The Glass of Milk \/ El vaso de leche en LALT<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n
\n\nThe Glass of Milk<\/h6>\n
Leaning on the starboard rail, the sailor seemed to be waiting for someone. In his left hand he held a white paper wrapping, with grease stains in several places. In his other hand he held his pipe.<\/p>\n
A young, slim man appeared from between some coaches. He halted a moment, looked to the sea and then moved on, walking along the edge of the pier with his hands in his pockets, distracted or lost in thought.<\/p>\n
When he passed in front of the ship, the sailor yelled in English:<\/p>\n
\u2014I say, look here!<\/i><\/p>\n
The young man raised his head and, without stopping, answered in the same language:<\/p>\n
\u2014Hallow! What?<\/i><\/p>\n
\u2014Are you hungry?<\/i><\/p>\n
There was a brief silence, during which the young man seemed to ponder and even shortened his step, as if to stop; but in the end, he said as he offered the sailor a sad smile:<\/p>\n
\u2014No, I am not hungry! Thank you, sailor.<\/i><\/p>\n
\u2014Very well.<\/i><\/p>\n
The sailor took his pipe from his mouth, spat, and then, placing it again between his lips, looked away. The young man, ashamed that his appearance was prompting feelings of pity, seemed to walk faster, as if afraid he'd regret his decision.<\/p>\n
Not a moment later, a real vagabond, dressed in unbelievable rags, with big broken shoes, a long blond beard and blue eyes, passed in front of the sailor, who, without calling him before, yelled:<\/p>\n
\u2014Are you hungry?<\/i><\/p>\n
He hadn't finished his question when the vagabond, looking with a pair of bright eyes the package the sailor had in his hands, hastily replied:<\/p>\n
\u2014Yes, sir, I am very much hungry!<\/i><\/p>\n
The sailor smiled. The package flew through the air into the eager hands of the hungry man. Without even thanking him, he opened the still-hot wrapping and sat on the ground happily rubbing his hands while looking at its content. A port beggar may not know English, but he would never forgive himself for not knowing enough of it to ask for food to a person who speaks that language.<\/p>\n
The young man who had passed minutes before was still standing a short distance from the place, witnessing the scene.<\/p>\n
He, too, was hungry. It had been exactly three days since he had eaten, three long days. Shyness and shame, rather than pride, prevented him from standing in front of the ships' stairs at lunch time, awaiting, from a generous sailor, a parcel with some leftover stew and pieces of meat. He couldn't do it, he could never do it. And when, as it had just happened, one of them did offer his leftovers, he rejected them heroically, feeling that such refusal increased his appetite.<\/p>\n
For six days he had been wandering around the streets and docks of that port. He had been left there by a British steamboat traveling from Punta Arenas. There he had abandoned a steamer in which he had served as cabin boy. He had stayed in that ship for one month, helping an Austrian crab fisherman, and on the first northbound ship he stealthily got aboard.<\/p>\n
He was found one day after setting sail, and forced to work in the boiler room. In the first big port he was discharged. And there he was now, like a parcel with no address nor addressee, with no one he knew, no coins in his pockets, nor a trade to offer.<\/p>\n
While the steamer had been there, he'd been able to eat, but after... The big city, which beyond those streets was full of cheap taverns and lodgings, did not attract him. It seemed to him a place of slavery, airless, dark, lacking the expanse of the sea, and where in between high walls and straight streets people lived and died dazed by an anguished toil.<\/p>\n
He was possessed by his obsession for the sea, which bends even the smoothest and most defined lives as a strong arm would a thin rod. Although he was very young, he had already travelled extensively around the coasts of South America on different ships, doing various jobs and chores\u2014chores and jobs that on land were almost pointless.<\/p>\n
After the steamer left, he wandered around, waiting for fate to give him something that would let him live somehow as he returned to his familiar fields, but he didn't find anything. There was not much going on in the port, and the few steamers which had work did not take him.<\/p>\n
There was an infinitude of professional vagabonds: unemployed sailors, like him, thrown off from a steamer or fugitives who had committed some crime; drifters given in to leisure, who earn their bread who knows how, begging or stealing, living day to day as the beads of a filthy rosary, awaiting who knows what peculiar events. Or waiting for nothing, individuals from the most exotic and strange races and peoples, even those whose existence is not believed until one has seen a living specimen.<\/p>\n
The next day, with the conviction that he could not resist much longer, he decided to use any means to get himself some food.<\/p>\n
Walking around, he came before a steamer that had arrived the previous night and where wheat was being loaded. A line of men was marching, turning, with heavy sacks on their shoulders, from the wagons, crossing a landing dock towards the porthole of the storehouse, where the longshoremen received the load.<\/p>\n
He stood there looking for a while until he finally dared talking to the foreman. He was accepted and he cheerfully became part of the long row of dockers.<\/p>\n
During the shift, he worked well; however, later he started feeling tired and suffering dizzy spells, staggering in the landing dock when he was marching with the load on his shoulder, looking under his feet at the opening formed by the side of the steamer and the wall of the port, below which the sea, stained with oil and covered with litter, deafly bubbled and fizzed.<\/p>\n
At lunch time there was a brief break, and while some men went to eat to nearby restaurants and others ate what they had brought, he lied down to rest, hiding his hunger.<\/p>\n
He finished the shift completely exhausted, covered in sweat, running on fumes. While the workers were retiring, he sat over some bags looking at the foreman, and when the last had left, he came forward and, confused and hesitant, although without revealing what was happening to him, asked the foreman if he could pay him immediately or if it was possible to get an advance of what he had earned.<\/p>\n
The foreman replied that usually payment was given at the end of the job, and that, to finish loading the steamer, work had to be done the next day. One more day! On the other hand, there was no advance.<\/p>\n
\u2014But\u2014, he said, \u2014if you need it, I could lend you some forty cents... I don't have any more.<\/p>\n
He thanked his offer with an anguished smile and left.<\/p>\n
Then, an acute desperation took over him. He felt hunger, hunger, hunger! A hunger that subdued him like a whipping: he saw everything through a blue mist, and he walked like a drunkard. However, he could not moan nor yell, because his suffering was obscure and exhausting; it was not pain but a deaf anguish, a sense of ending; he felt as if he were being crushed by a big load.<\/p>\n
Suddenly, he felt a fire in his loins, and he stopped. He started leaning, leaning, forcibly bending over and he felt about to fall. In that moment, as if a window had opened in front of him, he saw his house, the landscape that could be seen from it, the face of his mother and those of his siblings, everything he cared about and loved appeared and disappeared in front of his eyes, which exhaustion kept shut... Then, little by little, the fainting fit stopped, and he began straightening while the burning slowly cooled. At last, he stood upright, breathing deeply. One more hour and he would fall to the ground.<\/p>\n
He started walking faster, as if running away from a new dizzy spell, and, as he walked, he decided to eat anywhere, without paying, willing to be shamed, to be hit, to be sent to jail, to do anything: the only thing that mattered was eating, eating, eating. He repeated that word a hundred times: eating, eating, eating, until it lost its meaning, leaving the feeling of a hot vacuum in his head.<\/p>\n
He wasn't thinking of running away. He would tell the owner: \u2014Sir, I was hungry, hungry, hungry, and I don't have any money... do as you like.<\/p>\n
He reached the first streets of the city and in one of them he found a dairy. It was a very bright and clean place, full of little tables with marble covers. There was a blonde lady with a very white apron behind the counter.<\/p>\n
This was the place he chose. There were few people on the street. He could have eaten in one of the restaurants along the wharf, but they were full of people playing and drinking.<\/p>\n
There was only one customer in the dairy. It was an old man with glasses, who, with his nose stuck in between the pages of a newspaper, was reading without moving, as if glued to the chair. Over the little table there was a half-drunk glass of milk.<\/p>\n
While he waited for the man to leave, he walked by the sidewalk, feeling that little by little the flame in his stomach started to burn again, and he waited five, ten, even fifteen minutes. He got tired and stood next to the door, from where he threw the old man glances that seemed like stones.<\/p>\n
What the hell was he reading with so much attention! He imagined that he was one of his enemies, who, aware of his intentions, had set to hamper them. He wanted to come in and tell him something harsh that would force him to leave, a coarse word or phrase that would let him know that he had no right to sit there for one hour reading for such a small expense.<\/p>\n
At last the customer finished his reading, or interrupted it at least. He drank down the rest of the milk in one gulp. Then, he slowly stood up, paid and walked towards the door. He came out. He was a crooked old man, with traces of the carpenter or the varnisher.<\/p>\n
Once the old man was in the street, he fixed his glasses, once again stuck his nose in between the sheets of the paper, and started walking very slowly, and stopping every ten steps to read more closely.<\/p>\n
He waited for him to go away and then came in. For a moment, he stood right next to the entrance, undecided, not knowing where to sit; finally, he settled on a table and went toward it; midway through, though, he changed his mind, came back and stumbled upon a chair, and finally went to sit in a corner.<\/p>\n
The lady came to him, wiped the table and with a soft voice, which had a hint of Spanish accent, asked him:<\/p>\n
\u2014What would you have?<\/p>\n
Without looking at her, he replied:<\/p>\n
\u2014A glass of milk.<\/p>\n
\u2014A big one?<\/p>\n
\u2014Yes, a big one.<\/p>\n
\u2014Just that?<\/p>\n
\u2014Do you have any pastries?<\/p>\n
\u2014No. Just cookies.<\/p>\n
\u2014Ok, cookies.<\/p>\n
When the lady came back, he rubbed his hands on his knees, cheerful, like a person who is cold and is about to drink something hot.<\/p>\n
The lady came back and put in front of him a big glass of milk and a little plate of cookies, and then went back to her spot behind the counter.<\/p>\n
His first impulse was to drink the milk in one gulp and then to eat all the cookies, but he changed his mind immediately. He felt the eyes of the woman looking at him with curiosity. He did not dare look at her. It seemed to him that, by doing so, she would see his shameful mood and purposes, and he would have to stand up and leave, without even tasting what he had ordered.<\/p>\n
Very slowly, he took a cookie and dipped it in the milk. Then, he took a bite, sipped some milk and felt that the burning, already churning in his stomach, waned and faded. Yet right away the reality of his desperate situation appeared before him, and something tight and hot surged from his heart up through his throat. He realized he was going to start sobbing, and even though he knew the lady was looking at him, he could not reject nor untie that hot knot that was becoming tighter and tighter. He fought back, and as he did so, he ate fast, fearful, afraid that his tears would prevent him from eating. When he finished the milk and the cookies, his eyes turned misty and something warm rolled over his nose and fell into the glass. A terrible cry shook him to his core.<\/p>\n
He held his head in his hands and for a long time he sobbed, sobbed with grief, with anger, with a desire to weep, as if he had never done it before.<\/p>\n
He was leaning down crying when he felt a hand caressing his tired head, and heard the voice of a woman, with a sweet accent, who was saying:<\/p>\n
\u2014Cry, son, cry...<\/p>\n
A new wave of crying took over his eyes, and he cried with the same intensity as the first time, but this time without anguish, rather joyfully, feeling a great freshness penetrating him, extinguishing that hotness which had been strangling him. While he cried, it seemed to him that his life and his feelings were being cleansed as a dirty glass under a stream of water, recovering the clarity and strength of days gone by.<\/p>\n
When the crying fit ended, he cleaned his eyes and face with his handkerchief\u2014he was calmed now. He raised his head and looked at the lady, but she was not looking at him anymore. She was looking at the street, at a distant point, and her face was sad.<\/p>\n
In the small table in front of him there was a new glass of milk and another small dish full of cookies. He ate them slowly, not thinking, as if nothing had happened, as if he were at home and his mother were that woman behind the counter.<\/p>\n
When he finished eating it was already the evening, and the store was illuminated by a light bulb. He stayed there a while, thinking of what to say before going away, but nothing useful came to his mind.<\/p>\n
Finally, he stood up and just said:<\/p>\n
\u2014Thank you, lady. Goodbye...<\/p>\n
\u2014Goodbye, son\u2014 was her reply.<\/p>\n
He went out. The wind coming from the sea refreshed his face, still burning from the crying. He wandered around for a while, until he took a street that went down to the docks. It was a beautiful night, and big stars were shining in the summer sky.<\/p>\n
He thought of the blonde lady, who had acted so generously, and he made plans to pay and reward her in a dignified manner once he got some money. However, these thoughts of gratitude faded away along with the heat on his face, until both disappeared, and the recent event receded and got lost amid memories from his past.<\/p>\n
Suddenly, he found himself singing something quietly. He straightened up cheerfully, treading firmly and decisively.<\/p>\n
He got to the seashore and wandered around freely, feeling as if he were being made again, feeling his past energies, which had been scattered, coming together and solidly blending.<\/p>\n
Yet after a while the toil of the day started to go up his leg as if ants were crawling slowly, and he sat on some bags.<\/p>\n
He looked at the sea. The lights of the dock and of the ships projected on the water in a trail of red and gold, trembling softly. He lay on his back looking at the sky for a long time. He didn't want to think, nor sing, nor talk. He felt himself alive, that was it.<\/p>\n
Eventually he fell asleep with his face turned to the sea.<\/p>\n\n\n
\nTranslated by Rosa Mar\u00eda Lazo and Pablo Saavedra Silva<\/i><\/p>\n
Edited by Mar\u00eda Jos\u00e9 Navia<\/i><\/p>\n\n\n
\n\n\n\n
\n\nEl vaso de leche<\/h6>\n
Afirmado en la barandilla de estribor, el marinero parec\u00eda esperar a alguien. Ten\u00eda en la mano izquierda un envoltorio de papel blanco, manchado de grasa en varias partes. Con la otra mano atend\u00eda la pipa.<\/p>\n
Entre unos vagones apareci\u00f3 un joven delgado; se detuvo un instante, mir\u00f3 hacia el mar y avanz\u00f3 despu\u00e9s, caminando por la orilla del muelle con las manos en los bolsillos, distra\u00eddo o pensando.<\/p>\n
Cuando pas\u00f3 frente al barco, el marinero le grit\u00f3 en ingl\u00e9s:<\/p>\n
\u2014I say; look here!<\/i> (\u00a1Oiga, mire!)<\/p>\n
El joven levant\u00f3 la cabeza y, sin detenerse, contest\u00f3 en el mismo idioma:<\/p>\n
\u2014Hallow! What?<\/i> (\u00a1Hola! \u00bfQu\u00e9?)<\/p>\n
\u2014Are you hungry?<\/i> (\u00bfTiene hambre?)<\/p>\n
Hubo un breve silencio, durante el cual el joven pareci\u00f3 reflexionar y hasta dio un paso m\u00e1s corto que los dem\u00e1s, como para detenerse; pero al fin dijo, mientras dirig\u00eda al marinero una sonrisa triste:<\/p>\n
\u2014No, I am not hungry! Thank you, sailor.<\/i> (No, no tengo hombre. Muchas gracias, marinero.)<\/p>\n
\u2014Very well.<\/i> (Muy bien.)<\/p>\n
Sacose la pipa de la boca el marinero, escupi\u00f3 y coloc\u00e1ndosela de nuevo entre los labios, mir\u00f3 hacia otro lado. El joven, avergonzado de que su aspecto despertara sentimientos de caridad, pareci\u00f3 apresurar el paso, como temiendo arrepentirse de su negativa.<\/p>\n
Un instante despu\u00e9s un magn\u00edfico vagabundo, vestido inveros\u00edmilmente de harapos, grandes zapatos rotos, larga barba rubia y ojos azules, pas\u00f3 ante el marinero, y \u00e9ste, sin llamarlo previamente, le grit\u00f3:<\/p>\n
\u2014Are you hungry?<\/i><\/p>\n
No hab\u00eda terminado a\u00fan su pregunta cuando el atorrante, mirando con ojos brillantes el paquete que el marinero ten\u00eda en las manos, contest\u00f3 apresuradamente:<\/p>\n
\u2014Yes, sir, I am very hungry!<\/i> (S\u00ed, se\u00f1or, tengo harta hambre.)<\/p>\n
Sonri\u00f3 el marinero. El paquete vol\u00f3 en el aire y fue a caer entre las manos \u00e1vidas del hambriento. Ni siquiera dio las gracias y abriendo el envoltorio calentito a\u00fan, sentose en el suelo, restreg\u00e1ndose las manos alegremente al contemplar su contenido. Un atorrante de puerto puede no saber ingl\u00e9s, pero nunca se perdonar\u00eda no saber el suficiente como para pedir de comer a uno que hable ese idioma.<\/p>\n
El joven que pasara momentos antes, parado a corta distancia de all\u00ed, presenci\u00f3 la escena.<\/p>\n
\u00c9l tambi\u00e9n ten\u00eda hambre. Hac\u00eda tres d\u00edas justos que no com\u00eda, tres largos d\u00edas. Y m\u00e1s por timidez y verg\u00fcenza que por orgullo, se resist\u00eda a pararse delante de las escalas de los vapores, a las horas de comida, esperando de la generosidad de los marineros alg\u00fan paquete que contuviera restos de guisos y trozos de carne. No pod\u00eda hacerlo, no podr\u00eda hacerlo nunca. Y cuando, como es el caso reciente, alguno le ofrec\u00eda sus sobras, las rechazaba heroicamente, sintiendo que la negativa aumentaba su hambre.<\/p>\n
Seis d\u00edas hac\u00eda que vagaba por las callejuelas y muelles de aquel puerto. Lo hab\u00eda dejado all\u00ed un vapor ingl\u00e9s procedente de Punta Arenas, puerto en donde hab\u00eda desertado de un vapor en que serv\u00eda como muchacho de capit\u00e1n. Estuvo un mes all\u00ed, ayudando en sus ocupaciones a un austriaco pescador de centollas, y en el primer barco que pas\u00f3 hacia el norte embarcose ocultamente. Lo descubrieron al d\u00eda siguiente de zarpar y envi\u00e1ronlo a trabajar en las calderas. En el primer puerto grande que toc\u00f3 el vapor lo desembarcaron, y all\u00ed qued\u00f3, como un fardo sin direcci\u00f3n ni destinatario, sin conocer a nadie, sin un centavo en los bolsillos y sin saber trabajar en oficio alguno. Mientras estuvo all\u00ed el vapor, pudo comer, pero despu\u00e9s... La ciudad enorme, que se alzaba m\u00e1s all\u00e1 de las callejuelas llenas de tabernas y posadas pobres, no le atra\u00eda; parec\u00edale un lugar de esclavitud, sin aire, oscura, sin esa grandeza amplia del mar, y entre cuyas altas paredes y calles rectas la gente vive y muere aturdida por un tr\u00e1fago angustioso.<\/p>\n
Estaba pose\u00eddo por la obsesi\u00f3n del mar, que tuerce las vidas m\u00e1s lisas y definidas como un brazo poderoso una delgada varilla. Aunque era muy joven hab\u00eda hecho varios viajes por las costas de Am\u00e9rica del Sur, en diversos vapores, desempe\u00f1ando distintos trabajos y faenas, faenas y trabajos que en tierra casi no ten\u00edan explicaci\u00f3n.<\/p>\n
Despu\u00e9s que se fue el vapor anduvo, esperando del azar algo que le permitiera vivir de alg\u00fan modo mientras volv\u00eda a sus canchas familiares; pero no encontr\u00f3 nada. El puerto ten\u00eda poco movimiento y en los contados vapores en que se trabajaba no lo aceptaron.<\/p>\n
Ambulaban por all\u00ed infinidad de vagabundos de profesi\u00f3n; marineros sin contrata, como \u00e9l, desertados de un vapor o pr\u00f3fugos de alg\u00fan delirio; atorrantes abandonados al ocio, que se mantienen de no se sabe qu\u00e9, mendigando o robando, pasando los d\u00edas como las cuentas de un rosario mugriento, esperando qui\u00e9n sabe qu\u00e9 extra\u00f1os acontecimientos, o no esperando nada, individuos de las razas y pueblos m\u00e1s ex\u00f3ticos y extra\u00f1os, aun de aquellos en cuya existencia no se cree hasta no haber visto un ejemplar.<\/p>\n
Al d\u00eda siguiente, convencido de que no podr\u00eda resistir mucho m\u00e1s, decidi\u00f3 recurrir a cualquier medio para procurarse alimentos.<\/p>\n
Caminando, fue a dar delante de un vapor que hab\u00eda llegado la noche anterior y que cargaba trigo. Una hilera de hombres marchaba, dando la vuelta, al hombro los pesados sacos, desde los vagones, atravesando una planchada, hasta la escotilla de la bodega, donde los estibadores recib\u00edan la carga. Estuvo un rato mirando hasta que atreviose a hablar con el capataz, ofreci\u00e9ndose. Fue aceptado y animosamente form\u00f3 parte de la larga fila de cargadores.<\/p>\n
Durante el tiempo de la jornada trabaj\u00f3 bien; pero despu\u00e9s empez\u00f3 a sentirse fatigado y le vinieron vah\u00eddos, vacilando en la planchada cuando marchaba con la carga al hombro, viendo a sus pies la abertura formada por el costado del vapor y el murall\u00f3n del muelle, en el fondo de la cual, el mar, manchado de aceite y cubierto de desperdicios, glogloteaba sordamente.<\/p>\n
A la hora de almorzar hubo un breve descanso y en tanto que algunos fueron a comer en los figones cercanos y otros com\u00edan lo que hab\u00edan llevado, \u00e9l se tendi\u00f3 en el suelo a descansar, disimulando su hambre.<\/p>\n
Termin\u00f3 la jornada completamente agotado, cubierto de sudor, reducido ya a lo \u00faltimo. Mientras los trabajadores se retiraban, se sent\u00f3 en unas bolsas acechando al capataz, y cuando se hubo marchado el \u00faltimo acercose a \u00e9l y confuso y titubeante, aunque sin contarle lo que le suced\u00eda, le pregunt\u00f3 si pod\u00edan pagarle inmediatamente o si era posible conseguir un adelanto a cuenta de lo ganado.<\/p>\n
Contestole el capataz que la costumbre era pagar al final del trabajo y que todav\u00eda ser\u00eda necesario trabajar el d\u00eda siguiente para concluir de cargar el vapor. \u00a1Un d\u00eda m\u00e1s! Por otro lado, no adelantaban un centavo.<\/p>\n
\u2014Pero \u2014le dijo\u2014, si usted necesita, yo podr\u00eda prestarle unos cuarenta centavos... No tengo m\u00e1s.<\/p>\n
Le agradeci\u00f3 el ofrecimiento con una sonrisa angustiosa y se fue. Le acometi\u00f3 entonces una desesperaci\u00f3n aguda. \u00a1Ten\u00eda hambre, hambre, hambre! Un hambre que lo doblegaba como un latigazo; ve\u00eda todo a trav\u00e9s de una niebla azul y al andar vacilaba como un borracho. Sin embargo, no hab\u00eda podido quejarse ni gritar, pues su sufrimiento era obscuro y fatigante; no era dolor, sino angustia sorda, acabamiento; le parec\u00eda que estaba aplastado por un gran peso. Sinti\u00f3 de pronto como una quemadura en las entra\u00f1as, y se detuvo. Se fue inclinando, inclinando, dobl\u00e1ndose forzadamente y crey\u00f3 que iba a caer. En ese instante, como si una ventana se hubiera abierto ante \u00e9l, vio su casa, el paisaje que se ve\u00eda desde ella, el rostro de su madre y el de sus hermanos, todo lo que \u00e9l quer\u00eda y amaba apareci\u00f3 y desapareci\u00f3 ante sus ojos cerrados por la fatiga\u2026 Despu\u00e9s, poco a poco, ces\u00f3 el desvanecimiento y se fue enderezando, mientras la quemadura se enfriaba despacio. Por fin se irgui\u00f3, respirando profundamente. Una hora m\u00e1s y caer\u00eda al suelo.<\/p>\n
Apur\u00f3 el paso, como huyendo de un nuevo mareo, y mientras marchaba resolvi\u00f3 ir a comer a cualquier parte, sin pagar, dispuesto a que lo avergonzaran, a que le pegaran, a que lo mandaran preso, a todo; lo importante era comer, comer, comer. Cien veces repiti\u00f3 mentalmente esta palabra; comer, comer, comer, hasta que el vocablo perdi\u00f3 su sentido, dej\u00e1ndole una impresi\u00f3n de vac\u00edo caliente en la cabeza.<\/p>\n
No pensaba huir; le dir\u00eda al due\u00f1o: \u00abSe\u00f1or, ten\u00eda hambre, hambre, hambre, y no tengo con qu\u00e9 pagar... Haga lo que quiera\u00bb.<\/p>\n
Lleg\u00f3 hasta las primeras calles de la ciudad y en una de ellas encontr\u00f3 una lecher\u00eda. Era un negocio muy claro y limpio, lleno de mesitas con cubiertas de m\u00e1rmol: detr\u00e1s de un mostrador estaba de pie una se\u00f1ora rubia con un delantal blanqu\u00edsimo.<\/p>\n
Eligi\u00f3 ese negocio. La calle era poco transitada. Habr\u00eda podido comer en uno de los figones que estaban junto al muelle, pero se encontraban llenos de gente que jugaba y beb\u00eda.<\/p>\n
En la lecher\u00eda no hab\u00eda sino un cliente. Era un vejete de anteojos, que con la nariz metida entre las hojas de un peri\u00f3dico, leyendo, permanec\u00eda inm\u00f3vil, como pegado a la silla. Sobre la mesita hab\u00eda un vaso de leche a medio consumir. Esper\u00f3 que se retirara, paseando por la acera, sintiendo que poco a poco se le encend\u00eda en el est\u00f3mago la quemadura de antes, y esper\u00f3 cinco, diez, hasta quince minutos. Se cans\u00f3 y parose a un lado de la puerta, desde donde lanzaba al viejo unas miradas que parec\u00edan pedradas.<\/p>\n
\u00bfQu\u00e9 diablos leer\u00eda con tanta atenci\u00f3n? Lleg\u00f3 a imaginarse que era un enemigo suyo, quien, sabiendo sus intenciones, se hubiera propuesto entorpecerlas. Le daban ganas de entrar y decirle algo fuerte que le obligara a marcharse, una groser\u00eda o una frase que le indicara que no ten\u00eda derecho a permanecer una hora sentado, y leyendo, por un gasto reducido.<\/p>\n
Por fin el cliente termin\u00f3 su lectura, o por lo menos, la interrumpi\u00f3. Se bebi\u00f3 de un sorbo el resto de leche que conten\u00eda el vaso, se levant\u00f3 pausadamente, pag\u00f3 y dirigiose a la puerta. Sali\u00f3; era un vejete encorvado, con trazas de carpintero o barnizador.<\/p>\n
Apenas estuvo en la calle, afirmose los anteojos, meti\u00f3 de nuevo la nariz entre las hojas del peri\u00f3dico y se fue, caminando despacito y deteni\u00e9ndose cada diez pasos para leer con m\u00e1s detenimiento.<\/p>\n
Esper\u00f3 que se alejara y entr\u00f3. Un momento estuvo parado a la entrada, indeciso, no sabiendo d\u00f3nde sentarse; por fin eligi\u00f3 una mesa y dirigiose hacia ella; pero a mitad de camino se arrepinti\u00f3, retrocedi\u00f3 y tropez\u00f3 en una silla, instal\u00e1ndose despu\u00e9s en un rinc\u00f3n.<\/p>\n
Acudi\u00f3 la se\u00f1ora, pas\u00f3 un trapo por la cubierta de la mesa y con voz suave, en la que se notaba un dejo de acento espa\u00f1ol, le pregunt\u00f3:<\/p>\n
\u2014\u00bfQu\u00e9 se va a servir?<\/p>\n
Sin mirarla, le contest\u00f3:<\/p>\n
\u2014Un vaso de leche.<\/p>\n
\u2014\u00bfGrande?<\/p>\n
\u2014S\u00ed, grande.<\/p>\n
\u2014\u00bfSolo?<\/p>\n
\u2014\u00bfHay bizcochos?<\/p>\n
\u2014No; vainillas.<\/p>\n
\u2014Bueno, vainillas.<\/p>\n
Cuando la se\u00f1ora se dio vuelta, \u00e9l se restreg\u00f3 las manos sobre las rodillas, regocijado, como quien tiene fr\u00edo y va a beber algo caliente. Volvi\u00f3 la se\u00f1ora y coloc\u00f3 ante \u00e9l un gran vaso de leche y un platito lleno de vainillas, dirigi\u00e9ndose despu\u00e9s a su puesto detr\u00e1s del mostrador.<\/p>\n
Su primer impulso fue beberse la leche de un trago y comerse despu\u00e9s las vainillas, pero en seguida se arrepinti\u00f3; sent\u00eda que los ojos de la mujer lo miraban con curiosidad. No se atrev\u00eda a mirarla; le parec\u00eda que, al hacerlo, conocer\u00eda su estado de \u00e1nimo y sus prop\u00f3sitos vergonzosos y \u00e9l tendr\u00eda que levantarse e irse, sin probar lo que hab\u00eda pedido.<\/p>\n
Pausadamente tom\u00f3 una vainilla, humedeciola en la leche y le dio un bocado; bebi\u00f3 un sorbo de leche y sinti\u00f3 que la quemadura, ya encendida en su est\u00f3mago, se apagaba y deshac\u00eda. Pero, en seguida, la realidad de su situaci\u00f3n desesperada surgi\u00f3 ante \u00e9l y algo apretado y caliente subi\u00f3 desde su coraz\u00f3n hasta la garganta; se dio cuenta de que iba a sollozar, a sollozar a gritos, y aunque sab\u00eda que la se\u00f1ora lo estaba mirando no pudo rechazar ni deshacer aquel nudo ardiente que le estrechaba m\u00e1s y m\u00e1s. Resisti\u00f3, y mientras resist\u00eda comi\u00f3 apresuradamente, como asustado, temiendo que el llanto le impidiera comer. Cuando termin\u00f3 con la leche y las vainillas se le nublaron los ojos y algo tibio rod\u00f3 por su nariz, cayendo dentro del vaso. Un terrible sollozo lo sacudi\u00f3 hasta los zapatos.<\/p>\n
Afirm\u00f3 la cabeza en las manos y durante mucho rato llor\u00f3, llor\u00f3 con pena, con rabia, con ganas de llorar, como si nunca hubiese llorado.<\/p>\n
Inclinado estaba y llorando, cuando sinti\u00f3 que una mano le acariciaba la cansada cabeza y que una voz de mujer, con un dulce acento espa\u00f1ol, le dec\u00eda:<\/p>\n
\u2014Llore, hijo, llore...<\/p>\n
Una nueva ola de llanto le arras\u00f3 los ojos y llor\u00f3 con tanta fuerza como la primera vez, pero ahora no angustiosamente, sino con alegr\u00eda, sintiendo que una gran frescura lo penetraba, apagando eso caliente que le hab\u00eda estrangulado la garganta. Mientras lloraba pareciole que su vida y sus sentimientos se limpiaban como un vaso bajo un chorro de agua, recobrando la claridad y firmeza de otros d\u00edas.<\/p>\n
Cuando pas\u00f3 el acceso de llanto se limpi\u00f3 con su pa\u00f1uelo los ojos y la cara, ya tranquilo. Levant\u00f3 la cabeza y mir\u00f3 a la se\u00f1ora, pero \u00e9sta no le miraba ya, miraba hacia la calle, a un punto lejano, y su rostro estaba triste.<\/p>\n
En la mesita, ante \u00e9l, hab\u00eda un nuevo vaso de leche y otro platillo colmado de vainillas; comi\u00f3 lentamente, sin pensar en nada, como si nada le hubiera pasado, como si estuviera en su casa y su madre fuera esa mujer que estaba detr\u00e1s del mostrador.<\/p>\n
Cuando termin\u00f3 ya hab\u00eda oscurecido y el negocio se iluminaba con una bombilla el\u00e9ctrica. Estuvo un rato sentado, pensando en lo que le dir\u00eda a la se\u00f1ora al despedirse, sin ocurr\u00edrsele nada oportuno.<\/p>\n
Al fin se levant\u00f3 y dijo simplemente:<\/p>\n
\u2014Muchas gracias, se\u00f1ora; adi\u00f3s...<\/p>\n
\u2014Adi\u00f3s, hijo\u2026 \u2014le contest\u00f3 ella.<\/p>\n
Sali\u00f3. El viento que ven\u00eda del mar refresc\u00f3 su cara, caliente a\u00fan por el llanto. Camin\u00f3 un rato sin direcci\u00f3n, tomando despu\u00e9s por una calle que bajaba hacia los muelles. La noche era hermos\u00edsima y grandes estrellas aparec\u00edan en el cielo de verano.<\/p>\n
Pens\u00f3 en la se\u00f1ora rubia que tan generosamente se hab\u00eda conducido e hizo prop\u00f3sitos de pagarle y recompensarla de una manera digna cuando tuviera dinero; pero estos pensamientos de gratitud se desvanec\u00edan junto con el ardor de su rostro, hasta que no qued\u00f3 ninguno, y el hecho reciente retrocedi\u00f3 y se perdi\u00f3 en los recodos de su vida pasada.<\/p>\n
De pronto se sorprendi\u00f3 cantando algo en voz baja. Se irgui\u00f3 alegremente, pisando con firmeza y decisi\u00f3n.<\/p>\n
Lleg\u00f3 a la orilla del mar y anduvo de un lado para otro, el\u00e1sticamente, sinti\u00e9ndose rehacer, como si sus fuerzas interiores, antes dispersas, se reunieran y amalgamaran s\u00f3lidamente.<\/p>\n
Despu\u00e9s la fatiga del trabajo empez\u00f3 a subirle por las piernas en un lento hormigueo y se sent\u00f3 sobre un mont\u00f3n de bolsas.<\/p>\n
Mir\u00f3 el mar. Las luces del muelle y las de los barcos se extend\u00edan por el agua en un reguero rojizo y dorado, temblando suavemente. Se tendi\u00f3 de espaldas, mirando el cielo largo rato. No ten\u00eda ganas de pensar, ni de cantar, ni de hablar. Se sent\u00eda vivir, nada m\u00e1s.<\/p>\n
Hasta que se qued\u00f3 dormido con el rostro vuelto hacia el mar.<\/p>\n\n<\/div>\n<\/div>","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[54],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-7817","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-destacado2"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/manuelrojas.cl\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7817","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/manuelrojas.cl\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/manuelrojas.cl\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/manuelrojas.cl\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/manuelrojas.cl\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=7817"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/manuelrojas.cl\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7817\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":8673,"href":"https:\/\/manuelrojas.cl\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7817\/revisions\/8673"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/manuelrojas.cl\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/8233"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/manuelrojas.cl\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=7817"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/manuelrojas.cl\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=7817"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/manuelrojas.cl\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=7817"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}