- Reopen this haven of mental chimaeras.
- Do so in english for a wider public (I don't think so either).
- Start by translating an old story of mine.
Blue And Red
The man closed the door behind him, and by the dancing light of the fire and scorching heat, he took off his overcoat , sighed , and went to his room . As he walked up the crisp, nostalgic stairs, he glanced through the dirty windows and saw ghostly lights from the upper area of the city and their reflection glinting on the river. He sighed again and smiled faintly to himself. He continued to walk upstairs, making his hand gently palpate the banisters. The warm, polished wood received him gladly. He counted the gnashing of each of his steps: one, two , three, five , eight.
It was funny for him to notice that, in such a trivial moment, he was happy. Appreciating banal details such as an old staircase, even in the midst of the adversity he faced, tranquilized him: he knew that there he was safe from everything that haunted him throughout the day: people, hunger, cold, reality. That was his palace, everything he needed was there.
Upon reaching his room he closed the door -without locking it, it was not necessary-, and as the notes from a piano in the contiguous apartment slowly died , he lied on his bed, his body and mind both drowsy. With his hands behind his head, he stared at the ceiling as it reflected the light comming from a rectangular window next to his bed . Gradually, the reverberated blue of the piano gave way to the red crackling of the fireplace, which dying away as well. He closed his eyes and sighed again . He turned in his bed , curled up and made one last mental picture before going to sleep .
After imagining a boat resting on the water, he sighed deeply. It was as if it were a dream: it all looked more alive, diffuse and ethereal , the sky lights reflected in the river , the sad windows of the stern building that stood before him everything seemed to radiate a kind of electricity that held him and kept him in a state of awareness and fear. He picked the lock before his nerves got the best of him.
As soon as he managed to get in, he took a quick glimpse of the room: a fireplace, a window, a ladder. he ran across, cursing each of the creeks his feet made as he jumped the steps: two, four , six, eight. He cursed the windows: they gave too much light and he could be seen. He felt the beating of his heart to the rhythm of his strides, struggling to hold his breath . Upon arriving to the second floor, he found a locked door; he cursed it since, even unlocked , his hands trembling with adrenaline could barely open it. And then he sneaked in the room, violently pressing something in his pocket with his fingers, expectantly.
Seeing that the man -still dressed- seemed to be asleep , he allowed himself to better examine the room, perhaps to take the opportunity to get something into his pocket.
Beside the bed was a window as high as the wall, directly overlooking the river that flowed through the city. Apart from the bed , there was only a battered wardrobe , which would probably make too much noise to be opened. He cursed again.
While all these thoughts raced through his head at the speed of lightning , he suddenly heard a piano in the room next to that one. At first he didn't pay much attention, but a morbid desire to listen caught him , and as if by magic he quitted all effort to avoid it.
As he recognized the melody that echoed sadly across the thin wall, his fingers began to soften the grip of his gun. His thoughts were far, far away, years ago: as he walked around some lost town looking for food he had entered a bar, one of those with pianos , yes, he was very hungry, but the music, oh, the music was too much for him, he almost about forgot the bread they offered to him to admire that... he decided to work as a waiter at the bar just to hear it every day, he had plenty of food and place to sleep, those were better times, yes, he heard it every day as he gave laughing people their dishes and beers and jokes. He had become friends with the other waiters, had met a young lady who always visited the place... he had decided to save up money but it was not enough, it was never enough to do anything else than eating, but he needed the money, he couldn't just talk to her like that, there were other ways to make money, they told him, although not as honest as being a waiter at a dirty bar ... but he had to, oh , he would do it for her, would be fair and would have been worth it, it was simple , he only had to follow orders , go there and do that and only that, it was not difficult but still there he was ...there he was! He was at the foot of the bed of a man whom he had never heard of just to put an end to his miserable life. Because it was miserable: that room wasn't any larger nor more luxurious than his. But they had told him he was a millionaire and he could steal anything, from the rich to the poor... it was necessary and morally correct , they had said ...
An unexpected, violent resume of the piano woke the man suddenly, who driven by adrenaline possesed an unprecedented speed and force: he jumped out of the bed like a spring and rammed the attacker almost instinctively . This one, greatly frightened, could barely stand as he tried uselessly to get the revolver given him to fulfill his task. They were seconds that seemed like hour , he did not know what to do against that attacker: they struggled violently, crashing against the wardrobe, the old walls, snorting . Finally he managed to get his hands on the revolver , and pointed it towards his opponent as he could .
A single shot rang clearly.
The man, startled by the noise of the gun, touched his chest. Scarlet gushes emanated from him . The other man, taking advantage of the commotion, pushed the hurt man with all his strenght, who crashed his back against the window, breaking it with his weight and falling into the river.
A whirlwind of colors , pains and memories swept over his head as his body fell inch by inch to his death. He realized that they were right. He should had stayed where he was and not go there. Now he lost everything... he remembered the promise he had made to take her on a boat ride on the river. Oh , the irony...
Three seconds later his body collided violently with the dark waters of the river that reflected the lights of the uptown area.
He sighed, exhausted. He could not believe what had just happened. With his hands on his knees, catching his breath, he saw the man's red blood gently mixing with the blue water.
He didn't notice that the shot had frightened the neighbors, who no longer played the piano. Nor that the fireplace had already died away.
There seemed to be an unspoken silence for the burglar and his hopes.
There, done.
Now I'm off, I wasted too much time of my life with this.
...still better than nothing, I guess.
