A strange thing called "love"; Marisa and Robert

Motel "San José", room 302, Thursday July 24, 1975 ... 

It was a small and pathetic motel. He knew he could not show himself with her and she knew it, but she accepted that. After making love, almost shyly, as if they did not know each other, they asked for a bottle of whiskey and ice. A few minutes later, a waiter took the order to the room. They didn´t get drunk easily. Both had a certain dose of alcohol in their blood.

Sometimes they laughed and thought that instead of blood, only ethanol ran through their veins, but that happened from time to time. It was not a time of laughter that year of misery and death. Marisa and Frederick, however, tried to live in the middle of a path of uncertainty and doubt ...

Frederick was not Frederick, and Marisa was a "guerrillera" of Montoneros. Robert, his real name, was sent by MI6, in order to protect the british interests in Buenos Aires, during the Isabel Perón government. Robert knew, that some day, he must killed Marisa. But Marisa loved him and, unfortunately, he loved her and she was pregnant from him ... Multiple choices in a complex world...

"Marisa and Robert".

The ghosts of the machine

I have not sat in front of the machine for so long. I no longer remember how to start, or how to follow. Just a scattered recollection of images and people, or ghosts of people, by their faltering condition, their flimsy condition, as flimsy as mine. Outside, I can hear the singing of late night birds, as if they had come from a dream or a piece of day that refused to die and persevere all night, as ambassadors of god Ra, who preannounced a still distant dawn.

How did I reach to this? Honestly, I do not know. Maybe it was the death of my friend. But I´m not sure...

"The new mysteries of Noelia"

Noelia en su laberinto

In a day, any day...

Noelia is sitting on a bench in Plaza de Mayo, Buenos Aires, November 1992.)
At one point, there was sitting beside her, a guy of about thirty-five. Brown hair, brown eyes and honest eyes. He was well dressed, dark blue suit and tie to the tone, irretrievably shiny and expensive shoes. If he wanted to impress, it would probably cost him a higher price. In turn, a cigarette was lit, but of tobacco ...

- How old are you? - asked the stranger impertinently.

- What do you care, boludo? - Noelia answered even more impertinently.

- I did´nt mean to be rude, forgive me -  replied the young man.

- Me neither, but today is not my day

- Sometimes happens ...

- Yes, sometimes it happens. What´s your name? - asked Noelia.

- Damien, like the Antichrist of Prophecy, - Damien said.

- I don´t believe in "shit".

- No, no. The film with Gregory Peck.

- I don´t watch much TV, excuse me, - Noelia added.

- And you, what is your name?

- Noelia.

- Like the song.

- Exactly like the song - Noelia said, rolling her eyes, as if she was tired of that common place.

- You don´t go to the cinema

- Occasionally.

- You're strange ...

- And you, a guy with a suit, which asks me for my life, as if he was my psychoanalyst.

 - Forgive me - Damien pleaded.

- Forgive me here, forgive me there. You go on asking for forgiveness, you seem like a penitent of the Middle Ages, when it appeared the thing of the black plague.

- You seem rude, but if you speak you unveil your culture even if you do not want it, as if you wanted to hide it under a blanket of swearing.

- What´s your job?

 - I'm a doctor - Damien said.

- Ahá...

- Psychiatrist.

- Oh WTF. It was inevitable ...

- That we have to meet ourselves?

- No, that you were a psychiatrist.

- Is it so obvious?

- The obvious is that you saw a single young female with a face of and angry one, sitting on a bench in the square and said "I'm going to seduce her.

- I swear that, that was not my intention.

- Then you're gay...

- No, I'm not.

- Then you stay up and in the place of that, you find one girle that has the brain made a Russian salad. "A case", to put it another way.

- I do not consider you a case, you are a human being first and foremost.

- Seriously I may be human or maybe not; but If I would be a buddy, you never would oberver me.

- I don´t know…

- Damien, of the Prophecy, I have just been fired of the Justice Power by consumption of narcotics. I have to work out the "duel". If you're a psychiatrist as you say, you'll understand me.

- I understand you and I leave you alone. Forgive me again ... "Damien said.

- Ego absolves you to peccatis tuis in the name of Patris, et Filii, and Spiritus Sancti. Amen. You can retire in peace, brother.

- Goodbye Noelia - Damien said, waving goodbye.

 - Goodbye, brother Damien," Noelia replied, smiling politely at him. 

Seconds later, Noelia remained in her isolation in the midst of the crowd that came and went incessantly. Oriental tourists did not neglect the details of the Government House or were astonished by the May Pyramid. Noelia smiled. For a moment she wanted to be part of that happy group that seemed so uprooted and whose buzz came to her ... in a day, any day ...

En un día, de cualquier día...

(Noelia se halla sentada en un banco de la Plaza de Mayo, noviembre de 1992.) 

En un determinado instante, se sentó junto a ella, un tipo de unos treinta y cinco años. Cabellos castaños, ojos café y mirada sincera. Estaba bien vestido, de traje azul oscuro y corbata al tono, zapatos irremediablemente brillantes y caros. Si lo que pretendía era impresionar a Noelia, seguramente le costaría un precio mayor. A su vez, se encendió un cigarrillo, pero de tabaco… 

- ¿Qué edad tenés? – preguntó impertinente el desconocido. 

- Qué te importa, boludo – respondió aún más impertinente Noelia.
- No pretendía ser descortés, perdoname – replicó el joven.
- Yo tampoco. Sólo que hoy no es mi día.
- A veces pasa…
- Sí, a veces pasa. ¿Cómo te llamás? – preguntó Noelia.
- Damien, como el Anticristo de la Profecía – dijo Damien.
- No creo en pelotudeces.
- No, no. La película de Gregory Peck.
- No miro mucha tele, disculpame – agregó Noelia.
- Y vos, ¿cuál es tu nombre?
- Noelia.
- Como la de la canción.
- Exacto, como la de la canción – dijo Noelia poniendo los ojos en blanco, como cansada de ese lugar común.
- ¿No vas al cine?
- Ocasionalmente.
- Sos rara…
- Y vos un tipo de traje, que me pregunta por mi vida, como si fuera mi psicoanalista.
- Perdoname… - suplicó Damien.
- Perdoname aquí, perdoname allá. Te la pasás pidiendo perdón, parecés un penitente de la Edad Media cuando apareció lo de la peste negra.
- Parecés grosera, pero cuando hablás se devela tu cultura aunque no lo deseés, como si quisieras esconderla bajo un manto de palabrotas.
- ¿A qué te dedicás?
- Soy médico – dijo Damien.
- Ah, mirá.
- Psiquiatra.
- Era inevitable…
- ¿Que nos conociéramos?
- No, que fueras psiquiatra.
- ¿Tan evidente es?
- Lo evidente es que viste a una mina sola con cara de pocos amigos, sentada en un banco de plaza y te dijiste “me la voy a levantar”.
- Te juro que no era ésa mi intención.
- Entonces sos gay…
- ¡No!, no lo soy.
- Entonces me querías levantar y en lugar de eso, te encontrás a una que tiene la cabecita hecha una ensalada rusa. “Un caso”, por decirlo de otra manera.
- No te considero un caso, sos un ser humano ante todo.
- ¿En serio? Puede que sea humana o quizás, no; pero también puede ser que si hubiera sido un tipo, ni te habrías fijado en mí.
- No sé…
- Damien, de la Profecía, me acaban de rajar del Poder Judicial por consumo de estupefacientes. Tengo que elaborar el “duelo”. Si sos psiquiatra como decís, me vas a entender.
- Sí, lo entiendo. Te dejo tranquila. Perdoname de nuevo… - dijo Damien.
- Ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen. Podés retirarte en paz, hermano.
- Adiós Noelia – dijo Damien despidiéndose.
- Adiós hermano Damien – contestó Noelia sonriéndole a modo de despedida cortés. Segundos después, Noelia seguía en su aislamiento en medio de la multitud que iba y venía sin cesar. Los turistas orientales no descuidaban detalles de la Casa de Gobierno o se asombraban con la Pirámide de Mayo. Noelia sonrió. Por un momento deseó ser parte de ese alegre grupo que parecía tan alborotado y cuyo bullicio llegaba hasta ella... en un día, de cualquier día... 

LMCN 2016 ®