Ella/She

Illustration by Enrique Cropper

En línea, con el teléfono móvil, hablaban. Su voz le pareció alegre y despreocupada. Le contaba que hacía frío, que debía abrigarse en aquella ciudad enorme cuyos cielos grises y carreteras atestadas de coches, todavía no habían conseguido apagar su entusiasmo para vivir su nueva vida.

Le explicó que se había comprado un impermeable nuevo para no mojarse cuando iba a pie al trabajo, de color verde manzana. Una colega la había acompañado a la tienda y después se habían ido a comer juntas un plato de pasta en un restaurante italiano.

La voz continuaba contándole su día a día, sujeta milagrosamente a esa línea de teléfono que los unía sin interrupciones ni sobresaltos. Un hilo dorado resplandeciente de amor que parecía irrompible. No era tan iluso como para creer que eso duraría siempre, pero cerró los ojos apreciando cada segundo, permitiendo que esa voz le descansara el alma durante el poco tiempo que duraba la llamada.

Ella había querido irse. Le dijo que le amaba pero que algo se estaba muriendo dentro de ella y debía marcharse a buscar lo que todavía debía encontrar. Él había aceptado después de convencerse de que no podría retenerla, pero puso una condición. Debían hablar por teléfono todos los miércoles por la mañana, a las diez exactamente. Ella había cumplido su promesa, no había faltado a su cita semanal ni una sola vez en tres años.

Él no decía mucho en esas conversaciones, la dejaba hablar y sólo contestaba cuando ella le preguntaba cómo iban las cosas. Le dolía profundamente pero le mentía para no decirle que su vida estaba vacía desde que ella se marchó, que nada le importaba excepto esa llamada  los miércoles por la mañana. Tampoco le decía que había dejado su trabajo, que ya no vivía en la casa que habían compartido durante años.

Todo se había quedado atrás, intercambiado por la ciudad enorme de cielos grises y carreteras atestadas de coches, donde la veía ir al trabajo, vestida con su impermeable color verde manzana. La línea dorada de cariño que los unía solamente recorría el ancho de la calle que separaba sus dos edificios de apartamentos.

– Adiós cariño, hasta el miércoles que viene – se despidió ella.
– Adiós, amor, hasta entonces – suspiró él.

****

On line, they were speaking with their mobile phones. Her voice seemed cheerful and relaxed. She told him how  cold it was and how she had to wrap up in that enormous city, whose grey skies and traffic crowded roads had not yet managed to taint her enthusiasm to live her new life.

She explained she had bought a new apple-green raincoat not to get wet on her way to work. A colleague had accompanied her to the store and afterwards they had gone to eat together a pasta dish in an Italian restaurant.

The voice continued telling him her daily routines, miraculously sustained by the telephone line that connected them without interruptions. A golden thread glittering with love that seemed unbreakable. He was not so naive as to believe that this would last forever, but closed his eyes and appreciated every second, allowing her voice to rest his soul during the short time that the call lasted.

She had wanted to leave. She told him that she loved him but that something was dying inside her and she had to go and find what she was still looking for. He had accepted after convincing himself that he could not retain her, but he put a condition: they had to speak on the phone every Wednesday morning, at ten o’clock exactly. She had kept her promise and had never missed their weekly date in three years.

He didn’t say much in those conversations, he mostly let her talk and only answered when she asked him how things were going. It hurt him deeply but he lied so she would not know how empty his life was since she left, that nothing mattered to him except that call on Wednesday mornings. He didn’t tell her either that he had left his job and no longer lived in the house they had shared for years.

Everything had been left behind, replaced by the enormous city of grey skies and traffic crowded roads, where he could watch her go to work, dressed in her apple-green raincoat. The golden line of affection that united them barely covered the width of the street that separated their two apartment buildings.
— Good-bye, darling, until next Wednesday – she said.
— Goodbye, my love, until then – he sighed.

Advertisements

About writingbrussels

Seven Writers. Three Languages. One City.
This entry was posted in Eva, Observing Brussels, Online Encounters. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.