for three and a half years gave me the keys to my apartment, namely the third first. A double insulated space in three rooms, where I had to start a new life after my marriage (which in those days walked over cracked the Norwegian coast) finally broke, ruining nearly fifteen years of relationship.
The beginnings were very hard. As a child I was taught many things to tell a hiatus of a diphthong, to calculate the correct vector for a construction does not collapse and I was even interested in the great mysteries of our religious tradition. But no, none of these knowledge at the time helped me to get that damn machine work. So much that many nights, though deeply hate my ex-wife, wept bitterly recalling his skill in preparing an omelet, and imagine that at the time the eggs would batiéndole a lucky man.
Fortunately, the strange fog that had been placed in my life seemed to be far away. At the time I was taught how to turn off the cooker, everything else was much easier. My teacher, my savior, the unyielding force that helped Consuelo was then called, was my neighbor, the third second. The first time I saw her was at an extraordinary meeting of the community, whose record was only one point to address: wanted to know who was responsible for turning the atrium into something like a steaming volcanic cone. It was the first contact I had with most of the owners of the building, which at first glance they only differed from the holy inquisition torture lack of tools for properly. The only one who understood my limitations was Consuelo and in less time than it takes a hen to say "cooking" offered to help.
Now, after this time, I remember those first lessons gently, seasoned with sympathy and gossip about the neighborhood. She, who had been young variety actress, was there since the construction of the building and with over thirty years experience neighborhood was aware of everything that was cooked. He spoke for example of how things had changed in that time. At first the neighbors knew they could count on each other, when there was a little salt, a cup of rice or when I needed to talk to someone to unclog a feeling of those who torment us sometimes to people. She said the transition to the current isolation had been slow, subtle, and progressive blindness that prevented them from recognizing each other.
Whatever the case, the only thing that was clear is that that community was a kind of microcosm, where as it had everything. Felipe Orondo, the attic second ruler of urban council and president of the community was the richest of all. She always seemed strange that someone of his class go up garbage bags instead of downloading them to the container. It was strange, but it should be recognized that the management of the building along very well. I had never missed a thing. There was also the main the offices of two doctors from those of the mind, facing each other and apparently deeply hated. She could boast of being the only thing they had in common, cleaned haberles search on more than one occasion. The former, the dr. Sordo, was decorated with strange images of the brain and the second Suso Campos Lingua with black and white photos of one such Froid and Lacan, or pork shoulder, could not say. The two types were very strange and for the world would have told their sorrows, more than anything because that had already Agustina, her best friend, who lived in the room, and constantly reminded that this life was a struggle and the important thing was to throw Pa'lante. She heard those words had always helped, but what would have come into their seventies. Agustina get along with everyone except with their upstairs neighbors, a group of students who rode a binge every weekend and that students seemed more than a group of troglodytes, hairy and blatant, that any pretense of smarties . On more than one occasion Agustina had been forced to take the broom and hit the roof like a desperate attempt to lower their music. Even though all things had not gone farther. Those frictions could not be compared with other much more terrible events that had happened.
Consuelo
related to the war that took Dona Julia neighborhood, the neighbor of the fifth, with Ursuline Panymedio (the sixth) so that it ceased to listen to Reggaeton when the first was trying to pray the rosary of the seven. To illustrate the situation, the highly respected Dona Julia confessed Consuelo once in the midst of the Virgin praying litanies prundentísima was surprised ... Give me more gasoline. That in Julia's own words meant the straw that broke the camel, with the energy of a Pearl Harbor home that he hoped "it must be said, anxious for revenge, made arrangements to fight with the same weapons as its upstairs neighbor . Bought a stereo and all the greatest hits collection of his monastery Gregorian favorite, the Germans: Cluster beatificorum. From that moment the president of the community said: The war.
was a cruel war of noise filled the building 24 hours a day. A civil war, which block many families were separated by something that normally binds to the people, as is the music. Younger Dona Julia blamed everything that was happening, they had grown up with and loved reggeaton bitch with adults who could not stand reggaeton, but knowing how to know Dona Julia for more than 30 years were fully aware that he was born a few centuries earlier had been the muse of Torquemada himself, remained silent for fear of reprisals, the elderly simply unplug the headset and watched as that reminded them of times past, times of bloody battles and armies championing hatred and barbarism, but neither commented because I was certainly not the case nor God.
After a few noisy weeks, the president implored the community to do Suso Campos intermediary between these two beasts. He tried to refuse, but when offered suspension of payment of the expenses of the community, including possible spillover effects for a whole year, he accepted because he forced the Hippocratic oath.
knocked on the door of Dona Julia where psalms were howling out of control. Insisted and called again, and so on for half an hour. At the end called the fire department. When they reached the house and opened the door with an ax, the Alexandrian requiem became deafening. They found a dirty house, ramshackle, full of half-extinguished candles and devotional prints. Disconnected the stereo and the last room they found the body of Dona Julia stretched a pool of dried blood came out from his ears.
- What is your diagnosis doctor? - I asked a fireman to Suso. He thought for a while until sentenced.
-psychotic paranoid personality Outbreak Cluster B.
- What? "I asked the fireman.
-calling the coroner pussy!, I am a psychiatrist.
-A .- send concluded the firefighter.
When the police arrived and the coroner, Suso finally able to leave and peace returned to the Community.
Recently everything seemed fine. Consuelo got a bit pocha health, but nothing prevented him from coming to my place and teach me to cook. Due to their enormous patience I have learned to make paella, but I still have that to share it with her. Nothing I did foresee that Consuelo was going to leave. It bothers me not to have suspected nothing when, after the rice, saw that his hand to his chest, he stiff left arm and fell to the floor collapsed, with a face of enormous pain. Poor me, I thought it was recalling his days as an actress parodying poisoning death and laughed stupidly, as she was dying, and applauded wildly when he died. It was very sad. I tried to let off steam with Agustina, but still do not understand why it accused me of having killed his best friend ... The rest of the neighbors were too busy watching direct TV, to inquire about my troubles. So I ended up going down the principal to visit the doctor Sordo. I told him how sad and guilty I felt, how damned lonely that was my life from Consuelo's disappearance. He told me do not know what some called neurotransmitters serotonin and dopamine, to which I replied that of neurotransmitir was fine, but my problem was that there was nobody on the other side to receive the message. As if I had not heard me a prescription to go to the pharmacy, but when you leave your query crossed the landing and into the query fields Lingua Suso. This led me and before I could say anything, he said he was sorry, that he had learned of what happened and he understood my pain. His reception made me feel good. But things got complicated when we went to his office and made me lie on a couch. I wanted talk about my grief and asked me for my childhood and my parents. "Suso, damn, what they have to see my parents in the death of Consuelo? Nothing, I replied. Then why ask me? I woke up with a jump from the couch and I left him with a simple thank you, I think I have no choice. He got up and told me that no, unfortunately, was an incurable stupidity on today. Not knowing if he was calling me stupid or not, I smiled gratefully and shook hands before leaving the first consultation and the building later.
I walked the streets without direction. A barrage of questions assailed me. What did people in this life? What was I doing in this society? When had begun my problems? What had become of Solace after death? Would teaching cooking to other lost souls? Why not find words to describe the whole sensed absurd? Where to find answers when you just have questions? And most important of all: Where the hell was I? I stopped my feet while my thoughts. Without realizing it was dark and I was in the midst of what looked like a forest. A chill ran down my body to understand what was lost, my life no sense, he was alone, completely and utterly alone among deep-rooted trees and tall glasses touching with each other. At that time would have changed my flat by a sincere embrace of those who connect more than any speech, regardless of any excuse or pretext. A hug as onion or lifeline in the drift of loneliness. A hug and why not: a kiss. I wanted to be a thousand miles from that place, a place where nobody knew me, a place to start a new life and, without realizing, I began to mourn as a child. As the child was still, despite my nearly 50 years.
In the midst of my regrets I heard a female voice saying, "Hey, you, can not be here. I thought the voice meant he had gone mad at all, he had reached that point of suffering is called delirium. But the voice persisted: "Are you deaf? I told you can not stay here. Continued without heeding the voice, was not willing to surrender to madness. But something told me I was wrong when the madness accompanied the phrase: "You, idiot, I'm talking about, with a push that made me bite the dust. With bloodshot eyes and reddened by tears make out the silhouette of a woman dressed in a monkey green and a rake. Who are you? What you want from me? Is it that one can no longer or lost in the woods? I asked. That forest nor milk ... Middle of the park are in retirement and have to close. So come, driving it gerund. The woman who was as beautiful as suspicious me to the gate of Atocha, which closed behind me. The town struck me then as a beast of steel and concrete, in which body, and in each building of his belly, loneliness lurking as the worst of endings. Sad and dejected I went home, I plopped on the couch and turned on the television. I think I fell asleep while the ex-wife of a bullfighter gored verbally host of a heart.
The next morning I called my ex-wife and I explained the whole story. She said she was sorry but had remade his life, that my problem was I had never really loved because I had never given up anything in my life. But no one gives up nothing, I replied, everyone wants more and more things to be like their neighbors, without going any further I am thinking of buying a couch like Suso. She breathed deeply, as if it took air before you start running and I said, watching the sky, I know that loneliness is one of the worst things in this life. Seems surrounded as we lie so many people in fact we feel so helpless. Today everyone is going to yours, we believed that individualism that would give us happiness and really made us more miserable. All of these people need to listen to us, join us in the passage from life, which we welcome into your routine. Gabriel García Márquez said that his heart had more room than a hotel for hookers. I think we all have these rooms, but we let others into them while we step into theirs. Therein lies the key to this thing called sharing. Communities, groups, collectives are based on this simple principle, we all need each other. The best thing to do he said, is to forget and forget to Consuelo and meet other women. Until you have something to offer to others. How? I asked almost crying. I do not know, I said, have you tried the Internet?
So tired of the loneliness of my neighborhood community, left the desire to buy a couch like Suso, I got a laptop and went into another community of those who call cyber. From that day my life changed abruptly, I found that something to offer. Since that day I called Paula, 27, brown, green eyes and measures of stroke. Although well ... This is another story ...
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