REAL STORIES: The Painful Life

Por Antonio Pippo

La niña tiene los ojos de un marrón clarísimo, cas color yerba, brillantes y grandes, y el pelo castaño y largo con destellos rubios. Está parada, quieta, frente a la madre que le ajusta el guardapolvos blanco y la moña azul, que luce como una flor. Como una hortensia. Tiene el portafolios pronto y la hora se acerca, pero no está nerviosa. Mira arrobada a la madre, pero también con algo de furtivo, como si quisiese que ella no advirtiese cuánto le importa aquel rito cotidiano. Hay tanto amor en ambas; es como una energía que las abriga y les da felicidad. Casi no necesitan palabras; una es la prolongación de la otra. Van a la calle a la búsqueda del transporte y la niña piensa que es un día especial: termina el año escolar y, al salir de la escuela, irá a la casa de su amiga Mónica, hasta que su padre a buscarla. Otra ceremonia placentera que ha repetido muchas cosas. La niña sonríe al pensarlo y su sonrisa conmueve a la madre. Y la agita, esta vez la agita un poco y la sabe por qué. Al fin, la toma de la mano y la ayuda a subir al ómnibus, dándole un beso más intenso que de costumbre.

The girl has very light brown eyes, almost grass-colored, bright and large, and long brown hair with blonde highlights. She is standing still, in front of her mother, who adjusts her white overalls and blue bow, which looks like a flower. Like a hydrangea. She has her briefcase ready and the time is approaching, but she is not nervous. She looks at her mother raptly, but also somewhat furtively, as if she wanted her not to notice how much that daily ritual matters to her. There is so much love in both; It is like an energy that warms them and gives them happiness. They hardly need words; one is the extension of the other. They go to the street to look for transportation and the girl thinks it is a special day: the school year ends and, when she leaves school, she will go to her friend Monica’s house, until her father comes to pick her up. Another pleasant ceremony that has repeated many things. The girl smiles when she thinks about it and her smile moves her mother. And he shakes it, this time he shakes it a little and he knows why. Finally, he takes her hand and helps her get on the bus, giving her a more intense kiss than usual.

El padre está cerrando otro día de trabajo, recordando que debe pasar por su hija a la hora prevista. De pronto suena el teléfono de su oficina. Es un amigo y vecino:

The father is closing out another day of work, remembering that he must pick up his daughter at the scheduled time. Suddenly the phone in his office rings. He is a friend and neighbor:

-Vení hermano. Por lo de Mónica, digo. La nena tuvo un accidente. Se cayó, la están atendiendo.

-Come brother. Because of Monica, I say. The girl had an accident. She fell, they are treating her.

Atinó a balbucear: -¿Pero… está bien?

He managed to stammer: -But… is he okay?

Y el amigo solo dijo: -Vení, no demores…

And the friend just said: -Come, don’t delay…

Ella, jugando inocentemente, con toda aquella conmovedora ingenuidad que ra su esencia, se había parado sobre un plástico verdoso de la azotea -una azotea a la que por primera vez habían subido con su amiga y permiso de la madre- que ocultaba un pozo de aire; el plástico no resistió su peso, aunque la niña era como un algodoncito cálido que flotaba por la vida, y ella cayó. Cinco o seis metros durante los cuales golpeó contra la baranda de las escaleras, contra los escalones de mármol, deteniéndose, ya rota como una muñeca zarandeada por otra niña torpe, sobre el descanso del tercer piso. Unos segundos de silencio infinito, sin más caída, sin más materia rota, sin ecos, gritos o llantos. El padre llegó primero en el auto; a la madre le avisaron unos minutos después. El subió hasta el lugar y, al llegar, se quedó tan quieto, tan aterrado, que creyeron que se desmayaría y un par de amigos lo abrazaron y lo introdujeron en el apartamento de una vecina del edificio. Entonces él pareció despertar y rezó, insultó a Dios y comenzó a golpear las paredes. Hasta que lo rodearon, trataron de calmarlo y le dijeron lo que nunca esperó que le dirían: “ya no hay nada que hacer”. Entonces se desplomó en un rincón, recostó su cabeza sobre los brazos, sentado, y lloró amargamente. De pronto, con la angustia a cuestas, recordó a su mujer y pensó que desde ahora su misión sería cargar un dolor insoportable, eterno, pero protegerla.

She, playing innocently, with all that touching naivety that was her essence, had stood on a greenish piece of plastic on the roof – a roof to which they had climbed for the first time with her friend and permission from her mother – which hid a well of water. air; The plastic could not withstand her weight, although the girl was like a warm cotton ball floating through life, and she fell. Five or six meters during which it hit the railing of the stairs, against the marble steps, stopping, already broken like a doll shaken by another clumsy girl, on the landing of the third floor. A few seconds of infinite silence, without more fall, without more broken matter, without echoes, screams or cries. The father arrived first in the car; The mother was notified a few minutes later. He went up to the place and, when he arrived, he stayed so still, so terrified, that they thought he would faint and a couple of friends hugged him and took him into the apartment of a neighbor in the building. Then he seemed to wake up and prayed, insulted God and started punching the walls. Until they surrounded him, tried to calm him down and told him what he never expected they would tell him: “there is nothing to do now.” Then he collapsed in a corner, laid his head on his arms, sat down, and wept bitterly. Suddenly, with anguish on his back, he remembered his wife and thought that from now on his mission would be to carry an unbearable, eternal pain, but to protect her.

Cuando ella por fin apareció, como un símbolo estremecedor de la desolación, la abrazó fuerte y le dijo al oído para no ahogar su llanto: “Ya está, mi amor, ya está. Tenés que ser fuerte, los dos tenemos que serlo”. Y le tapó el grito con su pecho, la ahogó el estremecimiento con sus brazos y no dejó que viera el cuerpo muerto de su pequeña. Le mesó los cabellos, sabiendo -o creyendo que lo sabía- lo que vendría a partir de entonces, decidido a cuidarla por encima de todo, desde entonces y para siempre. Y desde entonces y para siempre supo que jamás olvidaría aa su mujer en la parada, viendo cómo el rostro querido y luminoso de la niña, detrás del vidrio sucio del ómnibus, viaja a su destino trágico, y se aleja y se aleja y se aleja…

When she finally appeared, like a shocking symbol of desolation, he hugged her tightly and said in her ear so as not to drown out her crying: “That’s it, my love, that’s it. You have to be strong, we both have to be.” And he covered her scream with his chest, he drowned her trembling with his arms and did not let her see the dead body of his little girl. He ruffled her hair, knowing – or thinking he knew – what would come from then on, determined to take care of her above all else, from then on and forever. And since then and forever he knew that he would never forget his wife at the stop, watching how the girl’s beloved and luminous face, behind the dirty glass of the bus, travels to its tragic destination, and goes away and goes away and goes away. …