Normal (story inspired by the 11-M) Today marks seven years of the 11-m. In those days the company that had worked for the last 15 had broken, so I had plenty of time on television world to attend the process of terrible tragedy and the subsequent political consequences. The truth is that affected me much to the point of writing a fictional story that week. Is as follows. Go in memory of the victims, and families who have to get used to the absence so unfair.
E ra equally careless and forgetful. I left everything in the middle and then put the flat upside down looking desperate either of the vessels that would often neglected in the most unexpected places. He had made up my mind that I was invariably bringing order to the chaos caused by closing drawers and cabinets, throwing the toilet paper of the tissue with the imprint of her lips printed in carmine, or keeping in place the biscuit tin or pot of coffee and sugar, ultimately repairing the damage caused by their busy household precipitate since he woke up disappearing way to work. When this morning closed the door behind him and heard the hasty clatter of her heels echoing in the empty staircase, I looked out the window with the phone in hand and talked to her last. He addressed the race to reach the train stopped at the platform waiting with open doors.
From the train watched from the window, disappearing behind the high mud wall that separated the tracks and platforms of the street where our building was located, just fifty meters from the station. It was an endless wall that was erected parallel to the tracks, whose gray surface saturated looked graffiti mottled and registration and required repair denouncing all manner of grievances and inequalities. After many discussions we had taken a decision that common sense had prevailed over any other consideration: rent an apartment in a rundown neighborhood on the periphery, but had a season train a few meters from home, which significantly reduced the duration of daily commuting.
I started the computer and turned on the radio. It must have been shortly when the explosion occurred, I heard a muffled explosion, but the truth is I did not give more importance. No other than I felt like roaring noises and reverberating daily in any city whose activity is more intense morning as it slowly but inevitably replace the truce that holds the night. Continued with the routine that took place every day before sitting in front of the computer screen, not realizing that each of the performing everyday gestures that took them out while she was dead, unaware that it was only a charred corpse in a wagon. From what I should think or do from the time she would ever record, any sign or object that had left at home before leaving, suddenly, though I did not know it yet, it became a sort of legacy, the last thing both had shared. Would never use the cup carefully deposited in the sink and filled it with water to keep the remains were removed attached to their favorite cookies. Neither would ever use more towels and bathrobe lying on the bedroom floor, where minutes earlier I had thrown into the strip of them in a furious rush of desire that had been seized when, still in bed, she had seen entering the room in search of his underwear. The two embraced naked in the tangle of blankets huddled together. Her legs curled around me and your heels pressing my buttocks, simultaneously pushing and accompanying each of my envestida. And finally, astride me, her body arched back and in a final spasm dropped on my chest, where he lay exhausted for about a memorable moment. The curled ends of her wet hair sliding down my cheek. The aroma of soap and skin leaving her recent shower. I kissed her shoulder, kissed his neck thin, fragile, I took it and inhales deeply, then proceeds as if all the odor given off by your body. It was then approached my lips to his ear and whispered:
"I hope you do not forget this all day.
-Count on it "he said.
-I helped him up, "said Felix, in front of me with his head bowed. Turned the spoon inside the empty cup, and rubbing and started with the tip, with a monotonous repetition and unconscious dried coffee remains attached to the end of the container.
I stared without saying a word, his thumb and forefinger holding the spoon and the head facing the ground because invariably, I supposed, had not yet accustomed to people will look at the wounds that metal fragments had left in his face. He shunned my eyes or crossed them an instant rush and bustle of the crowded cafeteria then that awkward silence hid during which each assumed or detected in the eye of another impeccable desire that this event should not have been ever produced.
-smiling, "added Felix.
had raised his head and finally looked me in the eyes, resolutely for the first time since he had entered. Had advanced to wobbly table at which I expected and from which he had made a sign with the arm to see him standing at the door, glancing around the room, table to table to identify. To walk is a cane that did not mitigate his obvious limp. As he had advanced in my direction, people had looked at him sideways with the certainty of knowing the precise cause wounds. Despite the weeks of unrest persisted and the city suffered the embarrassment of not finding a way out of their fear and return to the daily chores.
Although he could not bend the knee Felix had sat with the ease that seeks immediate custom. Leg stiff and straight as a piece of wood, had been extended in the hallway that opened between the tables.
-smiling all the time repeated Felix. Your wife, I say, smiling while talking on the phone, or sometimes resulted from long reverie with a sudden smile. So I always called attention. One, usually wanders sleepily at that hour of the morning and just feel like sleeping. Just sleep, talk or course work. And yet she chatted and listened, sometimes with unusual enthusiasm. You could see he was happy. You see, when you spend so many years watching every morning to people they just change the good morning, afternoon or early just attributing an imaginary biography, a life whose details are just speculation that one develops not only in terms of appearance, but a gesture or a look or other seemingly insignificant details.
Jamás se me había ocurrido reflexionar respecto qué pensarían quienes se cruzaban con ella, cuál era la vida hipotética que le habían asignado y cuántas coincidencias o desaciertos guardaría con la autentica, la que había compartido conmigo. Se me ocurrió pensar que quizá Félix albergó alguna vez la esperanza de seducirla.
—Cuenta con ello —continúo Félix—. Eso fue lo que me pareció que esa mañana dijo tu esposa al teléfono: cuenta con ello. Yo estaba sentado junto a la puerta, en uno de esos asientos plegables fijados a la chapa del vagón. Tu mujer estaba en el andén, saludaba con raised arm facing a high point right. When you try to step up stumbled, lost his footing and was about to fall, then stretched out his arms and leaned against them and thanked me as he took momentum and rose. In all that time had not dropped the phone. Heaved a sigh of relief and sat before me and thanked me again while the phone kept in the bag.
That was the last time I saw her alive. Standing in front of the train doors open. Was smiling at the window of the house from where I was on the phone. Before getting into the car and fired at me by moving his arm.
The alarm went off that day at half past six and she immediately silenced him with a slap accurate. He remained a moment silent, skulking lazy, half opening his eyes slowly to get used to the darkness of the room. As always acted on many occasions I had awakened before she did and had witnessed the entire process of gestures and grimaces that was his slow awakening. First stretches with a kind of sudden shudder groaned, then bend your knees and arched in tension desentumecía and body and arms stretched in a cross, and I occupied the left-right side of the bed, she always left- and left arm, say, soft tips shoved me to throw out mattress, and so to express its discomfort that she was the first to get up every day and not me.
no right, life is unfair, whispered sleepy, shaky walking toward the bedroom door with a pajama trouser leg higher than the other and curly hair. If it was winter, and before she finally approached me and hit my back and stayed well a long time. Around my waist with his arm, let it fall loose on my stomach and stroked with the fingertips or tangled in the beautiful and he pulled me, lingering in bed, muttering the words of protest than it used to take hand.
"No right.
should Then being asked. I turned around and watched, had joined and was sitting on the edge of the mattress with wild hair, ruffled and shaggy that kills that transformed her hair after a night of sleep, and in that moment I was tempted to ask.
"Stay. Calls saying that you're sick and stay with me today.
Yes, I felt like it, but the next thing I had already left the room and then dismissed the idea because the deadline I had set to finish the novel was about and thought of habérselo order, it would be an excuse for not writing that day. One of these delaying tactics often employ writers to hide the uncertainty that causes us to confront the text, to avoid the difficulty of a chapter or a paragraph or a character that prevents progress over days or weeks. How could I know, I mean, how anybody can know anything in a circumstance like that. Who can foresee the injustice of seeing something not to be warned that this is the last time you are watching.
kept silent and turned around and I was half asleep. I heard her bustling about the floor, first in the bathroom, flushing the toilet, hearing the pounding water pressure against the sink and imagined the vapor cloud that gradually grew in the toilet each time you shower. Later in the kitchen, whining noise that issued the hinges of the doors when opened and closed in search of sugar and coffee. It was messy and left its path open drawers and cupboards in the sleepy wandering that took her from one side to another tiny room floor, wearing the robe and wearing a towel like a turban knotted around her wet hair, cursing because could open the canister containing his favorite cookies. He liked to dip in coffee with milk until softened, then carried them to his mouth and swallowed with relish and eagerness of a child impatient, distracted while watching the TV news a day early.
Felix moved to one side cup and saucer on tearing the decaffeinated coffee had requested. Struck with the back of a hand spread remaining sugar over the table and leaned forward as if to share with me a secret.
"Since the train was launched," he said until the bombs exploded, I remember your wife staring and grinning from ear to ear, delighted in God knows what matters. Smiling all the while, the last image that I keep before all fly apart is his expression thoughtful and happy. I looked really puzzled and asked me what he could do so happy a person so early.
- What happened then? I asked.
I do not know if needed ...
"Do not worry. All you can say I've ever imagined. What happened?
Felix took a deep breath and slowly drove out before proceeding.
"Suddenly everything went blank. A dreadful roar echoed through the car. An explosion tore everything in its path, seats and doors and window glass, shattered, were released by the shock wave against us. I came out fired against metal and twisted steel. When I regained consciousness lying on the floor of a large place and high ceiling. I had covered up the chin with a blanket, his hair was singed and burned and tattered clothing. Around me only heard moans and cries and screams of pain that I have not even been out of my head. I felt my body and face, his face covered with blood and pierced a piece of iron in the leg at the knee. I lost track of time, I felt no pain. I was engrossed looking at the high ceiling of the nave, beams that crossed from one end to another and the headlights on hanging from them. That was when the phone rang. I turned and discovered that close to me, almost at my side, had left a body with a blanket thrown over it. The sound came from there. The phone kept ringing for a long time. I lifted the blanket. Your wife's hand appeared holding the bag. See it and remember it was all one. The phone, which had miraculously remained inside, he continued, meanwhile, playing until I met him out of the bag. When I held in my hand stopped the call. I looked at the screen, had registered many missed calls, I do not remember the exact number. And then, going to leave it where it was, rang again.
When I had collected everything and was going to write appeared at the bottom of the TV, sliding horizontally from right to left, Late information announcing a possible terrorist attack in the vicinity of the station that she was going. I quickly relate the news to the noise heard before. I picked up the phone and called incessantly until, after seeing it was quite impossible to contact, got dressed and ran out into the street.
all ran in the same direction. I had not stopped dialing his number since he left home. The phone pressed hard against the ear for the noise around me did not prevent the case heard in attend my call. I ran down the street, dodging and elderly men and women behind, all contorted gesture and an expression of fear in his eyes. A car went by me and circulated at an even rate to mine, at the wheel sat a neighbor who was signaling me with his arm and spoke to me, but i didn't to understand what he was trying to tell me. Then I stopped and he did the same with a sudden stop that drove forward the two or three people traveling in the rear seats. I went and I could finally hear what I said.
"Hurry, go up and take you.
I watched without a word, the phone still leaning against the ear. The man urged me.
- Want to take you or not?
Then I heard the phone a lisp.
- Yes baby!, are you okay? I exclaimed, relieved for a moment believe that my wife had emerged unscathed.
-not his wife ... can not ... is that, you see ... my name is ...
Felix announced that he was late and had to leave. For form's sake I asked him if he wanted to take something else. He shook his head and pointed to the empty cups from the two cafes that both had asked.
-With one I have enough, "he said. Then I can not sleep.
reached into his jacket pocket and took out the phone my wife, laid it on the table and handed it to me sliding over it. I just kept not looking.
"I lost consciousness, he added, but know that I went to the hospital with him in the hand and found him near me and thought that I belonged. I do not know for sure, but, well, here you go.
nodded in silence.
"I have not had a chance to tell you," he added, but I'm really sorry.
"Thank you, also replied.
pulled the cane under the table and began to rise.
- What will you do now? He asked, however.
I do not know, "I replied.
-Cuesta much back to normal Is not it? "He said.
I looked, I looked into his eyes and signs of bruises on his face and he replied with contained anger.
"She was normal.
stayed silent for a moment, after which he asked
- What do you do?
He knew very well what I do, the television had spread the story of many of the victims and often had offered details unnecessary in order to move the audience. It therefore appears that Felix was to postpone the march for some reason unknown to me. I lowered my head to look not notice in my desire to leave.
There was a time when I wanted to be a writer, "I said, was about to finish my first novel when it happened. Finally, the two had high hopes for it.
- Do not you?
- Excuse me?
"I say that if you do not want to be.
-No. -Refused, and was surprised the strength of my response, given that until then had not thought seriously, at least not consciously.
- Can you stop being a writer? So, without further? "He asked suddenly. She had risen and remained standing close to me.
"Apparently so," I replied. Felix looked sideways while playing with the spoon. I gathered what was its purpose and I thought the least I needed at that moment was a speech that well-intentioned help me understand how wrong I was and what precipitated my decision was a consequence of the state of shock which certainly think I was a victim.
- did the overnight? 'Said Felix.
I gave a snort and looked up at him in the eye. Long time I held her eyes and I was tempted to tell the truth, to trust that he had taken the decision not to write ever, and I would like to clarify that this decision was not due to the death of my wife, against than they might think, I was left empty or in deep crisis or discouragement prey and reluctance. No, he would have made it clear that this was not only the cause but he was very far from it. I would have explained that the reason was far more primitive and for other questionable justification. I would have said just do not write more because I needed to hate with all the energy you could muster, hating every day and every moment and with vehement intensity carried by those who need it the most basic survival instinct, and that such circumstances grow produce and hatred was a prerequisite to leave aside the literature, that I forgot to write. Because writing meant to understand, meant to be in a position to take the place of another and understand the details of his reasoning, no excuse in any event, but understand, and I wanted the writing led me to the opposite feeling he had finished with the life of my wife, would not, even remotely, leaving the slightest chink through which leaked a hint of compassion or understanding, or forbearance. No, I did not understand or condone, let alone forget, I just wanted to hate, and literature should do so while being part of my life just as sharp and painful that I had taken my wife
confess I felt like everything, sharing with him the memory of my wife, however, since Felix was sitting at the table had not done it, had evoked in silence as he and I had just crossed a phrase throughout the meeting, during which he had delivered to the unnecessary narration day of the attack as if it would help explain to their rest or oblivion.
Felix placed the cane in his forearm and left him hanging on the hook-shaped handle. Then, pushing with a short hop to prevent battered leg lean on the ground, stepped closer and leaned over me and whispered in his ear
"I can think a thousand reasons to make you give up, but one that is so evident that it is strange you have not noticed her, unless, of course, do not want to. The question is: what would she say? Tell me, do you have the slightest idea what they have told your wife?
At that moment I realized why it had crossed just a few sentences with Felix was precisely to avoid that question. I understood that and no other was the cause which I had resisted that this meeting will occur from the time that Felix had been contacted. Yes, of course I knew what she had thought or said, I've always known. Since we met soon learned to anticipate his thoughts, as said or did or plot. To imagine each of the steps being taken at home but I was not there, only recalling other times when many other days in those who did and had been referred to sneak and looking sideways, tried in vain she did not know who was watching, and when I finally discovered pretended not to see me because I liked the look secretly, because peeking is to investigate in search of unusual gesture, an unknown expression, a feature ignored in the one you love for which we have no proof, so lay hold of him and rescue him and remember him in his absence and imagine exactly how it operates when we are not present, how is your life when running away from ours.
Yes, of course he knew what he had said Laura.
