Casa Tomada:
We liked the house because in addition to spacious and old (now that the old houses succumb to the lowest settlement of material) kept the secrets of our great-grandparents The paternal grandfather, our parents and all children.
We Irene and I get used to persist alone in it, it was crazy in that house for eight people could live without disturbing. We did the cleaning in the morning, getting up at seven, and eleven o'clock I left the last room Irene for reviewing and went to the kitchen. Had lunch at noon, always on time, and there was nothing to be done outside of dirty dishes. We welcome lunch was thinking about the deep and silent house and how we bastábamos to keep clean. Sometimes we believe that it was she who would not let us get married. Irene rejected two suitors without much reason, to me is me Maria Esther died before we got to commit. We went into the forties with the unspoken idea that ours, simple and quiet marriage of siblings, was necessary closure of the genealogy great-grandparents settled in at home. We would die there one day, vague and elusive cousins would stay with the house and throw her to the ground to enrich the soil and bricks, or rather even turn ourselves justly before it was too late.
Irene was a girl born to not disturb anyone. Apart from some morning spent the day knitting on the sofa in her bedroom. I do not know why knitting so much, I think women weave when found in that work great excuse to do nothing. Irene did not, weaving things always needed for winter sweaters, socks for me, knitted and vests for her. Sometimes knitting a vest and then unraveled in a moment because something did not like, it was funny to see in the bucket curled wool pile to resist losing their way a few hours. On Saturday I went downtown to buy wool, Irene had faith in my taste, is pleased with the colors and never had to return skeins. I took advantage of these outlets to give a tour of the library and ask vain if there was new in French literature. Since 1939 did not reach anything valuable to Argentina.
But it's the house I want to talk, home, and Irene, because I have no importance. I wonder what Irene would have done without tissue. One can reread a book, but when a pull-over is finished you can not repeat it without a fuss. One day I found the bottom drawer of the dresser filled with shawls camphor white, green, lilac. Were with naphthalene, stacked like a haberdashery, not had the nerve to ask Irene what he thought to do with them. We did not need to make a living, every month the money came from the fields and the money grew. But Irene only entertained the tissue, showed great skill and me were the times I saw him as hedgehogs silver hands, needles back and forth and one or two baskets on the floor where the balls were stirring constantly . It was beautiful.
How not to remember the layout of the house. The dining room with tapestries, the library and three large bedrooms were on the most removal, facing Rodriguez Peña. Only a hallway with solid oak door isolating this part of the front wing where there was a bathroom, kitchen, bedroom and living our core, which communicated the bedroom and hallway. They entered the house through a porch tiles and the central door was the living room. So one came through the hall, opened the gate and went into the living room; teníaa sides of our bedroom doors, and across the hall conducíaa the most withdrawn, advancing by corridor will cross the threshold of oak and beyond the other began side of the house, or you could turn left just before the gate and follow a narrow passageway leading to the kitchen and bathroom. When the door was open, a warning that the house was very large, otherwise gave the impression of a department that are built now, just to move, Irene and I always lived in this part of the house, almost never went beyond the oak door, except for cleaning, it is amazing how the land board furniture. Buenos Aires is a clean city, but that it owes its people and nothing else. Too much land in the air, just blow a gust can feel the dust on the marble console and between the diamonds of the folders in macramé, provides work out well with a feather duster, flying and suspended in the air A moment later redeposited in furniture and pianos.
I always remember clearly because it was simple and without unnecessary circumstances. Irene was knitting in her bedroom, it was eight in the evening and it suddenly occurred to me to fire the kettle's mate. I went to the hall to confront the oak door ajar, and turned around the elbow that led to the kitchen when I heard something in the dining room or library. The sound came vague and dull, like a chair tipped over on the carpet or a muffled murmur of conversation. We also heard at the same time or a second later, in the end of the hallway he brought from those parts to the door. I threw myself against the door before it was too late, slammed supporting the body; fortunately the key was on our side and also ran the great bolt for safety.
I went to cooking, boiling the kettle, and when I got back with the tray of mate, I said to Irene:
"I had to close the hall door. Have taken the part of the fund.
He dropped the fabric and looked at me with serious eyes tired.
- Are you sure?
nodded.
"So," picking up the needles, we have to live on this side.
I raged mate carefully, but it took a while to resume its work. I remember knitting a gray vest, a jacket that I liked.
The first few days we felt sad because we had both left in the part taken many things we wanted. My books of French literature, for example, were all in the library. Irene missed some folders, a pair of slippers that both warm in winter. I felt my pipe juniper and I think Irene thought a bottle of Hesperidin many years. Often (but this only happened the first few days) we closed a drawer of the comfortable and we watched with sadness.
She's not here.
And it was something more than what we had lost the other side of the house.
But we also had advantages. Cleaning is simplified so that even getting up very late, at half past nine, for example, did not give the eleven and we were passive. Irene became accustomed to go with me to the kitchen and help prepare lunch. I think about it and decided this: while I was preparing lunch, Irene cook dishes to eat cold night. We are happy because it is always annoying to have to leave the dormitory during the evening and start to cook. Now we do with the table in the bedroom of Irene and deli food sources.
Irene was happy because he had more time to knit. I was a little lost because of the books, but not to grieve for my sister I started reviewing the collection of Dad's stamp, and that helped me kill time. We had fun, each in his affairs, often meeting in Irene's room was more comfortable. Sometimes Irene said
-Look at this point that occurred to me. Do not give a picture of clover?
A while later it was me who put him in the eyes of a small square of paper that he saw the merit of a seal of Eupen and Malmedy. We were fine, and gradually we began to think not. You can live without thinking.
(When Irene dreamed aloud I unveiled soon. I never could get used to that statue or parrot voice, a voice that comes is the dream and not the throat. Irene said dream consisted of large shocks that were sometimes dropped the blanket. Our bedroom had the living of the middle, but at night you could hear anything in the house. We could hear breathing, coughing, foresaw the gesture that leads to the key on the nightstand, the mutual and frequent insomnia.
Other than that all was quiet in the house. By day, rumors were domestic, rubbing metal knitting needles, a crack to turn the pages of stamp album. The oak door, I think I said, was solid. In the kitchen and bathroom, which were playing the part taken, we started to talk louder or Irene singing lullabies. In a kitchen there is too much noise of china and glass to break into her other sounds. Very few times we allowed the silence there, but when the bedroom Tornabe and living, then put the house quiet and dimly lit, until we stepped more slowly so as not to disturb. I think that was why night, when Irene started to dream high voice, I unveiled soon).
repeat is almost the same except the consequences. At night I feel thirsty, and before bed I told Irene that went to the kitchen to serve a glass of water. From the bedroom door (she was knitting) I heard the noise in the kitchen, perhaps in the kitchen or maybe in the bathroom because the side of the aisle turned off the sound. Irene was struck my how sharp paused, and came to me without saying a word. We were listening to the sounds, clearly noting that they were on this side of the oak door in the kitchen and bathroom, or in the hallway right where the elbow began almost next to us.
not even looked at. Irene pressed the arm and made me run to the inner door, without turning back. The noises were heard louder, but still muffled behind us. I slammed the gate and stayed in the hall. Now there was no sound.
-have taken this part, "said Irene. The tissue was hanging from the hands and the yarn went up to the gate and lost below. When he saw that the balls were on the other hand, let the fabric without looking.
- Did you have time to bring anything? I asked needlessly.
"No, nothing.
We were with the job. I remembered fifteen thousand pesos in the wardrobe in my bedroom. It was late now.
As I had the watch, saw that it was eleven o'clock at night. I walked around with my arm Irene waist (I think she was crying) and went outside. Before leaving I pity, though I closed my door and threw away the key to the sewer. Lest some poor devil was stealing happen and get into the house, at that time and taken home.
Julio Cortázar
0 comments:
Post a Comment