was a good idea not to stay too long in one place. So although I was very happy in that quiet house Rosita told why do not we left the Algarve, as planned, and confused ourselves into the melee of tourists, many of them British like me. In addition, Rosita was a little Lisbon tired of traffic, jams and especially how they are driving recklessly, without signaling, abruptly changing lanes, not to mention his lack of respect for speed limits. A lovely people, but once the wheel is transformed into raging kamikazes. And I with my arm crippled, just an ornament, and reflexes dulled by pills or could dream away, nor to desire, to give relief on the wheel.
Rosita was rare, passionate affectionate, as always, but often was more thoughtful than usual, as if his mind back to Madrid. I must also confess that I was not too cheerful a companion in those circumstances.
- You worried about something? "I asked, ironically, as who should be worried I was, but the pills gave me a sedative effect that concern away and made me look at everything as in the distance.
"No, it's just that I was thinking all I have yet jewelry.
"Forget the jewelry, let Jasmine deal.
"Also I have to return to school.
"Well if you want to return to Madrid .- I proposed and she accepted. At the end of the site I was like another, Madrid was as good a place as any to go unnoticed while I replenished, slowly, too slowly for my taste. And so the planned trip to the south de Portugal se quedó en palabras. Me dejé llevar, pasivo y dócil, de regreso a Madrid. Poco importaba el sitio, lo único que deseaba era descansar tranquilo y reponer mi brazo, al menos para poder mover y flexionar con moderada agilidad, pues ya asumía que ese brazo ya nunca sería el mismo. De hecho hice todo el viaje medio adormilado por las pastillas, y ambientado por la suave música Rosita sintonizaba para distraerse durante aquel monótono trayecto.
En el piso de la calle Velázquez disfruté unos días de calma externa y sosiego interno. Rosita y Yasmín salían por la mañana temprano, una al colegio, la otra a la joyería, y yo me quedaba plácidamente durmiendo hasta media mañana. Overwhelmed by strange nightmares that woke me intrigued, and that was spinning over breakfast juice, coffee, toast, invariably in the same order. Then she went out to stretch their legs, in a sometimes wandering led me to the Retiro park, to sit in the sun on a bench, imitating the elderly. Mornings retired, I said to myself, wondering what I think of these old men, who think I am? Because they are obviously stays, I looked carefully, one will dare to sit beside me and tried to make conversation.
-ago day, eh?
-Sorry, I do not understand .- I replied that invariably ended with my London accent, asking for the old, or old, it was not Anglophone. And he gave me good results. But in the end I decided to change the itinerary. And one day, looking at the new pictures he had painted in his spare time Jasmine, elegant landscapes that I had bought to decorate my hotel in Puerto Mogan, I happened to visit the Paseo del Prado.
The truth, until then I was not much given to painting, apart from that episode of the pictures and finally we returned to steal is impossible to give out. It did not seem useful, nor was the charm, more Beyond a slight recess to the hearing, and in my case even that was reduced, would be more accurate to say half my half recess to view. But maybe my bias was changed by circumstances, because in that first visit and in subsequent tables were many impressed me, some of a particularly fascinating. "The passage of the Styx" by Joachim Patinir.
caught my attention in spite of its small size, just a meter. I thought it would be a good landscape to recreate what Jasmine, the contrast of elements and colors, dark blue water, white fluffy clouds, the green cast on both sides ... and expanding fire. But reading the title, I remembered the Greek mythology and suddenly I understood the metaphor of death, which contained the picture. The boatman was none other than Charon, and the fire ... no doubt the fire of Hades. I felt a deep emotion. That picture was a "memento mori", and I really had seen very closely the harshness of death myself to die, saved by a briefcase "Samsonite." But why Charon is almost naked?, I wondered, watching spellbound oil. That detail puzzled me. I had to sit down to realize what it meant. Naked go to the other side. Death in any of your belongings protect you, none of your wealth will ease, and even your clothes will prevent the worms give a good account of yourself.
But why just struck me that little box rather than others who dealt with the death of more spectacular and bloody? Without going any further that of Pieter Bruegel, with very explicit title, "The Triumph of Death", and spectacular visuals, apocalyptic, mountains of corpses.
Upon reflection, I concluded clear: what scares me is not death itself but what comes next. Whether hell, or just the void, nothingness, absence, nonsense.
tried to scare my thoughts looking at other paintings of content happier, but it was useless, and pestles naked, neither Venus nor the Bacchanalia could change my mood. Just another landscape, "Boarding in Santa Paula Roman Ostia" by Claude Lorraine, with its majestic monuments, my vision got lost in the brilliant infinite horizon. And maybe that was another metaphor of death more reassuring: a bright horizon in which to lose infinite.
This reflection on the sterility of our anxieties made me try all he could give me some heat in the middle of that cold blackness invaded my mind a little closer to Rosita, try talking to her and know what it was that troubled him. So I did, and the result, after enough stress on my part, I was asked to give us some time apart to clear, which of course would still be partners, and we might, but he needed his space and time. I do not know if it also considered, because they said it, but I did what I thought it was appropriate that we were some time apart to cool until the investigation into the shootings and four deaths. In any case I did not have time for many digressions, because a few days ago I received a call from Luis Tosco.
"Well, is that police have been here, asking for your friend, Charles, wanted to know if we knew his whereabouts. And after you have asked, I said you were traveling, but have insisted on knowing where and when to return. What do I tell?
"Well I'm in Madrid and back in four or five days.
- What's happening? "I asked.
"I have no idea, but do not worry, I do not think it has anything to do with us anyway on arrival, before going to talk to the police, I will meet you to tell me the details, if perhaps we can deduce what it is.
When I hung up the phone I must confess I was not surprised. It was actually logical. Almost could even reconstruct the steps that had come to me. First, seeing the drug in the van, and soon to identify any of the Colombians would have easily inferred type of business that led to the fatal outcome. I guess they did a hair among all the pushers and traffickers of Gran Canaria. That would have taken time, precious time for me to heal the wound first, then to recuperate. They had to interrogate informants, consumers and small camels, one by one. Seeing that the whole island there were no leads, radio extended the investigation to the other, starting with Tenerife. At some point, someone whispered to the police the name of Charlie. They searched unsuccessfully went to his house, not finding requested a warrant of entry and search of his house. Among his roles certainly met the purchase of shares of "Paradise Real Estate, Inc." Maybe even some of the first purchase of land on which my hotel now stands. In short, nothing serious, nothing that could not plug in a good and honest explanation to the police, to justify my relationship and my real estate business with him. Fortunately, despite the fact that he insisted many times, I never had attended their environments. Had no evidence, otherwise they would not have gone to ask when I return, would come to stop. All That I told myself to calm down.
do not know why strange association of ideas, that afternoon the phone call, I felt like buying a Bible, and once gave me some time to read aloud the "Critique of Pure Reason" in German Now I got to recite Psalms in all seriousness:
"Your hand will defeat all your enemies, your right hand
destroy your opponents:
the fiery furnace will become ... well ...
have plotted to harm you,
have plotted intrigues, but have failed;
thou put to flight in the sketches
your bow. " (Psalm 21.9)
And those words really calmed my anxiety, I provided the strength, courage, serenity, to face these minions of power that came to bother me for a few murderers who had failed and had paid with his life, deservedly so.
0 comments:
Post a Comment