mare d’una amiga, i tot i la tristor, la mort sempre em fa valorar molt més la vida.
A l’oficina de relacions internacionals ha estat un dia mogut, amb moltes consultes en diferents idiomes. Hem dinat fora, a les taules de fusta, amb l’Anna i l’Emma parlant de la vida, sota els arbres i els ocells, feliços perquè a aquelles hores ja tenen tota la feina feta.
Tornava del tren a casa i els núvols foscos s’empenyien contra les muntanyes, la vall comtal aixoplugada d’un cel encès de blau. El sol de la tarda resplendia en els balcons dels pisos més alts del barri, esvalotant els ocres, els verds i els vermells. Al gimnàs no encertava cap ni una i el professor m’ha mirat per encoratjar-me. La sort d’estar en crisi emocional és que tot se me’n fum i m’he posat a saltar i fer la meva.
He passat pel mercat a comprar unes sardines i, en sortir, el missatge: “si no vols arreglar això nostre, no vull tornar-te a veure mai més”. Estava a punt d’entrar al supermercat i, mira, m’ha entrat la plorera. No sé què vull. Només sé allò que no puc donar; i que no suporto la idea que la persona que més m’estimo en el món m’odiï, només per poder-me oblidar. Jo mai he odiat, quan m’han deixat. El senyor de les fruites m’ha pesat el gènere amb diligència i m’ha suggerit que agafés taronges i no pas mandarines, perquè les mandarines ara són una mica àcides i les taronges ben dolces. “Compartim una taronja”, m’ha dit. I com si estigués malalta i ell fos el metge, m’he eixugat els mocs i li he dit que sí. Estava ben bona i li he donat les gràcies. “No es mereixen”, m’ha dit, “és que t’he vist una mica desanimada”. He pensat que el senyor era un àngel.
He tornat a casa, més plorera sota la dutxa. I per què no ha pogut funcionar? És que hi ha un motiu, un destí? Jo volia tenir una vida, un futur, fills amb aquest home! És per això que aquest cop m’hi vaig casar, tot i les dificultats, tot i haver de deixar-ho tot per marxar a Amèrica...
M’he cuinat les sardines, m’he begut dos quintos i m’he fet una cigarreta abans de trucar als meus amics de la infantesa. Aquesta setmana tenim moltes celebracions per celebrar i sí, ens veiem dissabte per sopar i ballar. Veus? Tinc dues cares: la melangia i l’alegria i no sé com seria jo, si l’una no em salvés sempre de l’eufòria de l’altra.
A l’oficina de relacions internacionals ha estat un dia mogut, amb moltes consultes en diferents idiomes. Hem dinat fora, a les taules de fusta, amb l’Anna i l’Emma parlant de la vida, sota els arbres i els ocells, feliços perquè a aquelles hores ja tenen tota la feina feta.
Tornava del tren a casa i els núvols foscos s’empenyien contra les muntanyes, la vall comtal aixoplugada d’un cel encès de blau. El sol de la tarda resplendia en els balcons dels pisos més alts del barri, esvalotant els ocres, els verds i els vermells. Al gimnàs no encertava cap ni una i el professor m’ha mirat per encoratjar-me. La sort d’estar en crisi emocional és que tot se me’n fum i m’he posat a saltar i fer la meva.
He passat pel mercat a comprar unes sardines i, en sortir, el missatge: “si no vols arreglar això nostre, no vull tornar-te a veure mai més”. Estava a punt d’entrar al supermercat i, mira, m’ha entrat la plorera. No sé què vull. Només sé allò que no puc donar; i que no suporto la idea que la persona que més m’estimo en el món m’odiï, només per poder-me oblidar. Jo mai he odiat, quan m’han deixat. El senyor de les fruites m’ha pesat el gènere amb diligència i m’ha suggerit que agafés taronges i no pas mandarines, perquè les mandarines ara són una mica àcides i les taronges ben dolces. “Compartim una taronja”, m’ha dit. I com si estigués malalta i ell fos el metge, m’he eixugat els mocs i li he dit que sí. Estava ben bona i li he donat les gràcies. “No es mereixen”, m’ha dit, “és que t’he vist una mica desanimada”. He pensat que el senyor era un àngel.
He tornat a casa, més plorera sota la dutxa. I per què no ha pogut funcionar? És que hi ha un motiu, un destí? Jo volia tenir una vida, un futur, fills amb aquest home! És per això que aquest cop m’hi vaig casar, tot i les dificultats, tot i haver de deixar-ho tot per marxar a Amèrica...
M’he cuinat les sardines, m’he begut dos quintos i m’he fet una cigarreta abans de trucar als meus amics de la infantesa. Aquesta setmana tenim moltes celebracions per celebrar i sí, ens veiem dissabte per sopar i ballar. Veus? Tinc dues cares: la melangia i l’alegria i no sé com seria jo, si l’una no em salvés sempre de l’eufòria de l’altra.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
The Pittsburgh dream
She couldn’t sleep. She was so tired and things had gotten so complicated that her mind could find no rest. Her body was restless. Outside, trains never stopped strumming over the rails, whichever direction. She thought of taking one, but she wanted to go nowhere, not this time. This was home, sort of.
She thought she’d better go downstairs, where there were so many beautiful things to look at. “The kiss” poster, the drawings of old fossils, the neat kitchen with the empty fridge, except for that bottle of rosé champagne that they were saving for the last day.
She slipped out of bed and stepped down the stairs. It was cold and she was naked. She put her coat on. She sat on the armchair and looked around the living room. She lit a cigarette. The moon was asleep. The street’s orange dim was barely coming in through the blinds. She loved the place: the comfortable disorder, the tidiness and the love that every object shared with others; the pictures of his grandparents, Rolling Stone’s magazines on the floor, old records, incense ashes, the strong smell of coffee and cigarettes.
She loved him, she always did. His friendship was precious to her. But they always seemed to scratch pieces out of life, in order to be together. No complains, they were always the best days. At times, tough, it was hard to be apart.
She felt her life was closing the circle. The end of the tunnel was near.
Despite the tough times she was trying to escape from, with the fury of her love for life, she felt save in his sanctuary. Monsters would not come here.
She moved to the sofa and lied down. She wished he was awake, she wished he’d come down and that they’d played some music and talk, so she could get lost in the light of his gray eyes and forget she was not free yet. But he was sound asleep, she could hear him snore, and she didn’t want to disturb him. She had done enough already, ruining their first contact in years with her tears, breaking down in front of him during dinner, talking about that other man.
She wanted to sleep, she wanted to be fresh in the morning, she wanted to enjoy the few days they had together. Because in time they would forget once again that what they shared was love, not only romance. And she wanted to make the most of it.
His eyes opened in front of hers, she could see them even tough they were not there. A peaceful bliss crossed her heart, slowing down the beat.
She felt half asleep. She wanted to go back upstairs, now that she was ready to relax. She wanted to take his hand and kiss his cheek and sleep by his side. But she was drowsy now and it seemed like a big effort, one she could not overhaul.
The coat was big but didn’t cover her legs. Her throat was frozen and silent, her muscles stiff. She thought of herself a snowflake and only wanted to float away.
She dreamt she was in the highest balcony of a dark tower. She was naked and couldn’t move, tied up to a pole in the corner, with big rough ropes. Her skin was pale, her lips broken, with a few streams of blood going down her neck. There was a monster with bloody eyes and stinky hands. She was shivering out of fear of another kiss. The monster looked like that one other monster she had to face once before, inside the icy cave where the yoga instructor told her to go, telling her that it was her secret place.
The monster opened its mouth close to her neck and she moved her face away. The monster gripped her by the hair and forced her to look at its eyes. In horror, she felt its thick and disgusting tongue licking her face. It felt like hell. The monster wanted to play with her body. It touched her breasts with angry fingers, pressed them hard until she cried.
“Why are you doing this to me?” She screamed.
The monster looked at her as not understanding.
The moon was up, majestic and red. The wind was blowing harsh and cold. She could see the city lights, down there. She could hear the happy laughter of a young girl. She wanted to be her. The monster abruptly opened her legs and stuck one of its big fingers inside her. The long nail cut her like a knife. She felt like fainting. Blood was running down her legs. The monster roared and stole her breath…
Then she heard the footsteps, coming down the stairs. She felt he was staring at her, maybe for a few seconds. She felt save. She wanted to wake up and ask him to take her to bed, make love to her, love her. But she thought she shouldn’t do anything more, say anything more. Because she was so empty and tired that she feared her own voice.
He took a blanket and softly covered her up, carefully, as if not wanting to disturb a happy dream. He went back upstairs.
After a while, she found the strength to follow him up.
The monster was gone and her friend made life significant and beautiful, even if only for a while.
She thought she’d better go downstairs, where there were so many beautiful things to look at. “The kiss” poster, the drawings of old fossils, the neat kitchen with the empty fridge, except for that bottle of rosé champagne that they were saving for the last day.
She slipped out of bed and stepped down the stairs. It was cold and she was naked. She put her coat on. She sat on the armchair and looked around the living room. She lit a cigarette. The moon was asleep. The street’s orange dim was barely coming in through the blinds. She loved the place: the comfortable disorder, the tidiness and the love that every object shared with others; the pictures of his grandparents, Rolling Stone’s magazines on the floor, old records, incense ashes, the strong smell of coffee and cigarettes.
She loved him, she always did. His friendship was precious to her. But they always seemed to scratch pieces out of life, in order to be together. No complains, they were always the best days. At times, tough, it was hard to be apart.
She felt her life was closing the circle. The end of the tunnel was near.
Despite the tough times she was trying to escape from, with the fury of her love for life, she felt save in his sanctuary. Monsters would not come here.
She moved to the sofa and lied down. She wished he was awake, she wished he’d come down and that they’d played some music and talk, so she could get lost in the light of his gray eyes and forget she was not free yet. But he was sound asleep, she could hear him snore, and she didn’t want to disturb him. She had done enough already, ruining their first contact in years with her tears, breaking down in front of him during dinner, talking about that other man.
She wanted to sleep, she wanted to be fresh in the morning, she wanted to enjoy the few days they had together. Because in time they would forget once again that what they shared was love, not only romance. And she wanted to make the most of it.
His eyes opened in front of hers, she could see them even tough they were not there. A peaceful bliss crossed her heart, slowing down the beat.
She felt half asleep. She wanted to go back upstairs, now that she was ready to relax. She wanted to take his hand and kiss his cheek and sleep by his side. But she was drowsy now and it seemed like a big effort, one she could not overhaul.
The coat was big but didn’t cover her legs. Her throat was frozen and silent, her muscles stiff. She thought of herself a snowflake and only wanted to float away.
She dreamt she was in the highest balcony of a dark tower. She was naked and couldn’t move, tied up to a pole in the corner, with big rough ropes. Her skin was pale, her lips broken, with a few streams of blood going down her neck. There was a monster with bloody eyes and stinky hands. She was shivering out of fear of another kiss. The monster looked like that one other monster she had to face once before, inside the icy cave where the yoga instructor told her to go, telling her that it was her secret place.
The monster opened its mouth close to her neck and she moved her face away. The monster gripped her by the hair and forced her to look at its eyes. In horror, she felt its thick and disgusting tongue licking her face. It felt like hell. The monster wanted to play with her body. It touched her breasts with angry fingers, pressed them hard until she cried.
“Why are you doing this to me?” She screamed.
The monster looked at her as not understanding.
The moon was up, majestic and red. The wind was blowing harsh and cold. She could see the city lights, down there. She could hear the happy laughter of a young girl. She wanted to be her. The monster abruptly opened her legs and stuck one of its big fingers inside her. The long nail cut her like a knife. She felt like fainting. Blood was running down her legs. The monster roared and stole her breath…
Then she heard the footsteps, coming down the stairs. She felt he was staring at her, maybe for a few seconds. She felt save. She wanted to wake up and ask him to take her to bed, make love to her, love her. But she thought she shouldn’t do anything more, say anything more. Because she was so empty and tired that she feared her own voice.
He took a blanket and softly covered her up, carefully, as if not wanting to disturb a happy dream. He went back upstairs.
After a while, she found the strength to follow him up.
The monster was gone and her friend made life significant and beautiful, even if only for a while.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
St Patrick
Eire Lebo, Paula Bella y yo hemos ido al cine a ver "Volver". Llovía al entrar y llovía al salir. A ver cuando llega ya el sol y el buen tiempo. Pronto pasaremos un día entero en la playa. Penélope estaba fantástica. Paula la ha descubierto por fin, a pesar de las reticencias. Yo, como vengo de América, ya me había enamorado de ella. Eire se ha retirado pronto porque tiene que entregar el lunes una traducción muy importante, no es que todas no lo sean, pero esta lo es más. Paula se queda a dormir en casa. Dormirá en mi cama y yo en el estudio, en la atalaya. Siempre he querido hacerlo. Por la mañana, si aún llueve, me despertarán contra el tejado las gotas de agua. Paula me ha animado a comenzar el blog. Y yo me he lanzado de inmediato. La tengo al lado ahora, asesorándome, muy bien, por cierto. Las amigas están para no perder el rumbo, para no perder las ganas, para no olvidar quienes queremos ser. Tras estas palabras y un poco más de compañía, tras su colacao y mi vino, nos retiraremos al mundo de los sueños, donde confiamos, hoy, descansaremos profundamente. No echo de menos a ningún hombre. Ni a ninguna mujer. Excepto, claro está, a Molly, que en Orlando sigue, llenando su casa de música y de orgías de alegría. A ver cuando vienen las chicas del Sur de Estados Unidos a visitarnos. Frente a mí el sombrero de duende que regalaron a Jack en el Quite Man por comprar dos Guiness, una para él y otra para mí. Jack dice que me tome tiempo, todo el tiempo que necesite. Y yo me pregunto cómo puede ser que cada vez que lo veo tenga que volver a dejarle, cuando el paso más grande lo di hace cinco meses, al escapar de él para regresar al Mediterráneo. Hay hombres que no te sueltan. Supongo que es un halago, en el fondo, que te quieran tanto.
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