September 13, 1998
[I]
He had no reason to be uneasy. It is true that September is usually a bad month. The chicken coop is in an uproar because, if the assumptions that we are nothing more than chemistry are true, Edmu's neurons (his name was Edmundo, but everyone knew him by Edmu or Ed) would seize up, they would go downhill. There were days that he did not give for his life or two realines. He felt like disappearing. Not have existed.
Upstairs, in the leftovers of memory, where memories were thrown away, now useless, due to old junk, it is known that with the change of season or the hints of leaf fall, the cells recovered their old state of sedition. It had to be the bug.
I look very healthy and wholesome on the outside, but inside is the bug. That damn bug that won't even let you breathe. The ferret - maybe it's a badger, porpoise or otter, maybe a tiger - won't let me live. He is always on the lookout in his hura.
I have had it all, but I have passed through the world as a fleeting shadow. Look what you got, man. There is no need to tempt God. No one is satisfied with what he has. Don't complain, you live in the culture of complaining.
Bad behavior.
Just go an do it. Don't take no for an answer. Be yourself. Of course I never took such advice from people who loved me well. She loved me. She knew how to love and understand me like no one has known how to love or understand me in this fucking country, and she told me in English. I couldn't match it.
Her voice is a sacred hymn in my memory. Each and every record is located in the soul archives. She is born and dies with the bell, the accent and the song of the beloved. You just let pass the great opportunities. When you realize what you have got then it is just to late. I know you like an open book, Edmu.
Everything has passed, but each day that passes is a milestone that collects those mysterious echoes. His interpellations have something prophetic. The words are enchanted. Upload the incense. Far from her life has been an exile, but what do you want one to do. Let bygones be bygones... I´ll see you heaven.
True?
Then why shouldn´t I put my heaven into the oven or something.
The mystique of memory works every sunset and every night. Triumphant woman, why did you abandon me? Stupid that I was. I was given an opportunity and I let it pass. With me the apothegm of what's done doesn't work, chest.
I recreate myself in that world that I left behind and this recreation serves as a survival spur. Lidia you were beautiful, truly beautiful. Those eyes of yours are still on me, the curls, the funny little mouth. You were not perfect, but you were beautiful, tremendously beautiful. To real londoner. I mumble key words from the dialogues of a love that could not be.
The whims of destiny play these tricks on mortals. But, as we pray in the Catholic Hail, we are the exiled children of Eva and our ostracism covers all the bands. Down here it will never be possible for us to find paradise. We miss how much we lost and we don't know what will come next.
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