Friday, November 19 ARMOR SALT
Somerset Maugham said, and I like to repeat, it's okay for a gentleman to have sex life after sixty years , but not OK to discuss it.
To me, the true, the sex that I like is what is before sex. I'll be in love, I do not know (I have now at hand the books that keep track of everything), maybe 340 or 350 times, yet each new time it makes me wonder than the first. And nothing makes me happier than the early days, when nothing happened and everything has already happened.
In bad weather, when one has to overcome one of these tests that no one is free, how good are these unexpected dose of endorphins, the lustral water that bathes the world and I returned just created.
know too well what will happen later, when the magic evaporates. I have repeated many times the same story! Does it? No, no: if I fall I fall for the first time.
do not know if I'll be able to resist the big blow. And Chance, who loves me dearly, I suddenly put a shining armor. I know it will not last forever, it will dissolve soon as a reinforcement of salt.
But why complain? An eternal love, if proper care can last a lifetime. You may even up to one year.
Saturday, November 20
NOT KNOW, NO ANSWER
"What happened to that woman who one day got you at home? Did you get rid of it? Still there yet? Or it was all a dream of yours? I mean a woman who was reading the memoirs of Harpo Marx, "I asked my friend Enrique Bueres.
"I also read the memories of the brother moved from the Marx Brothers, which in reality was not dumb, but played the harp, like in the movies. And you should see what I hated as a child, that moment when the action stopped and started the endless melody 's boring. Fernando Rodriguez Lafuente told us at a meeting of the jury of the Prince, who had recorded all of the Marx Brothers movies, but that they had removed all the musical passages. Earn a lot, he said. I think the same. "
"I have answered" answers Bueres.
"And what can I say," I reply. And then I read the only passage to the unknown highlighted in the reports of Harpo: "The memory of my early years on stage is a frightful chaos times and places. Of cities and towns I remember very little. What I remember are the waiting rooms of the seasons, canteens pensions, hotel rooms for a dollar, dressing rooms, billiard rooms and lavatories gentleman quite similar everywhere in any city or town of any part of the country. "
Sunday, November 21
IN MILAN
sometimes amuse me more time than anticipated in the office of Milan and, when I realize, too late at night. Only a few emergency lights illuminate the long corridors, stairways same and different. While you look, it's perfect setting for a horror movie. There is a security guard, true, but she's always missed by the other buildings, when it came, the murderer would have had ample time to do their work.
Sometimes I meet other teachers who also appear here on holidays and at odd hours. San José Eduardo told me two or three Sundays, "If we paid overtime, we'd be rich." I did not say that in my case, I gladly pay to be able to entertain myself with what I love any day, any time of day.
Going down the elevator, to avoid tripping on the stairs, I thought it may be damaged and that in this case, I would be locked up overnight. Not broke, but, inadvertently, I had to dial a wrong button and I found out barred windows instead of the door. I looked for a ladder, you left me, not the low, where the door is operated with the card, but in a narrow hallway, with teachers' offices on either side. I tried to read the names corresponded to see which department. But it was too dark. Towards the bottom there was a chink of light, some worked, maybe it was José Ramón, Romance Philology, who usually find even the New Year's Day.
I called, I heard no answer, pushed the door. The office was empty. On one wall (the others were occupied by shelves) was a picture that caught my attention. I had seen him somewhere, did not know where, but I think even he had photographed. Should serve as a shop sign: "La Malle aux Trésors, an antique shop, perhaps. I suddenly remembered where was this picture: in Geneva, one of the secret alleys and steep rise into the cathedral of San Pedro. I could not help entertain after poking around the books. Were not what one expects to find in a university office. Were children's books, some large appliances down, all very colorful, very bright. "My friend Ernesto would like to shop around here, I thought. Then I felt a kind of shiver and turned toward the door. One woman looked at me with eyes wide open, staring. "Excuse me, I came without warning. I García Martín, professor of literature. I also like working on Sundays. "
She seemed suddenly to awaken from a dream, changed his expression, he smiled. "But I do not know? Go forgetfulness yours! ". And then I recognized her, but I still did not know his name. It was the woman who had called one night at my house, who had slept on the couch the next day I had breakfast and then prepared food, but that night when I returned from my usual tour of bookstores and coffee at the Rosal browsing the game killed, had disappeared.
"Ah, you work well in Milan. Sorry I do not recognize. I'm pretty clueless. A friend of Victor Boot, professor of Latin, once greeted me in a tribute we did to boots and then complained that Illán Agnes passed him by without greeting Milan. "
No need to apologize, "he said. I know plenty of you are as clueless as myopic. That store, and pointed to the box-it was my grandparents. When they died, had to close because no one in the family wanted to address it. I brought this panel, and the main thing, the bag of treasure. Because the store had a suitcase, which gave name. A huge suitcase, a Saratoga trunk, closed with many locks. As kids, my siblings and I played to get on him, pretended that there was a mountain to climb. Often ask my grandmother to let us open it. She always said the same thing: "Someday, someday ..." But that day came and we were becoming increasingly impatient. We had a friend whose father was a locksmith. We provided the necessary tools to blow the locks to break the locks. We spent an entire night in the tent, as if we were thieves. When we lift the lid, and had long since dawned, and my grandmother appeared. "How impatient," he said without anger. We were ashamed. "Open, open, if you will." I said, "No, Grandma, the trunk is yours. If you want to open it and show what is inside, very well. And if not, and will be closed until you want. " When my grandmother died, my brothers had forgotten trunk. I stayed with him and the banner of the store. I did not want more inheritance. A carrier led me to my house Castropol. There were problems at the border. Police asked the driver to open that huge contraption, which could hold several bodies and do not know how many secret weapons. He did not know how. The trunk was confiscated. A few weeks later came into my home, unopened and there is, full of treasures.
"What do you teach?" I asked. "I'm no teacher." And before I could he get him to express my surprise at Milan, added: "Come home, it's too late." I took her hand like a small child. And only then I realized it reminded me of someone very familiar.
"Would I ever leave open the treasure chest, Grandma?" I said. "Of course, honey. When you're older. " Then he gave me a kiss on the forehead and I fell asleep, dreaming of that magical time in which everything would be allowed: "When I grow up ...."
Wednesday, November 24
WITHIN ONE YEAR
"You know what I want?", Cristian tells me while we wait in the cafeteria when class. "Founding a library back in my village in Paraguay. I'm preparing to send books there. The saving will go home from a friend. Then when you save, buy some land and get up the building. You need not be large. No, not nonsense. The money from here in my country is worth far more. " How
not going to be a blunder? Cristian, undocumented immigrant, works occasionally as a painter. But he speaks so determined, has both a love of books, which I immediately put me to work in the nonsense. "Could be, could be done. Not a bad idea. Books already have: every month I get from my house, a few hundred to those hard to find where to place me. After a year, more than three thousand: the beginning of a good library. Talk to your friends for Repatriation and is sure to find a venue. A free classroom in a school, for example. Constructing a building is not excluded. But there later. When yield space, send the money to the shelves. Should give a name to the library. " Cristian
teases me that would bear his name. "Better," then added, "something like La Casa de las Palabras." Perfect
. Started. The management is my business. All beautiful things before they actually began as a dream. And I'm not too bad at managing time. So put date: "Within a year, in November or December, when winter approaches here and there the summer, we opened The House of Words with a poetry reading."
As Christian, I had a childhood without books. Maybe that's why nothing makes me happier than to help create a library.
smile and remember a phrase I heard Danni Moretti: "Having had a poor childhood is a treasure that is never exhausted."
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