El viejo - Relato - [ESP - ENG]

Y tiene sus mañas el hombre, sus lugares predilectos, que nadie limpie y mueva sus cosas, su Virgencita sagrada a la cual pude pasarse ratos Orando, se pone contento cuando escucha ciertas canciones y las tararea, hay ciertas prendas que lo llenan de recuerdos y atesora, cuenta mil veces apasionadamente las mismas historia buscando dentro de su cabeza las palabras que parecen caprichosamente escondérseles, le cuesta mantenerse en pie, porqué de a ratos pierde el equilibrio, le duelen mucho sus articulaciones ya no tiene esa vista de lince que lo tenía orgulloso lucha contra una ceguera galopante, se agota de por demás, perdió totalmente la relación con los horarios los días los años, no tiene ni la menor idea del valor monetario de nada, puso sus pasos en cámara lenta forzadamente, por temor a caerse y trata de no quejarse para no ser una carga más, para nadie.

Pero hoy en especial hace ya un rato largo está mirando el sol como hipnotizado, valla uno a saber a qué distancia, de este punto, perdido en sus pensamientos blancos.

Antes lo esquivaba, diciendo que el brillo de su luz lo enceguecía, y se refugiaba en la sombra, fue el Guri o cachorrito, su nieto quien le disolvió las mañas, las pulgas, con sus espadas de luz una para él y otra para su abuelo.

Nadie sabe el momento exacto en que le nació está pasión irrefrenable, creo que él tampoco se dio cuenta, esa inocencia que conserva tan arraigada permitió que surgiera y creciera ese amor mutuo.

Su eterno compañero de juegos, el adulto más niño que tata Dios le ha obsequiado a ese chiquilín.

Y para él la chispa de vida que lo ayuda a cruzar su tercera o cuarta edad valla uno a saber. Cuando habla de él, no sabemos si recuerda su nombre pero lo apodo el Principito dice que lo enamora escucharlo reír y los hoyuelos que brotan en sus mejillas, su picardía y el asombró con el que trata de descubrir las cosas simples de la vida, se le iluminan los rostros ha ambos apenas se ven y se funden en interminables abrazos que parecen llegar hasta el alma, bailan una danza ancestral la cual ellos solos conocen y en su cara se dibuja una sonrisa, algo que parece haber olvidado hace tiempo de cómo hacerlo.

Nadie puede descifrarlo, pero para el chiquilín... no le duele nada, se revuelcan en el suelo, trota como si el corazón fuera el poseedor de la tan preciada sortija y pidiera otra vuelta, cómo en la arrumbada ya, calesita de alguna plaza pueblerina.

Lo trepa a su espalda y salen a cabalgar y enfrentarse contra los molinos de viento... Tal vez imaginó, solo está ahí al solcito con su mirada aletargada porque lo está esperando como sabiendo valla a saber cómo que hoy es el día… Extrañándolo, necesitando que aparezca su nieto del alma y simplemente lo rescate de su fría soledad, esa que sentimos todos aunque estemos rodeados de gente y lo devuelva mágicamente a la vida, cómo solo él, sabe hacerlo.

And man has his tricks, his favorite places, that no one cleans and moves his things, his sacred Virgin to whom I could spend time Praying, he gets happy when he listens to certain songs and hums them, there are certain clothes that fill him with memories and he treasures, passionately tells the same story a thousand times, searching inside his head for the words that seem to capriciously hide from them, he finds it hard to stand, because from time to time he loses his balance, his joints ache a lot, he no longer has that lynx-like vision that he had Proudly fighting rampant blindness, exhausting himself from others, totally lost relationship with schedules, days, years, has no idea of ​​the monetary value of anything, forcibly put his steps in slow motion, for fear of falling and try not to complain so as not to be another burden, for anyone.

But today especially he has been looking at the sun for a long time as if hypnotized, who knows how far, from this point, lost in his white thoughts.

Before he avoided it, saying that the brightness of its light blinded him, and he took refuge in the shadows, it was the Guri or puppy, his grandson who dissolved his tricks, the fleas, with his swords of light, one for him and one for his grandfather.

Nobody knows the exact moment in which this unstoppable passion was born, I think he didn't realize it either, that innocence that he keeps so deeply rooted allowed that mutual love to emerge and grow.

His eternal playmate, the youngest adult that God has given to that little boy.

And for him the spark of life that helps him cross his third or fourth age is one to know. When he talks about him, we don't know if he remembers his name but he nicknamed him the Little Prince says he falls in love with hearing him laugh and the dimples that sprout on his cheeks, his mischief and the astonishment with which he tries to discover the simple things in life, he they light up their faces, they both barely see each other and merge into endless hugs that seem to reach the soul, they dance an ancestral dance which they alone know and a smile appears on their face, something that seems to have forgotten how to do it a long time ago .

No one can decipher it, but for the little boy... it doesn't hurt at all, they roll around on the ground, jog as if the heart were the owner of the precious ring and asked for another ride, as in the already ruined, merry-go-round of some square country girl

He climbs it on his back and they go out to ride and fight against the windmills... Perhaps he imagined, he is just there in the sun with his lethargic look because he is waiting for him as if knowing who knows how that today is the day... Missing him, needing his grandson of the soul to appear and simply rescue him from his cold loneliness, the one we all feel even if we are surrounded by people and magically bring him back to life, how only he knows how to do it.