CUENTOS DE ALUMBRAMIENTO

© Páginas de Espuma, Madrid, 2006

HAPPINESS

My name is Marcos. I’ve always wanted to be Cristóbal.

I don’t mean to be called Cristóbal. Cristóbal is my friend; I was going to say my best friend, but I’ll say he’s my only one.

Gabriela is my wife. She loves me a lot and sleeps with Cristóbal.

He is intelligent, sure of himself and a good dancer. He also rides horses. He knows Latin grammar. He cooks for women; then he has them for breakfast. I would say that Gabriela is his favourite dish.

Someone unaware of the situation might think that my wife is betraying me with him: nothing could be further from the truth. I have always wanted to be Cristóbal, and I certainly put in the effort. I practice not being Marcos. I take dance classes, I go over my student textbooks. I know that my wife adores me. And her love is so great, that the poor woman sleeps with him, with the man I wish to be. In the muscular arms of Cristóbal, my Gabriela waits for me eagerly with open arms.

Such patience fills me with joy. I hope my best efforts will meet her expectations, and that some day, soon, the moment will come for us. That moment of indestructible love that she has prepared so carefully for, deceiving Cristóbal, getting used to his body, his character and his tastes, to be as comfortable and happy as possible when I am like him and we leave him all alone.

(Translation: Trevor Stack & Julia Biggane)

[extracted from Alumbramiento –Lighting-, Páginas de Espuma, 2006]

BEAUTY

Some will think I exaggerate, but each to his own. I’m so beautiful that before I even reach the street, I am already in love. Men gaze at me with a kind of excessive, slightly resentful attention. Women examine me, scrutinize my features, study each gesture of mine trying to figure out the trick. But there is no trick: I’m beautiful, horrifically beautiful, and nothing else.

This is a refined kind of torture. I don’t see where the blessing lies. If I say anything, I’m listened to with impertinent suspicion that I haven’t managed to get used to. If some man speaks to me, he does so with interests that are not exactly dialectical. If a woman speaks to me, she does it to neutralize me as a rival, offering me her friendship. When men don’t address me, the reproach of not loving them tremble in their silence. When women keep silent, I note how they spy on me and look at themselves in the mirror. Help! No one chooses their body or their name. Harmony has taken revenge on me. Beauty too is cruel, beauty too.

Virtues? What virtues? How much merit of mine lies in my petal-like skin? How much reward for the job well done is there in my hourglass shape? Sometimes I have thought of ending all this and throwing a corrosive liquid in my face. If I don’t do it, it’s not exactly out of concern for my appearance, but out of fear of the pain and above all out of pride. I have lived in the forest. I have fled abroad. I have spent several years in the hills. But always, everywhere, there was someone who fell in love with me and hated me for it. I know the way it happens by heart: first comes a starry-eyed fascination; after that a dumb benevolence, as if I deserved more than I deserve; later that impatience that I fear so much; then a scene of despairing obsession, a bout of anger and finally contempt. Pain for both.

At night I dream about ugly worlds, about sickening scenes, about stomach-turning habits. I see lovers of dirty skin and black tongues, eager animals that embrace me and draw me into their stench. That is when, fleetingly, I’m happy. I cross deserts of dirty sand. I swim carefree in rivers of clay. But sooner or later a breath of sunshine strokes my cheek, and I open my eyes, and my body stretches out slowly, and beauty comes back into the bedroom. The first thing I do when I get out of bed is to look, incredulous, at my naked body in the mirror. No one ever wakes by my side.

(Translation: Trevor Stack & Julia Biggane)

[extracted from Alumbramiento –Lighting-, Páginas de Espuma, 2006]

THE COUPLE

It’s worth remembering that clumsiness can, on occasion, be born of excessive symmetry. Without a doubt, Elisa and Elías were a fine example. Unable to embrace without one of their respective right and left arms collidingin the air, both aroused the amazement of their friends. They had the same habits. Their political opinions didn’t even differ at the level of anecdotal detail? They enjoyed similar music. They laughed at similar jokes, and in the restaurants where they dined, either of them could, without worrying, make two identical orders without consulting the other. They never got sleepy at different times; this, although it was sexually stimulating, was annoying from a strategic point of view: Elisa and Elías competed secretly to use the bathroom first, for the last glass of milk left in the fridge, or to read first the novel that, the previous week, both had planned to buy. Theoretically, Elisa was able to reach orgasm together with Elías without any effort. But, in practice, on not a few occasions they ended up entangled in uncomfortable positions, caused by their always simultaneous desire to position themselves above or below the other. You make a perfect couple, you’re made for each other, Elisa’s mother, who was entranced by them, used to say. To which both responded by blushing a little, and tripping over each other when rushing to give Elisa’s mother a kiss.

I hate you more than anyone in this world, Elías tried to wail one eventful night, without getting Elisa to listen to him, or, rather, without being able to tell his voice from hers. After a difficult night, full of synchronized nightmares, the two of them had breakfast in silence and didn’t need to argue to know what would happen after that. That afternoon, after getting back from work, she wasn’t surprised to find half the wardrobe empty when she went to fill her suitcases.

As tends to happen, Elisa and Elías have tried to get back together several times. What happens, though, is that their phones are usually engaged when one of the two makes a timid attempt to call. The few occasions in which they have managed to fix a meeting, neither of them has kept the appointment, perhaps offended by the other’s delay in having taken that step.

(Translation: Trevor Stack & Julia Biggane)

[extracted from Alumbramiento –Lighting-, Páginas de Espuma, 2006]