(Published in the Daily Reporter on 09/01/1910)
a stroke. A brand. A scar. The old pain again leaning on their orgy of loneliness. It drew chalk tulips, jays, cherry, disrupted in inclement fire burning sites where he wrote his fantasy stories credible. The same anguish ... the usual, this time flooding the space reiterated the same nail, the same cross, it withered lily, the renowned spine ... buried the hope that once she was promised for the site of his paternal love. He did not know him in his first words. Was absent from his early achievements. There never shared their games. Did not see her take her first steps or say their first words. He just left ... forgotten. She grew up, full of questions. Her mother said it was a bug ... I never thought at all. Always attributed it to an exaggeration of that hangover after product of the storm. In this resentment, after a separation. So one day I looked. Without expecting anything from him, just do not die without having known him. Having not seen, even for once, the face. I did not want or need, any support ... and maybe even affection she never had. But I wanted to know who and what it was ... just that. To stop being a shadow. A ghost in his dreams. Figure imagined so many times that escaped his hands, his fingers found out. Difficult to fulfill a dream, holding on to his department hopes and fantasies. In it, some old photo. A trace. A thirst. An unknown spot in his affections. The same way where escaped many times their flights, disguised paternal affection. The deep frustration, often dressed in resentment, where Gray announced that the full wrath of orphans due to abandonment. The curiosity to know who and how is the man who begat ... that should have been his father but abandoned the commitment. Or they did leave, as is often thought, trying to understand. The wet sheet from the sweat of many sleepless nights, reliving what she thought might be the match. Cherry color that environment united by the root that, although abandoned, she kept forever. Uncertainty can drive anyone mad. The well-known unknown texture, feeding and turning adventure pardons. The late nectar, that she thinks the reason miscarried, when he preferred to ride the beautiful night to face the consequence of their instincts. A stroke. A brand. A scar. Life itself is written with the skin over the best of his twenty years ... but without him.
"Very young. Unwrapped. I've written a couple of emails. Visit me in my office and tells me
- How is BA? I have written several times. Some embraced them. Others acknowledge the useful of his writings. The last, saying he wanted to talk to you and tell the story of a friend. Well here I am, though I must confess that the story is not a friend. It's mine.
a stroke. A brand. A scar. The old pain again leaning on their orgy of loneliness. It drew chalk tulips, jays, cherry, disrupted in inclement fire burning sites where he wrote his fantasy stories credible. The same anguish ... the usual, this time flooding the space reiterated the same nail, the same cross, it withered lily, the renowned spine ... buried the hope that once she was promised for the site of his paternal love. He did not know him in his first words. Was absent from his early achievements. There never shared their games. Did not see her take her first steps or say their first words. He just left ... forgotten. She grew up, full of questions. Her mother said it was a bug ... I never thought at all. Always attributed it to an exaggeration of that hangover after product of the storm. In this resentment, after a separation. So one day I looked. Without expecting anything from him, just do not die without having known him. Having not seen, even for once, the face. I did not want or need, any support ... and maybe even affection she never had. But I wanted to know who and what it was ... just that. To stop being a shadow. A ghost in his dreams. Figure imagined so many times that escaped his hands, his fingers found out. Difficult to fulfill a dream, holding on to his department hopes and fantasies. In it, some old photo. A trace. A thirst. An unknown spot in his affections. The same way where escaped many times their flights, disguised paternal affection. The deep frustration, often dressed in resentment, where Gray announced that the full wrath of orphans due to abandonment. The curiosity to know who and how is the man who begat ... that should have been his father but abandoned the commitment. Or they did leave, as is often thought, trying to understand. The wet sheet from the sweat of many sleepless nights, reliving what she thought might be the match. Cherry color that environment united by the root that, although abandoned, she kept forever. Uncertainty can drive anyone mad. The well-known unknown texture, feeding and turning adventure pardons. The late nectar, that she thinks the reason miscarried, when he preferred to ride the beautiful night to face the consequence of their instincts. A stroke. A brand. A scar. Life itself is written with the skin over the best of his twenty years ... but without him.
"Very young. Unwrapped. I've written a couple of emails. Visit me in my office and tells me
- How is BA? I have written several times. Some embraced them. Others acknowledge the useful of his writings. The last, saying he wanted to talk to you and tell the story of a friend. Well here I am, though I must confess that the story is not a friend. It's mine.
- Many times, I say, who have been uncomfortable situations, outrageous, when you come to tell me and confidence as they enter, they are attributed to an acquaintance. Then, end-the most of the time, trusting that they are the protagonists. So do not worry.
- I was born to a wonderful mother. Woman of strong values \u200b\u200band a bit particular vigor. A woman who raised me up and sat at a sewing machine. Using costumes, arenas, arrangements, shirts, patches. Dedicated to me, I'm his only daughter. Sola. No no one else in your closest family affection. With your example, your help, the innate wisdom that God has given to the mothers that even parents can meet when necessary.
- "And your father?
- I can not front, licensed .... I'm coming there. From him, I recently learned. Pregnant mom, promising marriage. House. A home. Typical of its time. But once he knew the status of mother, left the wig. We left and now. I knew, or ever did know anything. Nor never heard from mom, but she is still living in the same house all my life. Just missed. Mom I said that he behaved like a bug. After that fell in love and asked "a proof of love" so often, she says, in his time-when a smart go to bed with his girlfriend ... he left without saying goodbye. Without even discussing the unborn child. Without wishing to know anything, even love to have you saying. Mom always refused to talk over him, beyond the harsh criticism and always saddled qualifiers. To the extent that I grew, I began to ask, because at school all had daddy, but me. In Acts, his place was always empty. Father's Day, the drawing that I did, I gave my mom ... and but really, she filled all at some point I needed Dad. Not that live with me. Do not give me anything, because within the simplicity and humility that I always lived all he wanted to have, but I felt like mutilated. Something was missing. And while I never self-conscious about it ... at some point, having a father envied.
- What did you do about it?
- In elementary question, but no answers other than the endless criticism of my mother, "the tramp that I impregnated her and left us." As a teenager, with more discretion, I approached my mom ... and when I repeated the refrain, he I said ... well, I think, but now tell me just how it is. How old are you?. What it does. Did you know more about him?. Does he know me?. Do you have family?. Do you know?. Anything you tell me about Dad. Remember, I said that not only is the man that you cheated or disappointed ... it's my father and this link as I can suspend, and even try to ignore ... but never break, I said.
- How do you react?
- always elusive. Until at some point I said okay, every time I tell you. Time passed, and entered the University. From time to insist Mom told me that he was a carpenter, lived in Chivacoa with her family, because he had a wife and children even before interacting with it, although this was learned after he left ... and then gave me his name: Augustus. From that moment, I decided to look for myself. Wanted, needed to know. I was going to die, or he would die without me see his face. Not that I know how to be father and me with mom gave me life.
- What did you do?
- A classmate had relatives in Chivacoa and started there. Without giving many details about why I told him I was looking for Mr. Augusto known carpenter, for work needed. Chivacoa surely be a small town, his family would know best. Seek talking, but to no avail. I could not find him. A couple of years later, with management more or less forgotten in the midst of so much study, I began dating a boy Yaracuy, who made me girlfriend. I told him I was looking for a Lord Augustus, carpenter, for work. He said he would talk with his family because he did not sound. One day I said that a cousin of him, studying with the children of a carpenter. That through her I was going to get all the information that I come in contact with him.
- What did you think then?
- That was wonderful, he was very close to being able to meet my father. Mom and I had shown some pictures where both appeared yellow on a tour of Sarare. I had an image in my mind. The day that Raúl, my boyfriend, I got the phone I rolled the heart, Graduate. I got the sea of \u200b\u200bhappy, and that was when I told Mom what had been done and what had been my concern about meeting my father. The hitherto difficult Mr Augusto
- What did she say?
- It happened to me hand through his hair ... he hugged me and told me my child, I know that's a concern you have for a long time and you must meet. Just pray that the cure is not worse than the disease. You do not need anything. You come down here alone, with no other effort than your own. If you did not deal with small ... I do not do so now. In any case it is your decision and respect. I'm just going to ask my God, that this meeting is for your happiness ... I said, do not worry, old. I'm grown-up. This year I graduate in Engineering, and less I need anyone. You permeate everything, but understand it is a necessity that I must meet at some point .... I'm with you he said. I will always be.
- What did you do?
- I was filled with courage and called him. I said, Good Lord Augustus how are you? ... Well, I said who do I speak? ... With Maria Fernanda ... sounds? ... No, it sounds to me, I countered. I am the daughter of Carmela, do you remember her? ... Was silent for a while, and I said what do you want? .. Just know that I know. Nothing more than that. I want nothing from you, other than the opportunity to see you .... Let me think and I notice he replied. Call me a week. He cut the phone without saying goodbye. I figured that was the impression, after so many years. So I told my mom when I asked. This time she did not say anything, I listened in silence. A week later I called him. Hello Sir Augustus is Maria Fernanda, remember me ... yes, I remember. I thought you told me and well, let's see each other but in Barquisimeto. Tell me the site, that I can have an hour to do so. Inside, I jumped for joy, and the strange thrill to the uncertainty ... that strange feeling against not knowing what would happen, just with my dad. I said, in The Trinity in the Food Fair, Saturday at 2:00 pm, do you think? ... I think he replied. And so we were.
- How was the meeting?
- I was here first. When I did, I realized that I had not given any sign on me that I sit at. No clue. Then I appealed to my memory, that photo many times in eye-hand for identification. Although 20 years later, could not know how much had changed. But when I saw it, once I identified. Had not changed much, except in the half gray hair and some extra kilos. I saw him and called him Mr. ... Augustus said. At that moment I felt, how strange was it to me ... that was hard for me to call Dad.
- How do you greeted?
- A formal greeting, no doubt, tried to be friendly without being so. I went to shake hands, and I went to kiss his cheek. Was allowed, but not applicable. I thought ... it's too early. She sat beside me and say, well here I am, tell me what you say. I did not know where to begin. What to say, do not misunderstand me out. Half was clouded by the circumstances, however I took courage ... well, at first just wanted to know. See his face. To remember the face of my father, and not through an old photo. I want nothing. Everything I have. I am in week Engineering graduate. My mother, within its capabilities, has given me an education, a house, and everything else. But for me it was and is very important to see it in person. Hear. Hear from you. Who is the diffuse character, which I was fortunate to be my father and I come to know 22 years after his birth. Was silent a moment, looked me in the eye and said ... I do not know really what you want. You are my daughter, but I have a family. One woman, a child who is going to be difficult to explain that I was a child of 22 years. Therefore I would bring many problems. In addition, you have lived all these years without me, so you do not need. Came mainly because I want to tell you to forget me. You keep your life as usual. With your mom. For me to have a relationship with you, just bring me problems ... and I say, well, you're my daughter, but do not feel as such. I do not love you. And at this point will be very difficult to do so. I think the best thing for both is that everyone on your way. Sorry if you did any expectation, but I will not risk what I have for you, who do not even know. So, you see me ... now, forget about me.
- What did you say, what you did, how you reacted?
- I said nothing, BA, because it gave me time. Ended right there talking and got up from his chair and left. He was right once again my mom is a bug. But look, I did not cry. I was stunned, but did not cry. Maybe he was right. I was big as a child. I remembered a phrase that someone said: "It is easier to have children, a parent who can be." I appreciated my mother ever. And I did not understand how it was related to a character like that. I ordered a coffee, and thought. Father is the begetter. No one who is as such an accident of pleasure. Father, is something else. Nothing to do with the gentleman who had spoken. I went home and told mom. She hugged me and told me how good life lets you see things for yourself. Yes, I said. I saw it. I looked. I heard it ... and thank goodness he left. So I was happy for both.
Then she, as the first creatures of this universe, it became time, mud, wind. And he kept swans garden for so long in the hope of ever watering blizzard became realities. And there was no more voice in that memory that fall, no more music than in the winter ... no more warmth than that woman again, single, flooding their way. And then he turned storm, night and nightmare. Pain, cry and wound. And the same platform that led to life, began to point the way of luck. And in that affection, no further north than nothing, no more excuses that irresponsibility, not more punishment than oblivion. Therefore turned absence, memory and neglect. Now try not to return hatred, fear or revenge. And with the same vigor of which was made by his mother to live in the midst of difficulties, refused to continue to hope. Now he wants to scream, to no longer be, but never silent. Not even want to erase their footsteps ... is that footprint, which lets you know, where is the site that he was denied his father ... last time!
0 comments:
Post a Comment