169. Oranges (Gary Soto)
Casamata
Día de gestiones. Como estoy en el limbo —aún sin visado oficial— todo tiene su complejidad, así que he estado “navegando” los sistemas: el banco, la universidad, la telefonía. Ires y venires. En el banco he terminado con tres cuentas y cancelando dos, y con lo del móvil, he estado casi 45 minutos en el teléfono. Me he tenido que recordar que estas no son pausas de la vida sino “what the living do”.
He visto que cierra Casamata. Me ha dado pena, porque tenía ilusión de que se convirtiera en uno de mis sitios en Madrid. No había ido aún, pero ya había quedado con L. para tomar algo, así que nos encontramos allí. Estuvimos un rato viendo libros y luego nos tomamos una cerveza; conversación larga y tendida. Vi que tenían el nuevo poemario de Alberto Fadón y, en solidaridad con la casa, por comprar algo más que las cervezas, me lo llevé. Al pagar, me dijeron que justo tendrían la presentación la próxima semana. Buena puntería. La pena: ya la próxima semana me voy un mes de Madrid. Primero a Granada, luego de vuelta a Colombia. Este ha sido mi hola y adiós a Casamata.
ORANGES
Gary Soto
The first time I walked
With a girl, I was twelve,
Cold, and weighted down
With two oranges in my jacket.
December. Frost cracking
Beneath my steps, my breath
Before me, then gone,
As I walked toward
Her house, the one whose
Porch light burned yellow
Night and day, in any weather.
A dog barked at me, until
She came out pulling
At her gloves, face bright
With rouge. I smiled,
Touched her shoulder, and led
Her down the street, across
A used car lot and a line
Of newly planted trees,
Until we were breathing
Before a drugstore. We
Entered, the tiny bell
Bringing a saleslady
Down a narrow aisle of goods.
I turned to the candies
Tiered like bleachers,
And asked what she wanted -
Light in her eyes, a smile
Starting at the corners
Of her mouth. I fingered
A nickle in my pocket,
And when she lifted a chocolate
That cost a dime,
I didn't say anything.
I took the nickle from
My pocket, then an orange,
And set them quietly on
The counter. When I looked up,
The lady's eyes met mine,
And held them, knowing
Very well what it was all
About.
Outside,
A few cars hissing past,
Fog hanging like old
Coats between the trees.
I took my girl's hand
In mine for two blocks,
Then released it to let
Her unwrap the chocolate.
I peeled my orange
That was so bright against
The gray of December
That, from some distance,
Someone might have thought
I was making a fire in my hands.