Planeta Gris

I haven’t told you what was it that the man happened to say to me at the beach. The reason is mostly that the conversation was long and complex, and as far as the story of our family goes, you only need to know but a few of the details. The implications of what he said to me were meant to unfold through the span of my lifetime, and the historical perspective of my research was put, therefore, in a completely new level. I found out how complex the effect of meeting your grandmother was, how my decision of plunging myself into the dreamland of the valley had put in jeopardy events that otherwise would have happened without much commotion.

It was not until a few weeks later that the contact promised, by him, happened back at the valley house. In the meantime, I had a feeling of uneasiness and felt more than a bit powerless about my situation. Then, at what was to be the peak of uncertainty, I finally received a call asking me to arrive at the local university the next day for a meeting. By that time, I had lost any resemblance of fingernails I might had had, and the rash on my neck was starting to get my skin to look like a teenager face gone berserk. But like the touch of an angel, that call gave me back my human looks and allowed me to be there first thing in the morning.

I had no idea what to expect that day, the good thing—or at least what I thought to be a good thing—was that the place was no further than 30 minutes away from the valley house, as I had solicited him; by open road, of course, but at least we didn’t have to move away. More people were expecting my arrival than I would have cared to expect, but this was no junior league! I was to embark in one of the most ambitious projects ever envisioned by anyone. The organization was complex, the super-specialists there abounded, and plenty of eyes were set on me for answers and directives. This was no job interview; it was the world reclaiming what I had kept from it during my seclusion at the valley.

Back at home, your grandma knew what was coming: long working hours, days, if not weeks, of detachment and overall lonesome times. Our moments together had also lost their magic; she would no longer have anything to say to me, and her glance felt absent—if not empty altogether. The smile that the years at the valley had almost sculpted in her face was now broken, and even her paintings reflected this change. But I had no option; I could no longer sacrifice your future for the present happiness of those days. Moreover, every time I had one of my assistants computing the project, the end result was always the same: “More information needed”. The adage proved to be true: “Nine women cannot bear a child in one month.”

Categoría: Historias

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