Friday, February 11, 2011
Get My Plp Pour Matlab R2007a
I leave you a little story I wrote for the magazine that published in the Rebollar, the area where I work. As if some brave dare this weekend.
"Shadow of the Jalama"
was eight in the morning. Despite being retired for several years, remained committed to maintaining the same pace of life and continued rising early. The noise of the streets on the outskirts of Paris, awake since early hour, sifted through the window of his tiny bathroom. Look at her face in the mirror. For some time this part was surprised increasingly often looking carefully, looking for something beyond his eyes. When older, everything becomes crucial. Perhaps this is old, to value life, to take stock and measure the losses. Time is running out and you're coming back. Everything returns. Sometimes he get excited after glimpsing the wounds of time that had ravaged her skin gradually, the brightness of her look fifty years ago, the eyes of that beautiful young woman who flew through the streets of Peñaparda. It was not nostalgia or self-pity, was something less hurtful, in fact she had used to use it as a warm, comforting blanket. Quevedo said that only real value is fleeting. He had to eat a whole lifetime to understand.
always thought that until something is not completely closed, you can not go to the next stage. Had long been aware that his life had been an unsuccessful move without being able to boot the roots you fixed to another time, another land. New moorings appeared but sometimes, when testing a strained, seemed safe enough, so strong as to sustain an existence. He always had the impression to leave a door open behind him. Was not unhappy but often wondered if they really knew happiness. If he was honest with himself, the first image associated with that word that came to mind was reverberating sunlight on the leaves of oak while blinded his eyes, lying in the bush after bathing in the pool of icy water.
Perhaps those days was more silent and absent from normal. Was because they had sold the house Peñaparda. Those who built years after leaving for France with her family she would return each summer. The old corral up on their parents and for some years seemed haughty and fresh look. However, the pool, once full of screams and laughter of their children, had long dry and quiet sleep. Dominique and her elderly were becoming for such a long journey and grandchildren hardly knew the people. Even before the battle began, I knew that this was a defeat foretold. Struggling to deceive itself had exhausted its forces in an effort meaningless. When that day in September signed the deed of sale at the notary office of Ciudad Rodrigo, to look into the eyes of her husband, both acknowledged their thoughts, those who expressed that from the first moment since the day they decided to build it knew this time would come. For once felt that with that firm, he finally closed the door.
thought that there are days, moments that make a life crossroads where you will choose a future course that will leave little room for maneuver. Normally we like to think that we are masters of our destiny, we handle the times and we have the perception that we have the possibility of trial and error. However, there are two or three times in your life when you can not go back. He recalled the two most important days in your life, that he decided to leave and that he decided to stay. September 1963 that took one of those roads irreversible. Had killed Kennedy. Something changed forever in the world, so something changed in his world. That day he decided to go to work in France. He became an emigrant.
worked in the bush. Life was hard, the days passed slowly, relentlessly. In the countryside literally you wear yourself out. Endured the cold, blisters, wounds, chilblains until he got to the hire in a cannery.
The French people were very nice, much more than Peñaparda, but not welcoming, not his people. The total ignorance of the language forced him to flee to their peers and felt the strange looks from French. Then just related to English. The possible approach to the locals, made him miss addition to their family and friends, to things. That longing was surprised, I thought of the strange relationship of men with inanimate or inexpressive, that inexplicable bond that binds you to a seat, a tree or a bench.
He remembered wistfully the Jalama. No mountain never seemed more beautiful. Later, hiking enthusiast, had visited with his family in the Pyrenees and the imposing cathedrals alpine mountain but never seemed so beautiful as a perfect pyramid of Jalama.
Although
Although
was ever further in time, as he grew older, more clearly remembered their careers by the people as a child, their outputs to the mountain, the fire, killing the tap water of square, cows, perronillas coffee when I got home after playing. So it was not aware of the real-life problems. Then, abruptly and early, had to wake up. Being very young and had to serve in a farm near Ciudad Rodrigo. She liked school and loved learning but had to leave. It was so small that its stature kept him from reaching the sink so I had to ride a Tajuelo. But that was not enough to feed so many brothers. The field and the small cattle did not allow for more. That is when some of those who had gone to France told him about big cities and salaries impossible. And remember that night when Antonio pressed hard, he felt that thrill the first time. He spoke of dreams with him but never decided to gamble. It was his first love and the one that left her mark. Both felt the same and so recognized without mentioning when talking every summer.
After several months in France, unlike others, decided to make every effort to know the language, that she was the only way to get somewhere and achieved. He worked as a maid and later in a supermarket. Dominique There he met the chief, with a few years later married. Until then always knew he would return to Rebollar. However, little by little, he assumed that his life was already different. And this particular day came when the demand in marriage. Excited agreed but knew that at the same time linking his life to a good man, gave up a dream of returning to Spain to see and care for their aging parents.
When
When
now crosses the street with an immigrant is sometimes able to understand their perspective, a mixture of fear, courage and dreams. A Sometimes arguing with a friend of her husband, covert real racist pristine forms, though in a time now, lost drive and saw him less and less sense to the sterile confrontation of views. He preferred to talk about herself.
is then thought to go to another country and abandon your people and your land, opening a wound in you that will never heal. Perhaps only heal and feel at times. The wound is itching which sometimes must be relieved that you have to scratch to forget. Is the uprooting. It is the burden of those who were not able to be completely free. That door is never closed.
Moreover, yesterday in drawing up a collection
Spotify, "Lesbian Pride" of Love of Lesbian , Catalan group claiming that took a long time and lately think people will already know. It is one of the albums that I have prepared for long journey with my favorite topics. Infallible. Dedicated to my cousin "Paraguay" (diplomatic). As if anyone cares to investigate, you know, the link on the right. I leave the version of a "menina" "Fight of giants" from Antonio Vega with Zahara. See you Monday.
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