First story of Story Tuesday. sent by
Julieta Talavera | shournalista.com | @shournalist
Sometimes everything happens without us realizing it.
It had been days since I had been able to clean my glasses well, I had tried different clothes, the flannel that came in the case and as a last resort: the napkins from the downtown cafe. That cleaning trick recommended by my ex-eye doctor, the sister of my first eye doctor, Pipino, the one who had prescribed the tortoiseshell plastic glasses with red sideburns, those that settled my face as a girl-genie girl-nerd and sowed doubt To walk. But the clouds of grime were still there, stuck to the acrylic glass, going from one side to the other. Maybe it was just a sensation, but my glasses weren't working.
I was in a special moment. I was in a Caribbean paradise that is best appreciated under the sun, that is, without glasses or with sunglasses, but since I lacked the latter that my husband had recommended so many times to send me to do, I was only satisfied with getting into the sea. it always appeared in uniform shades of blue, settled by my myopic astigmatism. At night I looked at the stars with dirty glasses, but I didn't even realize it. To read, I used my good eye and the only clean triangle I had left and had found the vantage point on the lounge chair that ensured reading accompanied by numbing one leg at a time.
When I no longer felt like doing the satellite dish with my glasses, I thought about many things, except Christmas. I liked the Caribbean but I was bored easily. The sea was never my favorite place, besides the nights were cold and the noise of the waves too monotonous and constant. I am not one of the people who finds the music of whale singing pleasant. I knew that my old age would be condemned to vacations like these and I resisted practicing them in times of full youth. Mexico was a paradise, yes, but for the first 3 days, a whole month surrounded by sand and salt is very different. I was fully aware of all this when I received the call from my husband with the trick question of whether he wanted to travel to the Mayan shore and with full knowledge of my near future, I lied and gave in because I knew that it had been a very difficult year for him and that I wanted more than anything in the world to swim on this beach, a few meters from the cabin from where I am relating what happened. We planned to return to New York on the eve of the holidays and would celebrate Christmas Eve in the city, at least that is what we had planned.
Perhaps because I had not had much contact with anyone other than my husband, a Russian who never waited for Santa Claus or knows the wise men by name, it was that I did not feel the slightest Christmas spirit. The last December 24 had been unconventional, in a French restaurant, surrounded by snow, boots, gloves and phone calls, that is to say that the theme of strange Christmas had already been dragging him for a year. Nor was I overly concerned. For the first time in my life, I wanted to go back to work, perhaps because it was the first time I had worked what I liked or because I needed to give my activities meaning. The first few days I was a bit distressed, thinking why Andrei and I did not share the same concept of vacation and for a few hours I was tormented by the idea that the age difference was becoming present between the two, but I had good reason to quickly forget it. .
The lodge was relatively comfortable and far from luxurious. A rustic cabin with a palm leaf roof and log walls (better known as a “straw hut”) located on the beach ensuring the breeze from the sea 24 hours a day. Our home consisted of a bed hanging from the ceiling by means of yellow plastic ropes, covered by a white mosquito net, with a two-seater mattress, some handmade bedspreads, a single cream colored bottom sheet with red roses and the rest of the space was occupied by a small table and a plastic garden chair bleached by the sun that had ended up in the shade of our cabin, as a last stop before the garbage. We had fresh fruits, bottled water, an electric heater, 2 new computers, two music players, books (one per capita, not enough for me from the third day), notebooks, cameras (several), body lotions and soups. Japanese snapshots for hunger pangs. If there is something to highlight in my husband, it is that he is always alert to my needs and pending to satisfy them. One night, while we were dressing to go to sleep, A had shared with me with a bright look and a chest full of pride, how little we needed to live and be happy, but then I remembered that we were paying for our stay with money made in another country and I searched my head for the right words to share my response to his hippie smile without being too direct or hurtful, I liked those attacks of non-sustainable irrational thoughts that attacked him when he was relaxed and enjoying, as if wanting to prolong that feeling of pleasure through of reason. After 13 days and contrary to resigning myself, I was counting the days to return.
A and I were disconnected in any sense, time or space and we didn't even eat together anymore, when he had lunch, I was just having breakfast. The afternoons seemed eternal going from the lounge chair to the cabin after having done the available tours and there was no more to go. I had already known all the surrounding places arranged between the 3 kilometers that separated us from the town and even the entire town, which had neither a library nor a cinema. We woke up at different times and during the nights the insomnia attacked me, while he fell defeated under the covers at the first contact with the pillow that distilled the aroma of sea salt since A had not bathed with fresh water for a week. We walked together on the beach, we shared green tea with vanilla cookies, we watched the sunset and the stars at night and we swam together when the weather was good, but all those activities were insufficient to complete the free time, and I did not feel very comfortable around of him, because my despair was notorious and I did not want to disturb his tranquility in paradise or carry guilt. Clearly those vacations were not the honeymoon that we had been postponing.
A month earlier, Veronica, my mother, had taken a math test. At 43, she had decided to complete a pending subject, take up classes at the University of Buenos Aires and finally become a psychologist. As at the time (1987) she had only completed a single subject of the degree and dropped out, her name did not appear in the records and although they recognized 80% of the entrance subjects, they forced her to take semiology and mathematics to re-enroll it as student on the run. The first semester, harangued by the whole family, she performed semiology with success, but in the second half of the year, her life was summarized in notebooks, trigonometric functions and numbers. Verónica automated herself by repeating the formulas out loud and the phrase "practice and practice" but although she had put all her effort into it, it was not enough to pass the first set and she only got to get a humiliating 1. She got a little discouraged at first But then, the defeat only encouraged her to continue and thus, she triumphed in the second set and left the classroom jumping little and kissing the exam sheet. He only needed to recover the first one and thus be able to render a final final instance. For a whole week, she just did math exercises and visited different teachers around the city, looking for more practice, true to her motto and fed by Rolly, the cook who was visiting her house. The day came and Verónica appeared for the exam full of hope, nerves and Japanese food in her stomach. He sat on his bench with 2 extra pens and a blue and pink eraser that he had stolen from me more than once and that he had found just before leaving to perform and interpreted as a mystical sign, the kind of destiny. In the words of my mother, the exam was very easy, but she did not pass it. He left the classroom without jumps and with the partial in his portfolio. Nobody asked him anything because the result was evident in his short, crooked steps and his head down, a mixture of sadness and other things. She went to the faculty bathroom and avoided the mirror, repeating words to herself that did not convince her and every so often she would emit a loud “boo” that bounced off the white tiles of the agronomy headquarters. Coming out of the bathroom, he kicked something inadvertently, perhaps the product of carelessness, perhaps a sign of fate, but there it was, a nickel glistening from the floor. He took it in his hands and shouting "jaa!" He repeated that phrase that he evoked so many times and that now took on full literal meaning .. "5 for the weight." There were his five, the ones that he missed in the exam and now they appeared to him in their original form. The magical event did not take away the bitterness of the defeat, but it caused a spontaneous laugh completely misunderstood by a student who entered the bathroom and saw the lady of the unconventional festivities, laughing with a coin in her hand.
The beach was calm, the sand and the waves were different in color, everything was flat. The wind was no more, just as it had come, it had disappeared. The water was warm, much warmer than usual. I swam alone for an hour and with A the same. The clear sky was light pastel blue and the water was deep turquoise, with shades of green, with shades of blue. The stillness in the water was so intense that I felt a disturbing oceanic peace swimming in it, each stroke generating new little waves that glided gently across the surface. The salt bothered me less and for the first time the sound of the sea inspired me something different. Andrei was checking the maps to move us, he had been planning an adventure to the jungle that he wanted to corroborate with me point by point but without a spirit of revenge, but with an open feeling, with the desire that I enjoy the holidays. I had missed forgiveness in his native language, in Spanish and by default, in English as well. We went to a nearby town to buy books, ate giant ice cream, and many tourists stopped to take photos of the cream and chocolate show. I returned to work on my book from the beach and with a notebook, the one I had stolen from my grandmother Pichón in Buenos Aires and I realized that I did not need the computer that was in New York to continue working. I made a photographic record for a project that occurred to me while traveling by taxi to the cabin and re-designed my website on paper. I attended Debora Green remotely from different bars with wi-fi and started writing this Christmas story. I didn't have that much time to complain and get bored and the place became very cozy after a cleaning and a change of sheets. I didn't want to go anywhere else anymore, I told my husband, who surprised me with a big smile and a passionate kiss. I saw him more beautiful than ever, tanned, full of life, with a new haircut that settled his features and highlighted his eyes. He was the same man I had fallen in love with in a place very similar to the one I am now, full of sun and sea.
Happy with life and ready to take a hot shower, I went to the bathroom to turn on the water and let it run so that it could take a temperature while I went in search of the soap and towel. But just before entering the cabin I noticed something glinting in the sand, a strange and small object that my eyes without glasses could not elucidate. I bent down and found something that I could quickly make out without too much effort. The astonishment persisted even after the bath and while I was creaming my knees. Pouring myself a glass of green tea, I even felt ashamed of myself for how lucky I was and didn't even notice. I put on the black frame glasses one more time and this time, I saw everything clearly. I took the nickel still full of sand and washed it in the sea. It was not possible that I had brought it because I was not carrying Argentine money, there were no compatriots in the neighboring cabins and the currency, although very old and trampled, did not lose its value. I put it on the table in the cabin and sat down to write the end of this story, which does not speak more than the spirit of Christmas.
Happy Holidays!
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