Why I don´t want José to be my husband.

 


   Why I don´t want José to be my husband.

   First of all he drinks a lot. Although when I knew him he already drank.
I think he´s been an alcoholic since he was a teenager. Admittedly, he drank but I liked him. That´s true. I saw a tall and quite man, strong and calm. He looked like a giant, to me, who reminded  me  The Selfish Gigant, that character who was created by Oscar Wilde in a beautiful moving short story that I read when I was a child. And José also lived in a cottage surrounded by a mysterious garden where from the lawn to every plant there, every living being was over-grown, some leaned trees included. Maybe, Oscar Wilde forgot to mencion that his gigant was also an alcohol- abuser.

   Mind you, José isn´t so big  as a gigant, only in comparison when he´s by my side, because I´m a bit short. I don´t like to recognize that I like him.
 When he was young he was blonde. He had straight long hair as soft as baby hair and got a big green pair of eyes pretty bulge though. But his shight was pure and clear. And although his nose was croked and his mouth too big and in general, he had no a goodlooking complexion, the whole set could result attractive.

   I remember my friends saying to me :
_ Do you know that boy? I´m afraid of him. Every body is afraid of him. He isn´t a bad man. Isn´t it?
_ Imagine that you turn a corner and you bump into a bloque like him. Do you picture it?_  someone said.
_ Frighten the life out of you. Won´t you?_  another one said.

   However, José was ugly but he wasn´t dangerous.

   I don´t know why I´m writing those things in past tense. Jose is still alive. He still has a large broken nose (no a surgery one) bulky lips and a sweet smile on his rude rough face. He´s fascinatig to me. Sometimes is stubbly in the morning, a moment later, almost as soon as he see me, is clean shaven. He´s so shy, so respecful. I often say to him that a stubble beard style make him toughter but handsome. Hark back two years I left him and he let his beard grow and he was horrible. A blond man with a  scruffy black bandholdz beard is sort of contrary to known laws. He seemed a kind of impostor, not  a genuine blond guy. I know that it´s no the case. But, by making conspicous his neglect I couldn´t trust him. In fact, I saw his wrong side. Why did not give up drinking instead?

   Well, eventually he did it. But I don´t love him any more. It is too late. Although he doesn´t drink any longer is still an alcoholic and he will be forever. Although he tells me he loves me I´m sorry.


   His voice is very low, often inaudible. I usually have to ask him to repeat what he´s saying. He looks always so tired, so worn-out, as he didn´t want to live.

   Yesterday I was sunk into contemplacion of the flowering climbers on the wall of his garden, climbers as the scented jasmine when he muttered to me something. _ Why do you come around?_ That´s what I understood when I asked him by ramblying myself to repeat what he was mumbling.
_ I´d like to die?_ he said.
_ Why?_ I groaned myself and I added in pain because of his interruption._ Look around. Look at this garden of yours gleaming in the sunshine!_ But talking contemplation was useless.

  Then I became gibbering wreck._ Don´t even pause a breath?! Do I?  Do you know what? You´re really selfish! Aren´t you? You´re so high-maintenance! Do you want to die! So what? Die! Die! Die! You are demanding all the attention just to make me take notice of you. Do you? And not only do you want to draw all the attention that you spoilt my resting moment!

_ I just wanted to ask you a favour._ Answered he.
    I look at him in amazament.
_ What?
_ Could you do me a favour?
_ I guess. Do you want me to get out?
_ No. It´s no that. You  can stay here despite not paying any attention to me. I´m a coward. You know.
_ Yes I do.
_ I want to die. But...
_ You told me that before. But I´m afraid that you´ll be never ready to die. A person who has been coward to live is always coward. Do you understand? I mean, coward to die.
_ I have got my late father´s pistol.
_ What?!
_ A handgun.
   Then I go shocked again._ I start stuttering._ What? What do, do, you mean?
_ Would you shoot that gun for me?
_ Nooo. But!....You have got a real gun? Have you? I´m not dreaming? Am I?
_ Yes. Look.
  In that moment I see him opening a little box. Well, in fact, I see two little heavy box, one on each hand of him; a flat one and a taller one in the shape of a cube.
  Then he put the boxes on the garden table, open the flat box and show me the pistol, an antique one from the civil war period, or maybe older.
_ During the Asturias revolution my father was a doctor there, and he was adviced to carry one of this.
   Then I burst into laughters hysterically_ Noooo. I´m not going to shoot that. Believe me I´d kill you just now....But.
_That´s what I want._ Interrupt he.
_ I´m not a fool. Do you want that junky scrap to blow my face?
   Then he open the bigger bos and tell me_ Here are the bullets.
_ Keep those things away! Please._ I went nervously gabby again_ Are you going to kill me? Are you mad?_ I was out of my wits, awfully scared. I´d have killed him!

_ No_ He said._ I wouldn´t kill a fly._ It´s you. You must kill me.
_ You´re nuts._ Then I started to talk to him as he was a child. Do you want me to go sent to prision?
_ Nobody could blame you. I know it.
_ You´re talking rubbish. Besides, I can´t kill you,because I love you.
_ Do you?
_ Yes. I do.
   He smiled.
_ I thought you don´t.
_ That´s not true José. You Know it. You know I love you. And you love me too. And now, you´re keeping all that stuff in a secret, safe drawer locked away, under lock and key so that any child have an accident. Am I clear?
_ Yes. Your commands are my wishes._ Smiling sinfully as he was I realized that he was waiting a kind of reward for his obedience. I´d have killed him. Did I say that before? Yes I did. That way he made me despite him even more.

   Next morning, I got up quietly. I called his mother.

   I made the end of my own struggle. Maybe, you need to get rid of someone. But if that person has a mother you don´t need to kill him.

   I know it was cruel. She didn´t know that his beloved baby son had got a gum hidden somewhere. He was thirty-seven and had those funny ideas about commiting  suicide....

_ Don´t worry. People who talks that rubbish never do it._ She told me.
  It was so embarrasing_ The gum is now...
_ In the best hands. I gave it to the police.
_ And José?
_ You know him. I´d kill him._ She smiled_ Don´t worry. He´s fine.

   Of course he is. I don´t know what his mother did. Since then we have quit  each other.



I


 

Strawberris by Edwing Morgan.

Una humilde traducción de un famoso poema irlandés

Nunca hubo fresas

Como las que tomamos nosotros

Aquella tarde…

Cuando nos sentábamos en el escalón

Del antepecho abierto

Mirándonos  las caras

Tus rodillas recogidas entre las mías

Los platos azules en nuestros regazos

Las fresas relumbrando

al calor de la luz del sol.

Las untábamos en azúcar

Mirándonos el uno al otro                                                                                                          

Sin darnos prisa en dar cuenta del festín

que llegaba para uno

Los platos vacíos quedaron juntos

En la piedra posados

Los dos tenedores  en cruz

Y yo me volví hacia ti

Dulce en aquel aire

En mis brazos

Abandonado como un chiquillo.

De tu boca deseosa

El sabor de las fresas

En mi memoria

Otra vez vuelve

Déjame amarte

Deja que el sol restalle

Sobre nuestro olvido

Una hora entre todas

El calor intenso

Y el verano iluminando

Las colinas de Kilpatrick:

Deja que la tormenta

 lave los platos.

My contribution on some sportive events.

    When the New Laredo Marina was being constructed it was because of an overextended plan, a more complicated general one with many other cities involved and amounted debts to overkill.
Then, we saw that all stood together by Madrid that, after failing its candidature to host the Olympic Games that year, was still bidding for the 2016 Summer Olympics and Paralympics.
So, as a kind of consolation prize , some pertinacious politicians, mainly made by bigwigs and bank managers´ friends, claimed at least to host a minor event. That purpose meant rafts of money. And as a result, half a Spain went on squandering much and much money, money that we never had.
Therefore, I see these events as the ultimate purpose to make a nation to go in a persistent debt, gobbling down more and more cities and communities, as long as they are run by the same party , of course.
Anyway, all bank loans will be repaid by a entire nation.

Generally speaking, most of these magnificient events obeis a strategic perversion. If not, how is it possible that under the pressure of an oncoming election, the ruling party usual policy is going in debt, even deeper ? I have the answer:
On one hand, they create a last period of their government as the illusion that country is quite well-off so that voters support them blithely. And on the other hand, not only can they win the elections, they prevent their opponents ruling the nation (just in case of a change of government) strongly and efficiently, knowing that under such circumstances all their opponents´ measures will result in necessarily unpopular policies in the reason of a huge intricate caustic debt. A prime target like dealing with cuts and interests payments makes always imposible other well-received policies like a health plan, for example. Very often, week governments stem from an unaffordable public debt.
Clever. Isn´t it?
To finish; admittedly, many improvements such as accessibility-based integrated measures of special equity were carried out around the town that time. Mind you, it was a challenge thoughtlessly taken, on the paradox that the more in debt the country, the wealthier.

My unforgetable José

 Why I don´t want José to be my husband.

   Firstly, he drinks a lot. Even though, when I knew him, he already would.

I think he´s been an alcoholic since he was a teenager. Therefore, I shouldn´t have taken to him. Admittedly, I liked him. That´s true.

  I remember I saw a tall and quiet man, strong and calm. He looked like a giant, to me, who reminded me of The Selfish Giant, that character created by Oscar Wilde in a beautiful moving short story that I had read when I was a child. José also lived in a cottage surrounded by a mysterious garden where even its lawn, every plant there, and every living being around was overgrown, some leaned trees included. I think that I even saw a huge weasel running across the grass once. Maybe, Oscar Wilde forgot to mention that his giant was also a dipsomaniac. Although he didn´t work- he doesn´t need it- not only never he mowed that he was always tired and worn out. On Easter, it was his mother who used to mow as soon as she arrived in town. She lived in Madrid.

   Mind you, José isn´t so big as a giant, only in comparison to himself being by my side, because I´m a bit short. I don´t like recognizing that I like him.

 When he was young he was blond. He had straight long hair as soft as baby hair and had a big green pair of eyes pretty bulge though. But his sight was pure and clear. And although his nose was crooked and his mouth too big, and in general, he had a coarse no good-looking complexion, the whole set could result attractive.

   I remember my friends saying to me:

_ Do you know that boy? I´m afraid of him. Everybody is afraid of him. But he doesn´t look like a bad guy. Does he?

  
  Now I realize that all the remarks about him were a kind of warning.

_ Is he normal? There´s something funny in that guy…Or is he abnormal? Sorry.

_ Imagine that you turn a corner and you bump into a bloke like him. Do you picture it? - Said someone and another one answered- Frightens the life out of you. Won´t you?

   However, José was ugly but he wasn´t dangerous.

   I don´t know why I´m writing those things in the past tense. Jose is still alive. He still has a large broken nose (not a job surgery one) bulky lips and a sweet smile on his rude rough face. And he keeps fascinating me. I wonder whether this is love. Sometimes is stubbly in the morning and a moment later, almost as soon as he sees me turning the corner runs to the toilet and out of the blue, is clean-shaven when opening the front door for me.

  He´s so shy, so respectful. He doesn´t even ask me why I pop in... Anyway, I often say to him that a stubble beard style makes him tougher but handsome. 

  Harking back two years, I left him and he let his beard grow and he was horrible. A blond man with a scruffy over-grown and the blackest beard I had ever seen darkened now his usually clear, wide face, something sort of contrary to known laws. He seemed a kind of impostor, not a genuine blond guy. I know that it´s not the case. But, by making conspicuous his negligence, he was going to get nothing but a threatening aspect. As soon as I saw him I got upset. In fact, I saw his wrong side. Why did not give up drinking at once?

   Well, eventually he did it. But I don´t love him anymore. It was too late. 
It is too late! Although he doesn´t drink any longer, he´s still an alcoholic and he will be forever. Although he tells me he loves me, I´m sorry.

   Besides, he is humdrum and cheesy. And his voice is very low, often inaudible. I usually ask him to repeat what he´s saying. So tired, so worn-out always he looks,  as if he doesn´t want to live, that he brings me down all the time.

   Yesterday, I was sunk into contemplation of the flowering climbers on a wall in the garden, climbers as the scented jasmine that had been planted by his mother the spring that we met, it was so rambling, when he muttered to me something. _ Why do you come around? _ That´s what I understood when I had to ask him more than twice, by rambling myself close to him, to repeat what he was mumbling. I felt obliged to do it, ramble myself, for I cannot hear a single word of him what, by the way, was giving away -I suppose- that he did it on purpose, speaking in so low voice just to close distance like a maniac.

_ I´d like to die? _ Said he.

_ Why? _ I groaned myself and I added, in pain because of his interruption: __ Look around! Look at this garden of yours gleaming in the sunshine.

 But talking contemplation was useless.

  Then, I became a gibbering wreck. _ Don´t even pause a breath?! Do I deserve this?  Do you know what? You´re selfish really! Aren´t you? You´re so high-maintenance! Do you want to die! So, what? Die! Die! Die! You are demanding all the attention just to make me take notice of you. Do you? And not only do you want to draw all the attention that you spoilt my resting moment!

_ I just wanted to ask you a favour. _ He said.

    I looked at him in amazement. _ What?

_ Could you do me a favour?

_I guess. Do you want me to get out?

_ No. It´s not that. You can stay here despite not paying any attention to me. I´m a coward. You know.

_ Yes, you are.

_ I want to die. But...

_ You told me that before! But I´m afraid that you´ll be never ready to die. A person who has been a coward to live is always a coward. Do you understand? I mean, a coward to die too.

_ I´ve come across my late father´s pistol.

_ What?!

_A handgun.

   Then I was shocked again. I start stuttering something like: What? What do, do, you mean?

_ Would you shoot that gun for me to help to take my life out?

_ No! But! You have found a real gun? Have you?  You have a weapon in your power. Tell me this is not a nightmare! I´m not dreaming? Am I?

_ Yes. Look.

  At that moment, I see him opening a little box. Well, in fact, I see two little heavy boxes, one on each hand of him; a flat one and a taller one in the shape of a cube. Maybe you won´t believe me, but this happened for real.

  Then he puts the boxes on the garden table, opens the flat box, and shows me the pistol, an antique one from the Civil War period, or maybe older.

_ During the Revolution of Asturias my father was a doctor there, and he was recommended to carry one of these.

   Then I burst into laughter hysterically_ No! I´m not going to shoot that. Believe me, I´d kill you just now.... But.

_That´s what I want. _ Interrupt he.

_ I´m not a fool. _ Say I_ Do you want that junky scrap to blow up my face?

   Then he opens the bigger box and tells me that there are plenty of bullets in it.

_ Keep those things away! Please. _ I went nervously gabby again_ Are you going to kill me? Are you mad?

   I was out of my wits, absolutely scared at what might have happened. I´d have killed him!

_ No_ He said. _ I wouldn´t kill a fly.  It´s you. You must kill me.

_You´re out of your mind. _ Said I whispering.  

  Then I started to talk to him as if he were a child. _ Do you want me to be sent to prison?

_ Nobody could blame you. I know it.

_ You´re talking rubbish. Besides, I can´t kill you because I love you.

_Do you?

_ Yes. I do.

   He smiled.

_ I thought you didn´t.

_ That´s not true José. You Know it. You know I love you. And you love me too. And now, you´re keeping all that stuff in a secret, safe drawer locked away, under lock and key, so that any child has an accident. Will you?  Am I clear?

_ Yes. Your commands are my wishes. _ Smiling sinfully as he was, I realized that he was waiting for a kind of reward for his obedience. I´d have killed him umpteen times.  Did I say that before? Yes, I did. That way he made me despise him even more.

   The next morning, I got up quietly. I called his mother.

   I made the end of my own struggle. Maybe, you need to get rid of someone. But if that person has a mother you don´t need to kill him.

   I know it was cruel. She didn´t know that his beloved baby son had a gum hidden somewhere. Despite he was thirty-seven he had those funny ideas, (no brainchild among them I´m afraid) about committing suicide...

_ Don´t worry. People who talk rubbish never do it. -She told me.

  I was so embarrassed

_ The gum is now...

_ In the best hands. _ She declared. _ I gave it to the police.

_ And José?

_ You know him. I´d kill him.  _ She smiled. _ Don´t worry. He´s fine. 

   I hope he´s fine. He was absolutely furious with me that afternoon, I should tell you that like he never was before. I don´t know what his mother did. Since then we have quit each other permanently; A real weight loss out off my shoulders.

   Maybe he doesn´t rest already in peace. But I do. I just think of contemplation.

Flower and Runner talk

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Flower and Runner

   Then, at night, she whispered to Runner._ I´m serious. What were you doing with those fellows?

  _ Chatting up them. That´s what I did. But none of them can still catch up me when we run. They´re still knee-high to a grasshopper tall.

  _ And the day they catch up you what will you do?

  _ That day, when one of them catch up me I´ll kick him, the same as you do when boys want to come up you.

   Flower got quiet for a moment as she was thinking. And then she put another question to Runner.

_ Don´t you want to marry any of them?

_ Not yet. We are having fun at the moment. But maybe in a season. I might find someone special, handsome and tall. But he must run faster than me and be stronger too, you Know, He must be like that above everything else.

A bonny tale 1

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