[ENG]
Image edited from pixabay
A stranger knocked on my door. I am from one of those small towns away from the hustle and bustle of society where everyone knows each other as neighbors and still somehow maintains the faith necessary to help a stranger. I was somewhat annoyed; who am I kidding; I walked the steps to my desk from my front door and opened it. His clothes were clean but very worn, it gave the feeling that his own neatness had worn out his clothes. The man looked tired and sweaty. I am not one of those altruistic people but that day I wanted to give him some water and I asked him in, gave him a seat in an armchair and gave him a glass of water. On the walls of my living room there are pictures that adorn the entire length of the room, in the pictures we are all my family at different times of our lives, my parents, my siblings, my grandparents and there he recognized me in a photo that I was just 9 years old, or maybe he just guessed.
Is that you in that photo," he said pointing to one of these with his bony finger.
Yes, from when I was little," I answered with one of those smiles we have practiced since we were kids to avoid awkward moments.
You haven't changed much, you're one of those who keep the same face all your life - he smiled slightly with teeth stained by time or bad life, and nervously touched his hair, which now showed its blackness - How old are you?
I'm 24, I know I look younger but no one has ever told me that before. Do you live near here?
I think you know I don't, I'm not going to lie to you. I'm out and about, lonely.
I didn't mean to offend you - I told him, the man didn't look dangerous, he gave a melancholic impression and that was all.
Forgive me, your face's quality of not aging is too familiar to me, that characteristic of yours reminded me of Roxana - when I said that name his brown eyes lit up and his tired face went from a ghostly pale to a pleasant pink, almost magic.
Your girlfriend - I was curious about this change.
She was at one time (long ago), and much more than girlfriend, so much so that I couldn't explain how much it meant. For me there was no morning without her breath on my face or night without her arms behind my back.
I'm sorry he ended his relationship, it's sad when love ends, and only a desert of parched feelings is left - for a second I thought I was talking about my own life as if those ghosts of my few years past were coming for me, I couldn't imagine what that man already in his 40's felt.
The man stood up from the couch and could not walk, he sat down again without strength and a strange tear was drawn on his face.
I loved Roxana, I loved all her facets that were as irregular as parts of a puzzle, one that I put together and learned to love, not for its parts, but for the beautiful landscape of her whole, that showed me what it is to be a man, what it is to love. Do you know young man? I am a poet, my dream was not this one of wandering around towns collecting favors from souls that surely owe the modern devil, I wanted to write something worthy of worship...I wanted to be immortal...but my inspiration died, my nymph Roxana died prey to her destiny, to her weak physical heart and so I was left...bitter of life with no reason to write verses that gladden my heart...just as weak now...with a sign of Keep out! in my heart.
The man began to cry fully as he covered his face with his hands, I didn't want him to see it, I didn't want him to see another part of his weakness and so in another altruistic or perhaps empathetic impulse I hugged him over his worn clothes and thought for a moment:
"Maybe and just maybe, we men are all really the same."
[ESP]
Imagen editada de pixabay
Un extraño tocó a mi puerta. Soy de un pueblo pequeño de esos apartados de los bullicios de la sociedad donde todos se conocen como vecinos y mantienen todavía de alguna manera la fe necesaria para ayudar a un desconocido. Estaba algo molesto; a quién engaño; caminé los pasos que separan a mi escritorio de la puerta de mi hogar y abrí. Sus ropas estaban limpias pero muy gastadas, daba la sensación que su propia pulcridad había gastado sus ropas. El hombre parecía cansado y se veía sudado. No soy de esos altruistas pero ese día quise brindarle algo de agua y lo hice pasar, le brindé un asiento en un sillón y le di un vaso de agua. En las paredes de mi sala hay cuadros que adornan a todo lo largo la habitación, en los cuadros estamos toda mi familia en diferentes momentos de nuestra vida, mis padres, mis hermanos, mis abuelos y allí me reconoció en una foto que yo tenía apenas 9 años, o tal vez simplemente adivinó.
¿Eres tú el de esa foto?- dijo señalando una de estas con su dedo huesudo.
Sí, de cuando era pequeño.- respondí con una de esas sonrisas que practicamos desde pequeños para evitar momentos incómodos.
No has cambiado mucho, eres de esos que conservan un mismo rostro toda su vida- sonrió levemente con dientes manchados por el tiempo o la mala vida, y nerviosamente tocó su cabello, que ahora notaba su negrura- ¿Que edad tienes?
Tengo 24 años, sé que parezco más joven pero nadie nunca me había dicho eso antes ¿Vives cerca de aquí?
Creo que sabes que no, no voy a mentirte. Ando de aquí para allá, solitario.
No pretendía ofenderlo.- le dije, el hombre no parecía peligroso daba una impresión melancólica y eso era todo.
Discúlpame a mí la cualidad de tu rostro de no envejecer me es demasiado conocida, esa característica tuya me recordó a Roxana.- al decir ese nombre sus ojos castaños se iluminaron y su cara cansada pasó de un pálido fantasmal a un rosa agradable, casi magia.
¿Tu novia?- tenía curiosidad por este cambio.
Lo fue en un momento (hace mucho), y mucho más que novia, tanto que no sabría explicar cuanto significó. Para mí no había mañana sin su aliento en mi rostro o noche sin sus brazos en mi espalda.
Siento que haya terminado su relación, es triste cuando el amor termina, y solo queda un desierto de sentimientos resecos.- por un segundo pensé que estaba hablando de mi propia vida como si esos fantasmas de mis pocos años pasados vinieran a por mí, no podía imaginar lo que ese hombre ya en sus 40 sentía.
El hombre se paró del sillón y no pudo caminar, volvió a sentarse sin fuerzas y una extraña lágrima se dibujó en su rostro.
Yo amaba a Roxana, amaba todas sus facetas que eran tan irregulares como partes de un rompecabezas, uno que armé y aprendí a amar, no por sus partes, sino por el bello paisaje de su todo, que me mostró lo que es ser hombre, lo que es amar. ¿Sabes joven? Soy un poeta, mi sueño no era este de vagar por pueblos cobrando favores a almas que seguramente deben al diablo moderno, yo quería escribir algo digno de culto...quería ser inmortal... pero mi inspiración murió, mi ninfa Roxana murió presa de su destino, de su débil corazón físico y así quedé... amargado de la vida sin motivo para escribir versos que alegren mi corazón.. igual de débil ahora... con un signo de Alejense! en mi corazón.
El hombre empezó a llorar totalmente mientras cubría su rostro con las manos, no quería que lo viera, no quería que viera otra parte de su debilidad y así en otro impulso altruista o tal vez empático lo abrace por encima de sus gastadas ropas y pensé por un momento:
"Tal vez y solo tal vez, todos los hombres somos iguales de verdad."
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