Under the shade of the tree.

in #fiction11 months ago

https://pixabay.com/es/photos/motor-metal-veh%C3%ADculo-machine-part-2595269/

Under the shade of the tree

Lenin is the assistant of a mechanic named José. His hands are always dirty with grease and oil. At the end of each day, he cleans them with gasoline. The smell of gasoline stings his nose, and although his body always ends up exhausted, he is proud of what he does.

He is a good person, determined to do well, both at work and in his life. Although rent and personal expenses make her savings scarce, she dreams of owning her own home.

He works in the middle of the street, in the shade of a tree. Where for some reason someone has engraved a note on his certainty. "There is no house in such a bad state that cannot become the shelter of your life"

When the car arrived. Inside the vehicle he saw an advertisement, which from the outside he could barely read "House on auction" He reached inside and managed to grab it. Indeed, the auction was being held at that moment at an extremely cheap starting price. He could not believe his eyes. He looked at it one more time and confirmed its value.

At last his big chance had come. But first he had to repair, an engine he had committed himself to.

He decided to repair it as fast as he could. Like a formula 1 mechanic, at full speed, he unscrewed the screws on the motor that was attached to the gearbox.

He kept his eye on the time at all times. And even though he was on the fly, time was getting away from him. He tried to lift the motor with more haste, not noticing its inclination.

"Hey!" his boss alerted him. "What are you doing, Lenin?".

As he moved his eyes, he saw that the engine was heading towards the car window. With a quick movement, he managed to grab it. However, it was not enough to stop him, and he crashed into the window.

Lenin felt very embarrassed, "Excuse me, Mr. Jose".

"What's wrong with you?". Asked the boss"What's your problem?".

"There's nothing wrong with me. It's just that I saw a very cheap house, and I was in a hurry to go to the auction" then he put his hand to his head and said "now I have to pay for the front glass.

Mr. José approached him, took the brochure Lenin was holding in his hands and looked at it: "It can't be" he said "I've been watching for many years how they try to sell that house, and they never buy it, no matter how cheap they offer it. There must be some problem with the neighbors, forget it. Come on, let's get back to work"

By the time he finished repairing the engine, it was too late, and on top of that he had to fork over the money for what he had broken. Still, he wanted to get closer.

When he arrived at the place, he saw that the auction was being dismantled. A person with a handkerchief said to him in a loud voice: "Hurry up, I want to get home soon, you're going to buy it".

He twisted his face, "Excuse me, I don't have all the money."

The man didn't care what he said. Leaving the sale documents on the table, he turned to Lenin, "Come on, I must have some money, I'll sell it to you anyway."

Lenin thought it was great, he would finally own the property. Until the auctioneer turned to him. "Hey kid," he said, "before I sell you this house, I am obliged to inform you that the people who have lived here have disappeared, and no one ever hears from them again."

His hand stopped before touching the paper with the pen. "Did you say they disappear?" asked Lenin.

The auctioneer rectified: "I meant to say that they leave, and are never heard from again"

He sensed a danger which made him hesitate for a moment. Then he remembered the message on the tree, the same one that had motivated him so much, and it was reason enough to finally decide to close the purchase of the house.

They left the keys in his hands and he went to the entrance. Lenin opened the lock for the first time and entered the house. He thought he would feel happy, as if he had won the lottery, but when he saw inside he felt the atmosphere heavy and gloomy.

The house looked more like a museum, full of sculptures and paintings. With antique furniture from a bygone era. He was struck by a high wall in the main room, from which hung many clocks of all kinds.

High up, near the ceiling, he saw a door. There was no way to get there. All the stairs led to other places but that one. He searched throughout the house for a hallway, or another room that would lead to that place, but found no way to reach the unreachable door. "What's inside, what's kept inside?" he asked himself.

From the first moment he walked in, he felt uncomfortable. But this was already his home. Despite the warning given to him by the auctioneer, he decided to stay and not leave.

he found himself enveloped in absolute silence. He could only hear the tick, tick, tick of the clocks that abounded on the wall of the room. And as the night progressed, Lenin looked at the sculptures, which in that silence gave him the impression that they were stalking him.

When twelve o'clock struck, the hands of the clocks turned in all directions. They chimed for a while and then suddenly stopped, returning to total silence.

The lock of the mysterious door creaked. And through it peered a huge wooden bird. Like a work of art, it stood for a few seconds, displaying itself before Lenin's eyes, who gazed at it in amazement.

Then it began to back away and, before the door closed, turned its huge head towards Lenin. Like an evil specter, it fixed its eyes on him, while the door covered his figure, taking him back to the place where it was kept.

Lenin could not resist leaving that mythical house, and when he did, the streets were different. The cars he saw were very old models, and the people walking by were dressed in costumes of past fashions. It didn't take him long to realize that he was lost in another epoch

There, under the tree, his boss was lamenting Lenin's disappearance. He looked at the old letters carved into the bark and noticed what he had never noticed before.

Those carved letters looked very much like the handwriting of his mechanic Lenin. Underneath, where the tree had been sacralized, another phrase erased by time followed. But with a little effort, his boss could read it.

Mr. Jose, tell my family not to worry about me. The past is simple, I live happily in my own home. L. C