By Jacobo Fijman; prólogo Carlos Riccardo
Hecho de estampas
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He laughs and offers me a glass, which I refuse. ” “Go to Maestro Claudino’s place, and tell me about it later. ” The girl accompanies me to the door: sumptuous in her innocence, unbuttoning her blouse to save time. I was still a boy when I met Claudino Alfaro. He is alive, then. If I am seventy, he must be a hundred, or close to it. why did I forget about him? Why did he forget about me? Instead of entrusting myself to Ordúz, the doctor, Mauricio Rey reminded me of Maestro Claudino, who I had long given up for more than dead, since I didn’t even remember him.
He had just come back from hunting. Not far away I could hear his horse stamping the ground, between the sporadic chatter of the macaws. He saw that his wife was approaching, naked, skirting the tiles of the little round pool. “I know very well,” he said, smiling sincerely, “that it doesn’t matter to her. That doesn’t bother me. It’s you I’m worried about, profesor, doesn’t it hurt your heart? ” “You make me laugh, profesor. ” But now his wife was with him, and with me, although she and I were separated by the wall, and time.
From San Vicente, Otilia’s town. ” “That means she’s still well. The last time I saw her was at the market. ” “Carmina Lucero. Someone told me she died in captivity, after two years. I still didn’t know who they were, whether they were guerrillas or paras. Nor did I ask them. “The one in charge reprimanded the boys. “He said: ‘Morons, what did you bring this old guy for? ’ “‘They say he’s a healer,’ one of them said. “So they do know me, I thought. ’ the one in charge yelled. ’ I thought. ’ Must be someone in charge of the one in charge.