Today, the best of this long, beautiful, sticky summer, foreign visitors have been present in my study, without me being able to give a precise meaning. And yet I know for a fact that visitors have been, that chance has not brought up here.
The first came during sleep. My room had become a bank, shelter, and I slept in one bed casually, until I heard a man enter only saw in the shadows, and we have shouted, his voice husky, because he thought my mother slept with me waving to the ladies. I quickly entered afraid discovered that I was alone, no mother watched over my safety, and have not said. He suspected that his greeting was intended only to find out if it was two women or a single, well girl, because otherwise they would not have launched this cry in the darkness of two sleepers. Their intentions could not be good.
I listened
sneak to the door of the room, trying to figure out how many breaths distinguished. I was very quiet. Has left the bank after-shelter.
I got out of bed and I began to watch the road dark and full of trees, eager to arrive because someone you know. I know he was in a Paris banlieue, a heat wave hit France and the bank-shelter was a branch of La Caixa. I've seen that a bicycle was approaching, and again it could be that man. I raced to the bed in the hope of not having been seen. At that moment I woke, I realized that I was in my studio in Madrid and that that presence of sleep had come with me somewhere between the kitchen and hallway heard him breathing, strive to remain quiet. This man had gone out of my unconscious, and now persisted for some murky desire to pass unnoticed. Minutes later, I realized that the man, or they may face, there was a detective, of which I was waiting for my salvation.
Then, around noon, I discovered that someone has taken a shallow dish. Or computer, no money, no cell phone, or iPod. Only one dish, as if it were your own kitchen, as if, say, had not stolen anything.
has just arrived, has crossed my small corridor, has opened the closet and picked up the dish for lunch or to put it on the head. With most of the indifference to everything that may be valuable here. For more than an hour, I wandered in front of my shelf and I opened my closet to adjust the price of my stuff. I could not avoid a certain aftertaste of failure. Finally, about six in the afternoon, the window has cast a giant fly.
Elvira Navarro is writer, author, among others, of the city in winter (Trojan Horse).
Funete. El Pais
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