Monday, September 19, 2016

With the broken soul

It had been a year or less. I was sitting in the kitchen protecting me against my dose Alzheimer estratosféric to regular caffeine evening when I heard commotion in the administrative area. As seemed a hubbub of friendly dyes, I decided to savor the tranquility and seconds before the start of the day solitude sure that the emotional tide would soon flood my haven of peace. So it was. As if they had opened the door of the cinema, they entered the kitchen a crowd of companions and surrounding companions, asaetándola questions and shaking her kisses and hugs as Mr Marshall had at last stopped in Villar del Río.

She had reserved space in the heart of all, a parking space in our lives with his name painted had earned by a freak of nature: to be immensely good. I knew her to at least two centuries. He remembered with huge glasses and almost buried among books and notes, laughing at my pranks in class with condescension who harbors no doubts about the existence of an exploitable background within my bouffant. The same was the only person who had no such doubts, including myself. In and out of my life for the confluences in classes and practices that encouraged chance from the initials of our names, and my inevitable academic irregularities, to put a friendly way.

Then the million ways of fate seemed to leave our meetings in memory or forgotten, until a poor woman had to keep rest throughout her pregnancy and the young and flamboyant doctor itinerant family replaced it in his immensely happy query savoring a continuity that would allow him to spend at least once every calendar sheets table with jokes Forges.

Monday, September 12, 2016


I'm from the house. Such a simple expression, four words and short, a home and moving noun. A frightening expression. Hear those words made me sweat like the fat of the films that owe money to the mobsters. A ring of sweat under the armpits revealing white or green pajamas crumpled thousand hours standing in the hallway emergency. A resident fencing.

It is true that within that expression could be an amalgam of beings whose level of influence varied so much like my cousin was present at the wedding of the Duke of Alba, but even at lower levels, forcing by-passes acceleration were taking pace as the expression is repeated like a mantra cacophonous in the pits, laboratories, offices ray rooms or attachments.

And the worst was when at some point in the chain, wanted to become a bully Robespierre and shouted to lung and pleura he did distinction. Generally the cock in question raised his chin and ruffling her robe as if it were fox coat, picturing the face of the guard or the assistant who had claimed their rights seigneur staying with two feet noses. But Fox got his tail between his legs and stuck out her tongue like a lapdog when who proclaimed his membership in the mater house was a doctor, let alone a surgeon.

But the resident was at that time an errand, go you know now, and the little phrase of yore knew you augured many walks, pains head and even the launch of a chain of favors. And all this with the permanent scare in the body raise his head and find yourself breathing like deep throat on your shoulder named "home".

The girl was about twelve years of those before the Nutella, when they were ashamed not yet come to ask the price of a Barbie. It was in one of two pediatric emergency consultations, sentadita very still in the chair, beside her father giving her hand. I do not see them honked their faces in the crowded waiting room when he went to call patients, but I thought it was the result of my cluelessness, more than any other cause.

But then the father went to the nurse by name and she replied with a laugh joke that made adults and children, to me, looking jerk for not learn anything. Then he shook my hand and introduced himself.

- "I believe that we have never met'm Dr. Mariano Lopez, the house surgeon This is my daughter..."