Sacheri
He decided, right from the start, let him go. He had the idea that love is not imposed, not even choose. I thought that in any case were the loves those who choose, which are imposed on you. So, with some disregard fatalistic thought that if I had to be, would, and if not, it was useless to spend chimangos gunpowder.
It was not easy, however. Especially when their noses rivals took to try to convince him. It cost him cope, smiling accept uncles and cousins \u200b\u200band brothers and friends and neighbors tempting to Raulito, offering T-shirts and balls and caps, in exchange for promises of loyalty to their own tables. Said nothing when he surprised more than one of those vultures Comebacks teaching the boy the joints of the court, instructing surreptitiously historic rivalries, extolling the virtues of a hypothetical, and vilifying the infamous alleged defects of others.
he left. A little to the resignation that was so him. And a little because sometimes, in their sad days, suspected that it might be better so that the chain of affection is cut with the inexplicable, without involving your child. Maybe the guy end up being more happy being a fan of big champion out occasionally, seeing the stadium full, buying Chart with his idol on the cover. If after all he had been suffering ... How much? More than twenty years since that championship. And after the debacle. Until the fall had to suffer, until the fall. And around the corner, big disappointment. 94 Just in the last date, will of God, the last date. If so little lacking, one draw and ready. But even. Therefore
certainly agreed with integrity that Raulito, from nine or so, begin by saying that River was, "as Uncle Hugo", although deep recesses of his being, he felt sincere wishes go to "Uncle Hugo", slowly, gently, by the meat grinder and sausage maker.
is that, alone with himself, on the other days, I knew that was the whole group. That would have loved to Raulito come out of their own. That now that I was thirteen, now that was a real man would have been nice to go together to the court. In the afternoon, early in the train and the 118, talking about lost cattle, watching the game leaning on the third step up, letting life.
But just do not change his mind. No sir. That if he that might be, and if not, no. Equal, and just in case, cultivated his own legend plant lying, to keep alive his persistent hope. And though she was a little embarrassed to compare the team of 73 with the selection of 86, just went on, emboldened in its own pyrotechnics fallacious, tenderly drawn the admiration in the eyes of Raulito.
That afternoon, the unforgettable, ultimately, began like any other, with the material and radio in iron patio table. The father decided to prevent entry:
"Look, Raulito, who now play against us. The son looked at him curiously.
- What's wrong, pa?
The father, happy in the simplicity The boy, ended up smiling: "You're right
, Raulito, what's the problem? Twenty minutes
criminal River. The boy looked at her father, doubtfully. He reassured, in spite of himself: "Shout
quiet Raulito. But: if then there is a goal of ours, do not be mad if I cry.
"No, Dad, if not anger me," he said gravely. Cried after the goal, but not much. It was a short cry, a little shy. The father slapped him.
"Do not be silly, Raul, shout all you want.
"That's right, pa," was all his answer. Soon came the two to zero. There the boy looked at him first, and then took a couple of applause, and that was it.
"Hey, what kind of fan are you? So your uncle taught you to scream Hugo goals?
-pa No, he screams like crazy. Like you, the screams. And then cry
quiet, son. "And then he added with a wink: - Eye in the second time I cry I can, eh?
She felt at peace, happy owner of a simple and robust. Barely remembered that they were losing. Beginning to think that it might not be so terrible that his son was in River. Maybe it would be able to go to the field alike, taking turns one Sunday each helped if the fixture.
The second half followed the beaten path of the tragedy. A counter and three to zero. The kid did not even make a gesture when the reporter shouted the news to his voice.
-Che, Raulito, are you asleep, you? "The father patted him affectionately.
"No, Daddy. Cross-shaking legs under the seat, and her fingers crossed in her lap, and when I thought things complicated. Then ventured: - do not know, I feel a little sorry.
The father laughed heartily. "Stop
hump, Raul, and enjoy it. Overall, a game more, one less ... Besides, care, boy, "she teased, Look, that maybe it still tied.
To top it off, and as giving the reason, after a while came the three to one. The father gave a little scream content, tense, as that would have given the players, just greeting each other, compete for the ball to an archer who want to cool the thing, running into the midfield to gain time. The son looked at him sadly. When their eyes met, they both smiled.
"I said, boy, watch out for us. Look, we are brave.
As said on the radio, the party was getting good.
-Listen, Raulito, listen: we have them in a bow.
But the warning was unnecessary. The boy followed the relatively concentrated, seriously. Transcendent plays accompanied by kicking in the air, as he also played his part of it. The father smiled. How are the kids. Take possession so that they feel they themselves are protagonists of the game. In reality, not just the kids: a couple of weeks ago he had shattered the flask in a supreme effort to clear a corner kick was a low shot that fatally left over the goalkeeper.
At thirty, more or less corner kick on the River area. The boy was enchufadÃsimo. Until the body swayed slightly from side to side, like all good pitching, waiting to run a few feet and get up early and hit the marker the leap and connect the frentazo. But there was something the father did not close, something in the way he was standing, something in the expression of his black eyes.
Her heart sank when he realized: the kid was shaping the attacker, not the defender. The movement was to break out of a sticky marker, the eyes were the pitch came venà fire that sent you to save. The right arm was raised in a gesture that is made to seven of Put it here, Justito here for heaven's sake.
The account was suspended on a high note, one of those notes that stretch, which linger in the air as the rapporteur decides whether to scream or say it happened near. Like it was not necessary, because the fans behind the arc, cried first, and the reporter climbed in any case after this scream. The father cried heartily, enthusiastically. Three to one is one thing. But three to two is quite another, and then ...
suddenly had to be stopped in their wanderings. Because their feet, the side of the table, kneeling, facing the sky, shouting as if they were skinned, with arms outstretched and palms open, mixing his voice squeaks and snoring baby emerging maturity in the making, was the kid, the kid and no rounds, and no chance for return, and inoculated with the poison forever sweet everlasting love, and always alien to any other shirt beyond all pain and all the glory, giving the sky the first cry of his life free.
The father looked at him, motionless, until the boy lost his voice and sat down again. She was afraid to utter a word, as if anything you said will result in the risk of destroying the spell of epic. The kid, like, not looking. Was blind to anything that was not the court, that arc of his misfortunes, that clock fleeting and treacherous, never-ending story centers that rained to the area and agonizing punts. About all that the father thought later, because at that time, overwhelmed in the establishment of private small miracle, she barely had time to look at the kid, to eat with the eyes, etched into the innermost recess of his soul.
As she was about it, and at discount, River played poorly the off-side and nine escaped with ball dominated. The radio story climbed back to one of those sharp oracle. The kid stood up, unable to tolerate the tension of the play. With the roar of the fans in the background, father and son held their breath, soul hanging from the nine that entered the area to settle the lawsuit, which plucked the ball over the keeper, looking for the post. The story was cut off suddenly, and she continued as it did in a minor key, to explain the inexplicable: the ball kissing the crossbar and going to die in the roof of the net, and useless, and senseless, and with the referee whistling the end.
The father looked at him again. The boy was red with anger, with eyes so wide with disbelief, with clenched fists of helplessness. He thought first to say something, to try to mitigate that pain in the flesh. But dissuaded him certain that it was better that way, because it was always things, and things could not be wrong, if they were provided. The boy's lips twisted into a grimace, and finally launched into a crying wildly. It was great. Enough to want to mourn alone. So suddenly got up and ran to his room. The father heard the door slam, and did not need to know him collapsed on his bed, confused, hurt, not knowing what to do one with the pain and anger.
Father knew we wept, and rejoiced in those tears. Because one can say that is many pictures. You can change your mind several times. Especially if there are many great uncles and cousins \u200b\u200bwilling to buy shirts with balls and fidelity of a heart rookie. But once you cry for a picture, the thing is finished. There is no turning. No case. Of joy can return, perhaps. But no tears. Because when one suffers for his table, has a hole in the belly unintelligible. And do not fill it all. Or rather, only fills him with one thing: to win next Sunday. So case closed. The die is cast. We here, the rest in front. Some more friends, some less. But on this side of us, those here, who do not have in common, perhaps, win some, but we share the tears of a lot of defeats.
When his wife went into the yard, wondering that her husband continue to serene in the cold autumn evening, he found him crying as well, but fat tears, dense, sticky ones that open grooves in its path, such that one cries when you're too happy to simply laugh.
- Did you know what happens? She asked, confused. He looked at her, not even bothering to hide her tears: Raulito while ago that went to his room and slammed the door, and tells me not to come in, and listens to mourn and mourn like crazy. And now you go out and see you too runny. Do I want to explain what happens horns?
The man considered sympathetic. What else could I do? "Try to explain? How? He contented himself with looking at her, still feeling the flow of time in the glass dropper then indestructible.
"Sure you won a River" and you handle the guy, right? Surely you take hold with the baby, right? "She looked at him with a look of severe reproche." Such big guy, do not you ashamed?
"No, Grace, did not do anything. If River won three to two. The boy did not say anything, I swear, "replied calmly, from the top of his peace regained.
"But then I understand nothing. Did I say he won River, and the baby is crying like crazy locked in the room?
"Yes, Grace. River won. But the kid is not River, Graciela. "And he was reconciled to life, elated, grateful, excited, and absolute legal owner of the words he would utter. After he joined, because such things are said of standing: - What happens is that the Hurricane is Raulito, Graciela. In Hurricane!
0 comments:
Post a Comment