I think I should say a few things and finally saying them aloud . After the window reborn in the spring sun formatted the train to train trees changed its design. It was that trip every day when he died my father hit my mother, as did both before disbanding, and later returned to force it to share a bed. Those things, and nobody knew I returned to my home unexpectedly, and he said 'family issues' or similar phrases.
time the perpetual wet brush and repaint without notice to its salt each memory . great truth If our memories are the hours until the heat disfiguring mother received, the maximum tenderness that will provide us with the world. I never think, in his twenties, cross paths with my father to leave my house and after adjusting their clothes, rather than see it assume my mother sobbing, covering his face, half-dressed and barefoot, disheveled. And then, - spent more than thirty years man, my father collapsed on the floor and my mother saying 'do not follow sticking' is a sequence unfaithful frozen.
However me faded visions persist. Unrepeatable laughter of children, fearing a fleeting kiss and no trace in the street outside, an 'I love you' transitory passion vanished one evening where rain may . And the uncertain start hot and naked in a room lent to someone who does not remember my name now and not feel that any empty corner.
The moment when my mother stopped whining and we both shut up and not looking that body there on the floor, round frames are swift and return back without fixing an image. Conspiracy or pact silence is all the same it was, any word on if there are no witnesses front and understand she chose to leave me alone. What I did after solo and puzzles that are each voice brings no return and outside the case.
Forgetfulness is not cunning and cruel, eager accommodates off insults and claims that accuse awareness is spend time with the price of neglect, an unbeatable dull echo of other echoes and silence that soon we silenced the damage he made to another. No torturer remembers every night the howling of a victim or rejection of a raped woman, that soon the hidden cruelty in wordiness, 'obligation to fulfill its task of high interest "and other gadgets. There is no criminal skin or transferred perceived betrayal or his crime, protecting the fortress of denial oblivion.
also imagination, invention attends forever memory, reduces and soothes guilt of the murderer. The uniform stealing children late at night and the lady noblesse oblige, pay the appropriate service, to reinvent history and erase the traces murderers both became invisible. They know no answer to be no longer, and like a previous death devoured them amnesia.
So the moment when I killed my father, I hope I get the words and begin to speak. (3 / 2011). ______________________________________________________________________
Eduardo Persian Banfield was born in and lives in Lanús, Buenos Aires, Argentina.
0 comments:
Post a Comment