"This evil event in our lives, began to relate Lucio Andrea, while they drank beer just brought-originated long before I was born. It is tragic but sometimes extends the agony for many years and may, even in families. These are bad times do not end up passing that was beating some men, and squeezed to death. My family-my father and my mother had a good economic past. My father was owner of a local automobile spare parts, in a town that is about four hours away. My mother told me, were not rich but had enough to guarantee a comfortable life and happy. They were newlyweds, they loved with all the love and all the illusions of the early dreams, and had a promising life ahead. But as almost always happens that we do well in something, one day it started raining, and raining, and raining, and it never stopped raining for three days. Properties near my parents' home and business, "ran a riachuelito that did not quite broken. But with the excessive rain in those days, the ravine was growing, and growing, and wham, the mother left and took it all to hell *. They managed a modest budget, which was not enough to keep their property insured. In the overnight, without more, stayed in the streets, screwed, without means, and from there begins the unfortunate event that I am going to relate. That was the beginning of the economic problems of my family, that since then, we could not solve ...
was tough the way they had to go to raise its head again. In fact, they could never lift it at all ... struggle simply to find the means to survive ... after the disaster, had been quantities debt with suppliers, and each grabbed what money they had to pay at once. With the knowledge that my father had bought auto mechanic, managed to get under-employment in a garage, where he squeezed all the energy in exchange for a miserable salary. My mother started making cakes, pies, candy, and anything edible that could be sold. With what they earned, and the modest support they sent my father's brother, Uncle Peter, managed to cancel some of the debts, and are enough left over to buy a small house with adobe walls and tin roof.
As they had no any extra to invest, or fall back out of that precarious life, things remained static for several years. At that time I was born and two years later, Martin was born. Daniel was not going to be born yet. My mother was pregnant with him, unknowingly, a few days before the suicide of my father ... I wonder why they had so many children living in poverty if you tell, the truth, I do not know. I have also asked that question many times. I guess that would not have sufficient resources to take good care, or, perhaps, think of them as a young couple to whom he ruined the dreams ... at least, bringing children into the world, could meet part of their remaining illusions ... perhaps only wanted one, and the rest came by mistake ... What do I know? ... My mother never wanted me to say ... the thing is, with two dependent children who are sick, they eat, who need clothes and education, and earning about the same as before them, my parents made them very difficult to keep the home in a dignified way. We spent many hardships, Andrea ... ate badly, and worst dressed ... we had no luxury at home: no music, television, vacation, or even have a fridge or washing machine ... when you told me that the best toy of poor children is your imagination, believe me, I experienced firsthand because I experienced infinidad de veces en mi miseria... yo jugaba con cualquier cosa: una piedra, un trozo de madera, una metra vieja y partida... aunque siempre hubiese querido una pista de carreras, creo que me bastó lo que tuve, unido con el cariño de mis padres y del tío Pedro, que nos visitaba cada vez que podía. Tú no llegaste a conocer al tío Pedro; te hubiese caído muy bien. Lástima que murió, devorado por el cáncer de estómago, unos años antes de que nos conociéramos. En fin: mi padre se iba volviendo huraño, taciturno, con el paso del tiempo y la pérdida constante de su ánimo. Mi hermana y yo, niños de barrigas gordas y tripas flacas, nos desnutríamos poco a poco, como castigados por una agonía eterna. Para colmo de males, mi madre comenzó a padecer de glaucoma, y esto la llevo a perder la vista. Al principio, se aquejaba de dolores en los ojos, con un enrojecimiento crónico, con pus que no le permitía separar los párpados cada mañana, al despertarse. Mi padre no tenía como pagarle un médico. El ambulatorio rural que cubría el sector donde vivíamos estaba desabitado desde hacía unos dos años, y el doctor del ambulatorio más cercano llevaba tres meses de vacaciones. Unas vecinas le dijeron a mi madre que lo que tenía era sólo una infección, y que no había nada como lavarse los ojos con manzanilla tres veces al día para que se curara. ¡Imagínate! ¡Curar glaucoma with chamomile! Of course, at that time nobody knew what I had ... my father thought it was nervous, deprivation, for the many problems we choked, and my sister and I, innocent children, did not even know anything happened. A few days later, my mother was nearly blind. Finally, with the help of my Uncle Peter, we get an ophthalmologist who treated her, which, after performing some tests with some strange instruments, and take some measures the pressure inside the eye, taken with the disease that had stolen the vision. My father asked in desperation: "What can be done, doctor? Is there any treatment to see again? ". The doctor, very slow, my father said words I will never forget: "If I had brought before, we could have possibly saved her vision with surgery, but took a long time, and the disease had time to produce irreversible damage eyes. I'm so sorry ...". Can you imagine? It was terrible for my father, who was feeling pretty bad ... well, let alone my mother, knowing that he had gone blind, forever and ever, changed from being sweet to me in my early years took care to be sour and bad you know.
As my mother could not work anymore, and I was the man of home, I had to leave to face the world ahead of time, to help dad I could. Those were tough ... I remember seeing many times my sister handles knocking on neighbors' houses, hidden, to that end took her hunger. I worked at a light, clean the glass in the cars so they gave me, selling lottery tickets, or fruit, or whatever, all in exchange for a few miserable coins with which to help ease the plight. I met many people in those long hours, Andrea, and most of them took advantage of my poverty to exploit, and to treat me like a landmark. The hatred from the depths of my chest, because I understand that there is no worse sin than using a child using his hunger and their innocence. My sister, too small even to be aware of all this, there lived a somewhat isolated in its dome of silence. She was not aware of the plight of our fathers, who went mad in silence, which crumbled to the damper, which shattered, without leaving your phlegmatic attitude, with which we tried to avoid as they hope we lose. Without hope, it is much harder to bear the pain ...
However, despite their efforts to keep our calm, I also broke down. I lost my hope and my joy, my vitality, my desire to succeed. Do not hold more, not only for my pain, which was considerable, but by the quiet desperation he felt when he saw the fall of the only people who had loved in my short life, in the midst of utter helplessness. But nothing could be done to prevent the ultimate collapse. It was just a child ... and thus I did all I could: sit down and watch the final collapse. One night, tired of living in my body, I decided to do nothing else, I do not get up the next day or work, or eat, or anything ... longed to die in my bed, hunger or whatever ... the next morning when I opened my eyes for the first time and remembered the promise he had made last night, I wanted to stay in bed. My father called me from the room, reminding me that it was getting late for work ... I wanted to reply that I get up, he had decided to die there, but discovered that I was left speechless ... Can you imagine the horror? Besides all the things that oppress us, I'd just be silent ... could not be: God must have something against us. I suppose that he suffered from a psychosomatic illness, but very psychosomatic and all, could say nothing, not even a slight little noise ...
that time my mother began to pray the rosary infinite, which still has not finished praying. I think it started asking God for a cure for my silence, and finally accepted the prayer as a way of life ... my illness, sudden and inexplicable, was a weight for the back tired from my father. At first, trying silly solutions, sought a way of making me talk, tickle, brandy, scares, but, as none of these first-aid work, which took me a witch with a reputation among strangers. He gave me to drink as much crap in a bottle was old and stale, some remedies that I returned filthy speech, but that made me throw up three days straight ... and so, my father was trying on me any number of popular recipes, which became in failure after failure. When had exhausted all informal resources, took me to a real doctor. This man, very serious and formal, he sent me to do a lot of reviews for each element of the body that had anything to do with the ability to speak: lungs, larynx, vocal cords ... but, you know, most of these tests are only private laboratories who charge any amount of money under the banner of taking care of health ... Have you finished your beer? Mine ran out a while ... Do we ask another? ... That! While bringing you counting. Where was I? Ah, yes! In the tests ... Well, as we expect, we so little money, we do not even enough to pay the first review, and it was about six ... my father, desperate to heal my illness, was talking with an old friend to ask her to borrow money with which to pay the evidence and the remedies that doctors deem necessary to return my speech. The friend of my father consented to lend, but under a condition of home mortgage. That's the way: the only asset he had left my family, who had bought sweating drops of blood per adobe, for each beam, for every square meter of floor, was now in danger of being lost, just my luck. ..
All for nothing. Medical tests showed that had nothing in my body, and the many medicines that forced me to take were not able to return my speech. Was as silent as before, the only thing that changed was that we were poor ... the doctor who treated me, my father proposed to take me to a psychiatric consultation, as it seemed that my problem was nervous. But my father was resigned, and eventually convinced that if my head had been badly, perhaps be cured only with time, just as he had arrived ...
He was right. Since he had nothing left with which to fight to help. He had lost all the money the mortgage on finding a cure to my strange illness. As he failed, would simply give me food, dress, the little love he had left in his desert heart, and wait. Someday heal ...
And it would, otherwise, I'd be telling this story in sign language. One day, when all were starting to resign from my silence, my uncle Peter came to visit me. He had no children, he was sterile so they wanted me as if I was you never had. Old wine in his truck, his face gentle and cheerful as ever, holding a large box in his arms. He placed the box on the floor, my father greeted with a hug, Marta greeted with great kiss, and stood before me with watery eyes, to say: "Forgive me for not coming before, Lucio. I did not get off work ...". Then he hugged me and began to mourn them. Suddenly, without me, took me by the shoulders, stared at me and said, "I brought you a present, son, to help stop being sad ...", and was bring me the large box that had left on the ground. "You must love her very much," he said, when I was opening the package to see it contained. His name is Ana, you take care to eat well, and she will stop loving you. I'm sure that will help you come back to laugh, and if you can laugh, you'll return to talk ...". My dad was the first to smile at my face exorbitant by joy: I had just become the owner of a beautiful monstrosity of over three meters long. "It's a tragavenado" said my uncle. Eating rats and rabbits, two or three a week. Take care much, Lucio ...". I barely managed to return the snake to the box, ran to hug my uncle to thank him for that magical gift that my soul had led a troubled gloom to a paradise of bliss ... "Another beer, honey?"
"But," continued Andrea Lucio narrating, even the gift of mi buen tío había logrado devolverme la voz. Mientras tanto, la situación en la casa continuaba empeorando: ya no le quedaba a mi padre más dinero para hacerme exámenes, ni para las consultas de los especialistas, ni siquiera para pagarle a aquella bruja que quería curarme a punta de sangre de loro mezclada con vino. Mi familia terminó acostumbrándose a mi nueva condición de mudo, y yo mismo empecé a olvidar que alguna vez había podido hablar. Mi padre, desesperado por conseguir el dinero de la hipoteca, pidió un aumento de sueldo en el taller donde trabajaba, pero el patrón se lo negó, argumentando que la situación estaba muy difícil, que carecían de clientes, que él no era tan require good worker and earn more than they paid, and that if he did not like, she could go where he pleased, that mechanical pirates about in this country. I know this, Andrea, because Dad told me that afternoon to show me how hard it could become life. He, however humble, was very dignified, and could not suffer in silence, the insolence of that operator. He said four pods, sent him to hell, and went to find a better job. But the situation was really tough: even walked to and fro, up and down, got no vacancy. He closed all the doors, and, keep open no longer to him, we closed all those who depended on their wages. I remember walking, tireless, from local to local, from business to business, with his shoes torn, sweaty and dirty flannel, with unkempt beard, looking more like a beggar than honest worker. Given their plight, nothing seemed to keep the family boat sinking ended in misery. I stayed away from family problems, lost in my world of silence, playing with my snake tragavenado tirelessly. Fed him, as I had indicated my uncle, the rats could catch him there. His reptilian secrecy seemed to me, his loneliness was a reflection of me, his fate was so uncertain as mine. He lived in my room, under beds, in a bowl that my father helped build, watching the outside world through stained glass, innocent of everything that went out of his modest palace of glass. Hunting
rats is easy to say but very difficult to do. I tried to take my responsibility in the best way, but sometimes was unable to feed the huge snake. In a home where people have nothing to eat, what can be for pets? Had a bad week where you do not get any rat, or like a chicken, and cool and calm mood of the snake began to fracture. Nothing I could do to calm the hunger he felt my pet, because I could not even soothe mine. One afternoon, Marta, naughty and restless, he left the tank not closed, and the snake escaped. He went to a place where he could satisfy hunger and thirst unknown to a corner where he could be free. My dad, Marta and I, we look in every nook of the house, making a thorough inspection, there was not hollow, outgoing, landing or not we sought hiding place. But it was useless. An animal of three meters long could not hide in any corner. Without doubt, had left the house. I got very sad, because of the impotence of getting it, and only wish I was lucky because, although child knew the fate that awaits the snakes when they fall into the hands of a bad heart. Kill her with sticks, or stones, or hacked, I do not know ... My uncle, on his next visit, when he learned of my loss, he told me not to worry about Ana, because the snakes were strong, powerful, with a survival instinct that allowed them to live well anywhere in the world. As I was only a child, I let myself be convinced by his words ... could not realize what their pious gesture ...
But time kept passing, the days, weeks, months, and within that my father had to pay the mortgage has expired. Presumably, the poor man had no all gathered to pay. In recent weeks, had only worked sometimes sporadic Tigritos killing, doing what he touched, but the pay was so low that it was entirely in the purchase of our food. The most dramatic moment was, without doubt, one night we were having dinner the miseries that my father had been achieved. He crumbling by economic pressures had begun to drink liquor, and took the bad habit of coming home drunk. Well, tonight I'm telling you, we were all on the table, bad eating, when my sister began to mourn and to say that there was still hungry. My mother tried to calm her, telling to eat a lot was bad, because people put fat and ugly. But that did not calm Marta, who asked, again and again, if there was more food. I also made signs, indicating that there was still hungry. Dad looked at his plate, which was some food, not over, telling us that what we shared. It was hard to chop it in half so mean ration, Andrea, so that Martha began to mourn again, saying it was too little, and she was very hungry. Dad closed his eyes, rose from his seat, and he said, his voice dry and desperate that the only meal they had for us was what was in your belly, if we wanted, there was, and, after getting his finger down her throat, back all your dinner on our plates. Then he left, and did not sleep that night at home. It was a bad time, I know ... I remember well the night before the day he was to pay the mortgage, crazy, walking in circles around the room, with a look of weariness and longing will never forget. I looked at the walls, ceiling, floor of a house that had been purchased with a huge sacrifice, suffering the worst deprivation and needs to get it, and told my mother while she prayed her rosary infinite, sure your friend will give a new deadline to pay, because would not be so hard-hearted to get them out of the house, which was all that was left in the world, and leave them with nowhere to live. Do not know what else he told my mother, who looked as dumb as me, because I went to bed, although I could not sleep all night because the desperate gesture my father had entered me in nightmares.
The next day, provided the exact date had been set four months ago, was the friend of my father, demanding money. Came home with his wife, a woman turned up and arrogance, and a girl in a month or two old. It was a horrible situation, Andrea, the humiliation and helplessness she felt were killing me. Without knowing why, I sat in a far corner of the house to hear the conversation of my father with his creditor. My mother was there, but it was as if he were not. He said nothing, merely passing the beads through his fingers, and listen. My father began to explain to his friend, with a humility he had never seen it, the problem of my illness, his lack of work, and said that all the money had been spent on CT and useless remedies. He told how expensive they were the consultations of specialists, tests, therapies, and, despite all the effort, I was silent, as before, without any improvement. He begged to give him a little longer because he had not yet met all the money, but he had been offered an excellent job with a very good salary, and so you may pay in no time. To all these, the friend of my father said nothing, sat unmoved, gazing at him with contempt. When my father ran out of excuses and lamentations, your lender rose from his seat and started screaming that the deal was done, that there was no excuse to argue, that when asked for his money, he had delivered ticket on the ticket, and demanded that he be paid equally. At that moment, the girl began to mourn, very strong, as if he sensed that my father was there to be shouted. The woman, concerned about the lumps on his belly, he asked my mom if he could not lead to a room, as children remember all, and that she wanted her baby to see people argue. My mother, with all the disdain of the world, I asked to lead the lady to the room of Martha and me, because it had rail bed. There may lie the girl while all this was solved. I went with the lady, leaving the room to that man shouting insulting and despicable than my father continued, without pause or fatigue. Even from the room we heard the insults of bad friend. The lady explained the bed of my sister, with contempt, and asked if I was that. I pointed out that yes, with a gesture dry. She, muttering that he hoped that the mattress did not have fleas, slept at the small bed, and stayed a few seconds lulling, for she continued crying. But her husband called her from the room, her lungs for him to tell these people that they also had needs, and debts, and the same problems as any other, and that, therefore, needed to get paid today or taken out right now with the police. My father remained absorbed, sitting in his chair, head down, bearing in silence, the worst injury of his life. Looking back, Andrea, I want to mourn, I imagine him, a good man, an honest man, a being whose only fault was that of being born with a bad star, there, sitting helplessly, thinking on how to keep the house that sheltered her family. I think about it, love, and I can not help but feel guilty ... though I know I did not spend all the money in my illness, largely because it was buying food and paying for services on the days they spent unemployed. But, anyway, my silence had gotten to my entire family chaos: not sick, they had never asked for that loan, nor Dad had lost his job, and I would have continued to work help in what could ... if I had not ill, my love, my good father may be alive ...
Papa asked again within one or two months, but discouraged the merchant told him that if he had to pay, then why the hell asked for borrowed money. And renewed his attack vile imprecations, while my father came to take his position ductile ... but I can not continue to have, cute, because I finished the beer since ratote ... Other? ... do not worry, I still have to pay two more rounds ... Well, as I was saying: I stood in a corner without anyone noticing, hearing and seeing all these bad things and I was not, Andrea, do not know why ... perhaps a masochistic desire and insane, or perhaps because he sensed that at that moment my father was dying. Today I think that would have been better to have seen nothing, have done as Marta, who was playing around, oblivious to all this drama ... I have saved lots of nightmares. But do not distress yourself about me, honey! I told you stopped hurting for some time ... past things happened as they happened, and we can not change, it is silly to close your eyes and pretend we had a better life that was. Things have to remember them as they happened, because only then we learn to know what we are, and why we are ...".
"Because," Lucio-counting continued, the better we know ourselves, we are likely to be happy ... is true, Andrea, I could not enjoy life very much, as you know, since my problems prevent me, but, remembering my past, my parents' sacrifices, the daily struggle to get by, I feel motivated to take my life with more calm, more hopeful, striving increasingly sneak this sludge of bad luck ... I suffered a lot, nice, but the constant shortages, and strengthen forces me to find the best way to escape it. Besides, I have the best talisman that anyone may have ... your company, your love, your love ... without it, I sure would not endure such misery accomplished because you give me the strength I need to deal vital against any adversity. But, hey, we do not get sentimental ... better term to tell the story, before you get bored over: crude lender of my father, his good friend, he continued insulting him, spitting any number of insults, vejándolo by virtue of his misery. He did nothing to defend. Was petrified on the chair, no sign of listening to his assailant, staring at the floor. My mother did not say anything, his sole purpose seemed to be happening, without never stop, the beads between his fingers. But the tone of the lender continued to rise, to be unacceptable, even for someone as humble and beaten like my father. When bad friend screamed as him go before his property because he was going to be sold to see if he could recover if only a small part of the money they had borrowed, collect their four rubbish, if they did not that took to the streets the guards would look now, my father rose from his chair, looked into her eyes and hallucinating with a fury I had never seen him, his voice was hoarse, penetrating shake the foundations of emboldened collector, he said: Get out of my house, unless you want to kill him right here! The man, startled, got up too, he asked his wife to look at the child, and began to murmur that was not going to be so, that would give the police, the army, to the heavenly court, or what I know who ... the woman ignored her husband, seeing that the situation was becoming ant color. He walked alone to the room that had previously left the girl ... were a few seconds of silence, fleeting glances, of excruciating tension. Time seemed to stand still, and the air had to force it to enter into the lungs.
Then, when I began to believe that the awkward situation would last forever, a pathetic cry tore steely silence. The wailing of women, "My God, what is this," from my room, made us all run to the room. At first I could not see anything because the three adults were obstructing my vision. They had been petrified at the terrible spectacle they witnessed, their faces twisted and bulging eyes ... at last, opening a field between them, I was able to witness the most perverse moment you have ever seen. The snake, Ana, who had long lost, came out of nowhere, and sated his hunger for months the lifeless body of the girl. Had swallowed much of the trunk, head first, leaving only the two legs out of the mouth. Demon looked like a ghost, his jaw broken up, with those sinuous movement that he gave to his long spine trying to swallow the end of the meaty morsel that was consuming. I could not take anymore, Andrea, was a horror show, which would not have ever witnessed. I'd rather keep silent, to have to carry this infernal image in memory that haunts me from the realm of nightmares almost every night ... to see that scene, a scream escaped from my chest, a scream silenced the cries of temperate of others. It was the last thing I did before I pass out ... however, I have a picture of my father and rearward Mrs. struggling to get the child inside the snake, and the conductor lying on the floor, pulling the hair with his hands, crying and shouting unintelligible phrases. When darkness clouded my vision, I heard a rumor of ocean waves, which could sense the distant echo of the endless recitation of my mother, who was still sitting in the room, telling beads of her rosary between her fingers, asking God perhaps, for the salvation of our souls.
not know what else happened, Andrea, for continued unconscious until the morning of next. My mother, who was the other witness, I never wanted to tell how they took the girl inside the snake, when police arrived, or who to blame for this unfortunate event. Arguing that hides no memory of what happened. Just know that my father, at half past two, using any instrument by a rope and despair, ended his life. He tied a rope outside of the roof eaves, and hanged himself. There was no able to withstand so much pain, the success of the girl and the snake was the straw that broke the glass of his bitterness. And was killed, Andrea, no goodbyes, no letters, no words of love and encouragement, only was killed, leaving orphans in the hands of fate. My mother woke me and Martha, anxious to ask me to fetch my dad, who had left the house without saying anything. I got up, still dazed by the memory of the snake swallowing the girl, and went after him like a zombie. Just crossed the front door, I saw the body of my father who swung and lifeless, his tongue out, his pants still wet from the piss, hanging from a wooden beam by the neck. I myself had to download it, despite having torn soul, my mother was blind, and Marta was even more childish than me, so I had to suffer the horror ... I do not remember have cried so much as that night when I ran to a pay phone that was several blocks away to call my uncle Peter, who was the only person in the world that we could help more black at the moment of our lives. He took care of everything, and then also arranged for us for many years ... brought us to live in this old house, you know, with him, with a nobility of heart that I would be grateful to my death. The poor guy helped us while he could, but eight years ago, became ill with stomach cancer and died. Since then, I have had to take care of the family. To complete the cycle of tragedies, seven months after the death of my father, mother gave birth to Daniel, who, as you know, was born with severe delay. What we live after that, in the interval between the death of my father and the day we met, is part of another story, lovely, part I've told you already, and the rest do what I can tell you today because I got tired of talking so much ... also are giving me want to mourn, and I will not, because I promised that I would not shed a tear over this past torment ... But remember, Andrea, never forget, because remember how much my father suffered, the kindness of my uncle, the evil star of my mother, took momentum to continue forward and fight to death against the cruel fate that is determined to make us unhappy ... Fight for those memories, Andrea, and those memories will keep fighting until the end, while I remain a breath of strength in the body ... but, better we go, my pretty, it's getting late, and tomorrow I have to stop very early to go to work ...".
was tough the way they had to go to raise its head again. In fact, they could never lift it at all ... struggle simply to find the means to survive ... after the disaster, had been quantities debt with suppliers, and each grabbed what money they had to pay at once. With the knowledge that my father had bought auto mechanic, managed to get under-employment in a garage, where he squeezed all the energy in exchange for a miserable salary. My mother started making cakes, pies, candy, and anything edible that could be sold. With what they earned, and the modest support they sent my father's brother, Uncle Peter, managed to cancel some of the debts, and are enough left over to buy a small house with adobe walls and tin roof.
As they had no any extra to invest, or fall back out of that precarious life, things remained static for several years. At that time I was born and two years later, Martin was born. Daniel was not going to be born yet. My mother was pregnant with him, unknowingly, a few days before the suicide of my father ... I wonder why they had so many children living in poverty if you tell, the truth, I do not know. I have also asked that question many times. I guess that would not have sufficient resources to take good care, or, perhaps, think of them as a young couple to whom he ruined the dreams ... at least, bringing children into the world, could meet part of their remaining illusions ... perhaps only wanted one, and the rest came by mistake ... What do I know? ... My mother never wanted me to say ... the thing is, with two dependent children who are sick, they eat, who need clothes and education, and earning about the same as before them, my parents made them very difficult to keep the home in a dignified way. We spent many hardships, Andrea ... ate badly, and worst dressed ... we had no luxury at home: no music, television, vacation, or even have a fridge or washing machine ... when you told me that the best toy of poor children is your imagination, believe me, I experienced firsthand because I experienced infinidad de veces en mi miseria... yo jugaba con cualquier cosa: una piedra, un trozo de madera, una metra vieja y partida... aunque siempre hubiese querido una pista de carreras, creo que me bastó lo que tuve, unido con el cariño de mis padres y del tío Pedro, que nos visitaba cada vez que podía. Tú no llegaste a conocer al tío Pedro; te hubiese caído muy bien. Lástima que murió, devorado por el cáncer de estómago, unos años antes de que nos conociéramos. En fin: mi padre se iba volviendo huraño, taciturno, con el paso del tiempo y la pérdida constante de su ánimo. Mi hermana y yo, niños de barrigas gordas y tripas flacas, nos desnutríamos poco a poco, como castigados por una agonía eterna. Para colmo de males, mi madre comenzó a padecer de glaucoma, y esto la llevo a perder la vista. Al principio, se aquejaba de dolores en los ojos, con un enrojecimiento crónico, con pus que no le permitía separar los párpados cada mañana, al despertarse. Mi padre no tenía como pagarle un médico. El ambulatorio rural que cubría el sector donde vivíamos estaba desabitado desde hacía unos dos años, y el doctor del ambulatorio más cercano llevaba tres meses de vacaciones. Unas vecinas le dijeron a mi madre que lo que tenía era sólo una infección, y que no había nada como lavarse los ojos con manzanilla tres veces al día para que se curara. ¡Imagínate! ¡Curar glaucoma with chamomile! Of course, at that time nobody knew what I had ... my father thought it was nervous, deprivation, for the many problems we choked, and my sister and I, innocent children, did not even know anything happened. A few days later, my mother was nearly blind. Finally, with the help of my Uncle Peter, we get an ophthalmologist who treated her, which, after performing some tests with some strange instruments, and take some measures the pressure inside the eye, taken with the disease that had stolen the vision. My father asked in desperation: "What can be done, doctor? Is there any treatment to see again? ". The doctor, very slow, my father said words I will never forget: "If I had brought before, we could have possibly saved her vision with surgery, but took a long time, and the disease had time to produce irreversible damage eyes. I'm so sorry ...". Can you imagine? It was terrible for my father, who was feeling pretty bad ... well, let alone my mother, knowing that he had gone blind, forever and ever, changed from being sweet to me in my early years took care to be sour and bad you know.
As my mother could not work anymore, and I was the man of home, I had to leave to face the world ahead of time, to help dad I could. Those were tough ... I remember seeing many times my sister handles knocking on neighbors' houses, hidden, to that end took her hunger. I worked at a light, clean the glass in the cars so they gave me, selling lottery tickets, or fruit, or whatever, all in exchange for a few miserable coins with which to help ease the plight. I met many people in those long hours, Andrea, and most of them took advantage of my poverty to exploit, and to treat me like a landmark. The hatred from the depths of my chest, because I understand that there is no worse sin than using a child using his hunger and their innocence. My sister, too small even to be aware of all this, there lived a somewhat isolated in its dome of silence. She was not aware of the plight of our fathers, who went mad in silence, which crumbled to the damper, which shattered, without leaving your phlegmatic attitude, with which we tried to avoid as they hope we lose. Without hope, it is much harder to bear the pain ...
However, despite their efforts to keep our calm, I also broke down. I lost my hope and my joy, my vitality, my desire to succeed. Do not hold more, not only for my pain, which was considerable, but by the quiet desperation he felt when he saw the fall of the only people who had loved in my short life, in the midst of utter helplessness. But nothing could be done to prevent the ultimate collapse. It was just a child ... and thus I did all I could: sit down and watch the final collapse. One night, tired of living in my body, I decided to do nothing else, I do not get up the next day or work, or eat, or anything ... longed to die in my bed, hunger or whatever ... the next morning when I opened my eyes for the first time and remembered the promise he had made last night, I wanted to stay in bed. My father called me from the room, reminding me that it was getting late for work ... I wanted to reply that I get up, he had decided to die there, but discovered that I was left speechless ... Can you imagine the horror? Besides all the things that oppress us, I'd just be silent ... could not be: God must have something against us. I suppose that he suffered from a psychosomatic illness, but very psychosomatic and all, could say nothing, not even a slight little noise ...
that time my mother began to pray the rosary infinite, which still has not finished praying. I think it started asking God for a cure for my silence, and finally accepted the prayer as a way of life ... my illness, sudden and inexplicable, was a weight for the back tired from my father. At first, trying silly solutions, sought a way of making me talk, tickle, brandy, scares, but, as none of these first-aid work, which took me a witch with a reputation among strangers. He gave me to drink as much crap in a bottle was old and stale, some remedies that I returned filthy speech, but that made me throw up three days straight ... and so, my father was trying on me any number of popular recipes, which became in failure after failure. When had exhausted all informal resources, took me to a real doctor. This man, very serious and formal, he sent me to do a lot of reviews for each element of the body that had anything to do with the ability to speak: lungs, larynx, vocal cords ... but, you know, most of these tests are only private laboratories who charge any amount of money under the banner of taking care of health ... Have you finished your beer? Mine ran out a while ... Do we ask another? ... That! While bringing you counting. Where was I? Ah, yes! In the tests ... Well, as we expect, we so little money, we do not even enough to pay the first review, and it was about six ... my father, desperate to heal my illness, was talking with an old friend to ask her to borrow money with which to pay the evidence and the remedies that doctors deem necessary to return my speech. The friend of my father consented to lend, but under a condition of home mortgage. That's the way: the only asset he had left my family, who had bought sweating drops of blood per adobe, for each beam, for every square meter of floor, was now in danger of being lost, just my luck. ..
All for nothing. Medical tests showed that had nothing in my body, and the many medicines that forced me to take were not able to return my speech. Was as silent as before, the only thing that changed was that we were poor ... the doctor who treated me, my father proposed to take me to a psychiatric consultation, as it seemed that my problem was nervous. But my father was resigned, and eventually convinced that if my head had been badly, perhaps be cured only with time, just as he had arrived ...
He was right. Since he had nothing left with which to fight to help. He had lost all the money the mortgage on finding a cure to my strange illness. As he failed, would simply give me food, dress, the little love he had left in his desert heart, and wait. Someday heal ...
And it would, otherwise, I'd be telling this story in sign language. One day, when all were starting to resign from my silence, my uncle Peter came to visit me. He had no children, he was sterile so they wanted me as if I was you never had. Old wine in his truck, his face gentle and cheerful as ever, holding a large box in his arms. He placed the box on the floor, my father greeted with a hug, Marta greeted with great kiss, and stood before me with watery eyes, to say: "Forgive me for not coming before, Lucio. I did not get off work ...". Then he hugged me and began to mourn them. Suddenly, without me, took me by the shoulders, stared at me and said, "I brought you a present, son, to help stop being sad ...", and was bring me the large box that had left on the ground. "You must love her very much," he said, when I was opening the package to see it contained. His name is Ana, you take care to eat well, and she will stop loving you. I'm sure that will help you come back to laugh, and if you can laugh, you'll return to talk ...". My dad was the first to smile at my face exorbitant by joy: I had just become the owner of a beautiful monstrosity of over three meters long. "It's a tragavenado" said my uncle. Eating rats and rabbits, two or three a week. Take care much, Lucio ...". I barely managed to return the snake to the box, ran to hug my uncle to thank him for that magical gift that my soul had led a troubled gloom to a paradise of bliss ... "Another beer, honey?"
"But," continued Andrea Lucio narrating, even the gift of mi buen tío había logrado devolverme la voz. Mientras tanto, la situación en la casa continuaba empeorando: ya no le quedaba a mi padre más dinero para hacerme exámenes, ni para las consultas de los especialistas, ni siquiera para pagarle a aquella bruja que quería curarme a punta de sangre de loro mezclada con vino. Mi familia terminó acostumbrándose a mi nueva condición de mudo, y yo mismo empecé a olvidar que alguna vez había podido hablar. Mi padre, desesperado por conseguir el dinero de la hipoteca, pidió un aumento de sueldo en el taller donde trabajaba, pero el patrón se lo negó, argumentando que la situación estaba muy difícil, que carecían de clientes, que él no era tan require good worker and earn more than they paid, and that if he did not like, she could go where he pleased, that mechanical pirates about in this country. I know this, Andrea, because Dad told me that afternoon to show me how hard it could become life. He, however humble, was very dignified, and could not suffer in silence, the insolence of that operator. He said four pods, sent him to hell, and went to find a better job. But the situation was really tough: even walked to and fro, up and down, got no vacancy. He closed all the doors, and, keep open no longer to him, we closed all those who depended on their wages. I remember walking, tireless, from local to local, from business to business, with his shoes torn, sweaty and dirty flannel, with unkempt beard, looking more like a beggar than honest worker. Given their plight, nothing seemed to keep the family boat sinking ended in misery. I stayed away from family problems, lost in my world of silence, playing with my snake tragavenado tirelessly. Fed him, as I had indicated my uncle, the rats could catch him there. His reptilian secrecy seemed to me, his loneliness was a reflection of me, his fate was so uncertain as mine. He lived in my room, under beds, in a bowl that my father helped build, watching the outside world through stained glass, innocent of everything that went out of his modest palace of glass. Hunting
rats is easy to say but very difficult to do. I tried to take my responsibility in the best way, but sometimes was unable to feed the huge snake. In a home where people have nothing to eat, what can be for pets? Had a bad week where you do not get any rat, or like a chicken, and cool and calm mood of the snake began to fracture. Nothing I could do to calm the hunger he felt my pet, because I could not even soothe mine. One afternoon, Marta, naughty and restless, he left the tank not closed, and the snake escaped. He went to a place where he could satisfy hunger and thirst unknown to a corner where he could be free. My dad, Marta and I, we look in every nook of the house, making a thorough inspection, there was not hollow, outgoing, landing or not we sought hiding place. But it was useless. An animal of three meters long could not hide in any corner. Without doubt, had left the house. I got very sad, because of the impotence of getting it, and only wish I was lucky because, although child knew the fate that awaits the snakes when they fall into the hands of a bad heart. Kill her with sticks, or stones, or hacked, I do not know ... My uncle, on his next visit, when he learned of my loss, he told me not to worry about Ana, because the snakes were strong, powerful, with a survival instinct that allowed them to live well anywhere in the world. As I was only a child, I let myself be convinced by his words ... could not realize what their pious gesture ...
But time kept passing, the days, weeks, months, and within that my father had to pay the mortgage has expired. Presumably, the poor man had no all gathered to pay. In recent weeks, had only worked sometimes sporadic Tigritos killing, doing what he touched, but the pay was so low that it was entirely in the purchase of our food. The most dramatic moment was, without doubt, one night we were having dinner the miseries that my father had been achieved. He crumbling by economic pressures had begun to drink liquor, and took the bad habit of coming home drunk. Well, tonight I'm telling you, we were all on the table, bad eating, when my sister began to mourn and to say that there was still hungry. My mother tried to calm her, telling to eat a lot was bad, because people put fat and ugly. But that did not calm Marta, who asked, again and again, if there was more food. I also made signs, indicating that there was still hungry. Dad looked at his plate, which was some food, not over, telling us that what we shared. It was hard to chop it in half so mean ration, Andrea, so that Martha began to mourn again, saying it was too little, and she was very hungry. Dad closed his eyes, rose from his seat, and he said, his voice dry and desperate that the only meal they had for us was what was in your belly, if we wanted, there was, and, after getting his finger down her throat, back all your dinner on our plates. Then he left, and did not sleep that night at home. It was a bad time, I know ... I remember well the night before the day he was to pay the mortgage, crazy, walking in circles around the room, with a look of weariness and longing will never forget. I looked at the walls, ceiling, floor of a house that had been purchased with a huge sacrifice, suffering the worst deprivation and needs to get it, and told my mother while she prayed her rosary infinite, sure your friend will give a new deadline to pay, because would not be so hard-hearted to get them out of the house, which was all that was left in the world, and leave them with nowhere to live. Do not know what else he told my mother, who looked as dumb as me, because I went to bed, although I could not sleep all night because the desperate gesture my father had entered me in nightmares.
The next day, provided the exact date had been set four months ago, was the friend of my father, demanding money. Came home with his wife, a woman turned up and arrogance, and a girl in a month or two old. It was a horrible situation, Andrea, the humiliation and helplessness she felt were killing me. Without knowing why, I sat in a far corner of the house to hear the conversation of my father with his creditor. My mother was there, but it was as if he were not. He said nothing, merely passing the beads through his fingers, and listen. My father began to explain to his friend, with a humility he had never seen it, the problem of my illness, his lack of work, and said that all the money had been spent on CT and useless remedies. He told how expensive they were the consultations of specialists, tests, therapies, and, despite all the effort, I was silent, as before, without any improvement. He begged to give him a little longer because he had not yet met all the money, but he had been offered an excellent job with a very good salary, and so you may pay in no time. To all these, the friend of my father said nothing, sat unmoved, gazing at him with contempt. When my father ran out of excuses and lamentations, your lender rose from his seat and started screaming that the deal was done, that there was no excuse to argue, that when asked for his money, he had delivered ticket on the ticket, and demanded that he be paid equally. At that moment, the girl began to mourn, very strong, as if he sensed that my father was there to be shouted. The woman, concerned about the lumps on his belly, he asked my mom if he could not lead to a room, as children remember all, and that she wanted her baby to see people argue. My mother, with all the disdain of the world, I asked to lead the lady to the room of Martha and me, because it had rail bed. There may lie the girl while all this was solved. I went with the lady, leaving the room to that man shouting insulting and despicable than my father continued, without pause or fatigue. Even from the room we heard the insults of bad friend. The lady explained the bed of my sister, with contempt, and asked if I was that. I pointed out that yes, with a gesture dry. She, muttering that he hoped that the mattress did not have fleas, slept at the small bed, and stayed a few seconds lulling, for she continued crying. But her husband called her from the room, her lungs for him to tell these people that they also had needs, and debts, and the same problems as any other, and that, therefore, needed to get paid today or taken out right now with the police. My father remained absorbed, sitting in his chair, head down, bearing in silence, the worst injury of his life. Looking back, Andrea, I want to mourn, I imagine him, a good man, an honest man, a being whose only fault was that of being born with a bad star, there, sitting helplessly, thinking on how to keep the house that sheltered her family. I think about it, love, and I can not help but feel guilty ... though I know I did not spend all the money in my illness, largely because it was buying food and paying for services on the days they spent unemployed. But, anyway, my silence had gotten to my entire family chaos: not sick, they had never asked for that loan, nor Dad had lost his job, and I would have continued to work help in what could ... if I had not ill, my love, my good father may be alive ...
Papa asked again within one or two months, but discouraged the merchant told him that if he had to pay, then why the hell asked for borrowed money. And renewed his attack vile imprecations, while my father came to take his position ductile ... but I can not continue to have, cute, because I finished the beer since ratote ... Other? ... do not worry, I still have to pay two more rounds ... Well, as I was saying: I stood in a corner without anyone noticing, hearing and seeing all these bad things and I was not, Andrea, do not know why ... perhaps a masochistic desire and insane, or perhaps because he sensed that at that moment my father was dying. Today I think that would have been better to have seen nothing, have done as Marta, who was playing around, oblivious to all this drama ... I have saved lots of nightmares. But do not distress yourself about me, honey! I told you stopped hurting for some time ... past things happened as they happened, and we can not change, it is silly to close your eyes and pretend we had a better life that was. Things have to remember them as they happened, because only then we learn to know what we are, and why we are ...".
"Because," Lucio-counting continued, the better we know ourselves, we are likely to be happy ... is true, Andrea, I could not enjoy life very much, as you know, since my problems prevent me, but, remembering my past, my parents' sacrifices, the daily struggle to get by, I feel motivated to take my life with more calm, more hopeful, striving increasingly sneak this sludge of bad luck ... I suffered a lot, nice, but the constant shortages, and strengthen forces me to find the best way to escape it. Besides, I have the best talisman that anyone may have ... your company, your love, your love ... without it, I sure would not endure such misery accomplished because you give me the strength I need to deal vital against any adversity. But, hey, we do not get sentimental ... better term to tell the story, before you get bored over: crude lender of my father, his good friend, he continued insulting him, spitting any number of insults, vejándolo by virtue of his misery. He did nothing to defend. Was petrified on the chair, no sign of listening to his assailant, staring at the floor. My mother did not say anything, his sole purpose seemed to be happening, without never stop, the beads between his fingers. But the tone of the lender continued to rise, to be unacceptable, even for someone as humble and beaten like my father. When bad friend screamed as him go before his property because he was going to be sold to see if he could recover if only a small part of the money they had borrowed, collect their four rubbish, if they did not that took to the streets the guards would look now, my father rose from his chair, looked into her eyes and hallucinating with a fury I had never seen him, his voice was hoarse, penetrating shake the foundations of emboldened collector, he said: Get out of my house, unless you want to kill him right here! The man, startled, got up too, he asked his wife to look at the child, and began to murmur that was not going to be so, that would give the police, the army, to the heavenly court, or what I know who ... the woman ignored her husband, seeing that the situation was becoming ant color. He walked alone to the room that had previously left the girl ... were a few seconds of silence, fleeting glances, of excruciating tension. Time seemed to stand still, and the air had to force it to enter into the lungs.
Then, when I began to believe that the awkward situation would last forever, a pathetic cry tore steely silence. The wailing of women, "My God, what is this," from my room, made us all run to the room. At first I could not see anything because the three adults were obstructing my vision. They had been petrified at the terrible spectacle they witnessed, their faces twisted and bulging eyes ... at last, opening a field between them, I was able to witness the most perverse moment you have ever seen. The snake, Ana, who had long lost, came out of nowhere, and sated his hunger for months the lifeless body of the girl. Had swallowed much of the trunk, head first, leaving only the two legs out of the mouth. Demon looked like a ghost, his jaw broken up, with those sinuous movement that he gave to his long spine trying to swallow the end of the meaty morsel that was consuming. I could not take anymore, Andrea, was a horror show, which would not have ever witnessed. I'd rather keep silent, to have to carry this infernal image in memory that haunts me from the realm of nightmares almost every night ... to see that scene, a scream escaped from my chest, a scream silenced the cries of temperate of others. It was the last thing I did before I pass out ... however, I have a picture of my father and rearward Mrs. struggling to get the child inside the snake, and the conductor lying on the floor, pulling the hair with his hands, crying and shouting unintelligible phrases. When darkness clouded my vision, I heard a rumor of ocean waves, which could sense the distant echo of the endless recitation of my mother, who was still sitting in the room, telling beads of her rosary between her fingers, asking God perhaps, for the salvation of our souls.
not know what else happened, Andrea, for continued unconscious until the morning of next. My mother, who was the other witness, I never wanted to tell how they took the girl inside the snake, when police arrived, or who to blame for this unfortunate event. Arguing that hides no memory of what happened. Just know that my father, at half past two, using any instrument by a rope and despair, ended his life. He tied a rope outside of the roof eaves, and hanged himself. There was no able to withstand so much pain, the success of the girl and the snake was the straw that broke the glass of his bitterness. And was killed, Andrea, no goodbyes, no letters, no words of love and encouragement, only was killed, leaving orphans in the hands of fate. My mother woke me and Martha, anxious to ask me to fetch my dad, who had left the house without saying anything. I got up, still dazed by the memory of the snake swallowing the girl, and went after him like a zombie. Just crossed the front door, I saw the body of my father who swung and lifeless, his tongue out, his pants still wet from the piss, hanging from a wooden beam by the neck. I myself had to download it, despite having torn soul, my mother was blind, and Marta was even more childish than me, so I had to suffer the horror ... I do not remember have cried so much as that night when I ran to a pay phone that was several blocks away to call my uncle Peter, who was the only person in the world that we could help more black at the moment of our lives. He took care of everything, and then also arranged for us for many years ... brought us to live in this old house, you know, with him, with a nobility of heart that I would be grateful to my death. The poor guy helped us while he could, but eight years ago, became ill with stomach cancer and died. Since then, I have had to take care of the family. To complete the cycle of tragedies, seven months after the death of my father, mother gave birth to Daniel, who, as you know, was born with severe delay. What we live after that, in the interval between the death of my father and the day we met, is part of another story, lovely, part I've told you already, and the rest do what I can tell you today because I got tired of talking so much ... also are giving me want to mourn, and I will not, because I promised that I would not shed a tear over this past torment ... But remember, Andrea, never forget, because remember how much my father suffered, the kindness of my uncle, the evil star of my mother, took momentum to continue forward and fight to death against the cruel fate that is determined to make us unhappy ... Fight for those memories, Andrea, and those memories will keep fighting until the end, while I remain a breath of strength in the body ... but, better we go, my pretty, it's getting late, and tomorrow I have to stop very early to go to work ...".
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