Microstórias: UNHA BOA RAZÓN PARA DEIXAR DE CHORAR - A GOOD REASON TO STOP CRYING
UNHA BOA RAZÓN PARA DEIXAR DE CHORAR - A GOOD REASON TO STOP CRYING
Ela sentou en silencio no tranvía. Por sorte había moitos asentos baleiros. Na realidade, a maioría do vagón estaba baleiro, poucos pasaxeiros viaxan de noite. Fóra ameazaba chuvia, mais a calma agüentaba. As luces da cidade comezaron a ficar para atrás rapidamente da que o tranvía se deslocaba.
Ela púxose a chorar. Tranquila, lenta, cálida. Non podía parar de chorar. O seu pranto era unha fervenza de frustracións. Cubría o rostro coas mans, mais aquilo non detiña as bágoas. Nin sabía o tempo que levaba a chorar, mais de súpeto unha man pousou no seu ombreiro. O tacto era suave.
— Pare de chorar, meniña — a voz soaba paternal. Ergueu os ollos ateigados de lágrimas. O home era de feito o condutor do eléctrico. Ollába para ela con simpatía — . Se segues a chorar así, imos afogar — engadiu acenando para o chan.
Tiña razón. O tranvía convertérase nunha especie de piscina sobre rodas. As súas bágoas eran as responsábeis diso, sempre quentes.
— Hei apearme? — preguntou ela da que enxugaba os ollos.
O home negou coa cabeza de dereita a esquerda.
— Non paga a pena — dixo — . O río subiu até aquí e rodeounos. Quería ir ao encontro das súas bágoas. Teremos que esperar até a riada baixar.
A muller por fin entendeu que había deixar de chorar axiña. Pasaron toda a noite no vagón até as lágrimas escoaren por baixo das portas do tranvía. Era imposíbel imaxinar que o río fose tan curioso, parecía case que humano. Porén, ela aprendera a lección: máis nunca habería chorar tan preto do río.
She got silently into the tramway. Fortunately there was plenty of empty places. Actually most of the wagon was empty, few passengers used it after midnight. Outside the weather threatened rain, but it was still calm. The lights of the city began to remain behind quickly as the tramway moved forward.
She set to cry. Calmly, slowly, warmly. She couldn't avoid crying. Her weep was a waterfall of frustrations. She covered her face with her hands, but the tears were not stopped by that. She didn't know how long she had been crying, but suddenly a man's hand landed on her shoulder. The touch was soft.
"Stop crying, my darling". The voice sounded father-like. She raised her eyes, flooded by the tears. The man was actually the tramway driver. He stared at her with sympathy. "If you keep crying, we'll get drowned", he added and pointed at the floor.
He was right. The tramway had become a kind of swimming-pool on wheels. Her tears had done it, always warm.
"Shall I get off?" asked the woman trying wipe her eyes.
The man moved his head from left to right.
"No point", he said. "The river grew up and is now surrounding us. It wanted to meet your tears. We'll have to wait until the flood goes by.
The woman finally understood she should stop crying at once. They spent the whole night in the wagon until all the tears leaked under the tramway doors. It was impossible to fancy that the river would feel so curious, as if it was human itself. However she had learned a lesson: she would never cry again so close to the river.
Publicada por Xavier Frias Conde à(s) 20:22