The table (or bureaucracy sentimental)
What if I want to spend Christmas at my plump granny? Obviously not. Anyway, I have not alternative. Mom was very insistent the last half of November, almost to the limit of the impossible, and as I had not gone in summer was almost a family obligation for me to Paripe.
Grandma, by phone, showed aseptic sometimes vague when asked, saying things like the most important thing was that I would have gone well and he understood that he preferred to spend more time with my friends - 'or your boyfriend, if you have a boyfriend, I do not know if you have "- to put up with an old woman like her. Becoming the victim did, of course, that is what is engaged when No One pull of the language to discuss neighborhood gossip. For it is a must-suspicious, of having a company that gives inane chatter about topics sordid bedroom. And it is because, somehow, this justifies their drooling. If you have someone on your side and ask questions that give rise to possible answers chained in which the rumors are not confused with reality and official versions intersect scenario sight, remorse, I think, are mitigated by the excuse that she is their company, who has asked. This assumes, of course, you have regrets.
But what we were going: who or who may play a role as ungrateful as I just explained? Only my cousin and I, because both my mother and my uncles are not much for the work to stop by his house to visit him, unless one of us stay there making amuermada coverage. My uncle made it very clear last summer during the annual dinner at my parents
that witch "I can not stand," he said after me (happy) a couple of slaps on the shoulder very ridiculous .
Now is precisely he who accompanies me these days of Christmas, you might as penance for those words which would soon retractárseme in the strictest privacy. But he and I are alone, or my cousin or my mother or my Aunt Martha have had the courtesy to stop by here. Normal. I said that my grandmother is a little witch, although he has said this has been my uncle.
- And tell mom how to prepare them, Carlota?
-Cooked, I think.
"Then they are grilled. I like more to the plate. Even if your mother cooks very well.
-Of the two forms are rich.
"Yes, exactly. What do you think, Alvaro? Do you prefer boiled or grilled?
- Mrgpf ...
- How do you say, Alvaro?
"That I do not care, Mom.
"That's not an answer.
So here we are: Alvaro uncle, grandmother and I, peeling prawns for Christmas. It really bothers me that the grandmother was referring to my mother calling her "Mom." It is something beyond me. "How's Mom?" "Have you already given credit to Mom?" And not because twenty-three years or because you do with a certain twang infantilising. It bothers me, simply, and that's it. I have no definitive explanation for it. Luckily the last few years I always prepared against such accidents. Try to be as impermeable as possible to their nonsense and their "mothers" also does not talk back at any time, because deep down I know that does not mean any harm.
-long wild, "says my grandmother to watch the results of an attack on television. These countries, like Afghanistan and Iraq, it seems they are always at war.
"Because they put them at war, mom.
-Ya, ya.
We finished the Christmas dinner and my grandmother can not think of anything other than turn on the TV, but no special programming for these dates, so popular among the people of his age, that she makes diving in the channels and stop payment on any news of those who repeat refried mercilessly, again and again, crossed by the same labels and adorned with the same owners.
Bored, I take the phone and call my cousin.
- Who are you calling? Does your boyfriend?
"I'm calling Cristina.
"Give my regards. Or, better hand it to me when finished.
-
not seem to catch it.
-Ya, ya.
"I'll try later.
- And do not you call your boyfriend?
My grandmother watches TV sitting on the couch with a blanket wrapped around his cotton knees and a biscuit in hand, nibbling at the edges like a mouse leaving crumbs from falling on the blanket. Yum, yum, go eat your cookie until you run out and shake the crumbs, placing them in a magazine out of the magazine from under the nightstand. Álvaro turns washing dishes in the kitchen and was surprised to see it up:
"But where are you going, Mom.
-A throw this away. And to get another cookie.
"You're not the good of the hip and yet you've been cooking all afternoon. Do not you think it's time to rest than once?
The truth is that the cynical amazes me that my uncle can be. It seems to be the typical guy you see from time to time, with his glasses and his shirt collar over the jersey, her hair dyed, that good person who served the potatoes and ask for the studies. But as my family is emotionally, and it is almost impossible to stop and talk to one of its members without ten minutes take confidence and sing you the misery of their brothers, cousins, brothers, in a display of sincerity almost always alcohol, a eventually know everything. And I know, because I know, that Alvaro is a bastard. Uncle Alvaro. A bastard. That left his mother when she was thrown a serious disease of the hip to go with a Chilean ten years younger than him with whom he went to live in the neighborhood of Lavapies in Madrid, two months after they met, it was where were her children. And soon to live together traveled to Chile, where do not know what my uncle had to eat in poor condition that brought him to hospital to get a piece of bowel removed. My uncle Alvaro. Yes The same guy who, back to Spain, the Chilean climber did not care, but her mother, and recovered from the hip.
All this tells my grandmother, because my grandmother lives there dentro de su familia. Ella prefiere atender a la de los demás, preferentemente a la de los vecinos, pero nunca a la de su hijo, o sus sobrinos —o incluso a la de sus dos nietas— cuando se trata de asuntos turbios. Para eso no necesita compañías autistas que le tiren de la lengua. No. Los que hablan por los codos son los que luego no quieren ir a su casa alegando tener que aguantar a una vieja retorcida cotillear sobre los vecinos, actitud que —al parecer— detestan. Todo muy coherente. Las familias a veces confabulan para destruirse en plan doméstico, aunque no se enteren de lo que pasa.
—Carlota —me dice Álvaro—, ya sabes que I'd rather give the money to buy anything then can not like, so take-and handed me a fifty, "this is your gift.
I give two kisses, I keep the ticket in my pocket and return to my seat.
"Now, Mom, is your gift," he says, and goes to the guest room, I guess for him.
Álvaro Uncle never married, but still lives surrounded by women. Now, as I have understood, is with a fat-rich half blind in one eye who drives a mini estate in the streets of Santander. A very exotic life, my uncle's. I gave fifty euro and you just have to want it so well.
- How long have you been? "I asked my grandmother. "Thirty, fifty?
"Fifty," I say, and I pause - I,-so I take the ticket from his pocket, looked at him and pretend to confirm to myself, "fifty, yes-air to downplay
My grandmother takes one of two magazines on the rack, and takes notes on several bills, of which, and after getting wet subtly tips of two fingers selected two: one of fifty-ah, surprise, one of ten. Good. My gift . The grandmother delivered me happy and half-winks I think that was what he intended to do, "when my uncle suddenly enters the room with a table lined with paper hands.
"Here," he says, "Here come the wise men, and laughs at his own" joke. "
"Oh, my god," complains my grandmother. What you got there?
- Want help you open? "I propose.
"No need, dear. Me and open your uncle.
Álvaro twist gesture with discretion and proceeds to unwrap the box under the watchful, rigid, severe, almost Nazi-looking grandmother. Gently he turns around and shows us both. It is a portrait of my grandfather, who died when I was a child. A portrait of the front, very cautious. A portrait like that.
- What do you think? Alvaro says, smiling.
My grandmother turns its gaze toward Nazi the eyes of my uncle and roars:
- Do you know what this is?
With the new release of tension that lies ahead, decided to part and return to the couch to watch TV, this time with the lowest volume.
"I took a picture of dad's friend Juan Carlos who is a painter, my uncle explained, gave him some money and he gave me this picture. I thought you would.
"Oh, yes, I'm excited. Come on. So glad it is ...
- Alegre? -Was surprised by my uncle. It is a picture of Dad, do not have to be happy.
"Look, my grandmother's protest, see what colors. And what expression. "There was another photo that could lead?
"That's OK, Mom. I do not see how you react that way. And about the colors, would make a nice comfortable matching the top of this wall.
"Oh," says my grandmother, oh. Oh. Do not expect me to hang it.
- What wanted? What gives you a box to have it saved?
"But I do not think hanging. See what colors, what expression. Look, look. You, of course, is that you do not live here. But I have to get up every day with the memory of your father. "It crossed himself hint of what colors .- Look, look. All brown. I get up in the morning remembering your father in brown.
"If you want to tell you back in charcoal-raises my uncle. It is their specialty.
"Well, man, what I was missing. Having it in black and white. With what Antonio liked my color TV. It became like a child when we bought it.
"I remember, yes.
"I was happier than you.
"Yes, I remember.
"Then do not understand how you have paid for a painting horrible.
"Mom, do not exaggerate.
"It's the opposite of what was your father. Your father was not brown.
"I repeat that I thought was a nice gift, a tribute.
-Ya, ya.
"But nothing, if you do not like me I take and hang it in my house.
"No, by God. God. Leave. If deep down I know you've done with heart. "He gives two pats on the shoulder, soft .- Tomorrow Alfonso call for me to hang it where you wanted.
- A Alfonso? Alfonso Why do you need? Do you think me unable to hang a picture? Are you kidding?
-Quito, Quito, that you are nothing tricky. Need I remind you the last time you tried to hammer a nail into the wall? I almost throw the house. "Turn the light, turning to me: - Your uncle is the least crafty person in the world.
Álvaro close your eyes and makes a gesture as if to bite his tongue, clenches his fists and box contains the package, which leads to the kitchen or any room, do not know, after leaving the room, it appears that tempted to slam the door on exit. My grandmother, peacefully, return your ass on the couch with his blanket and biscuit. (I do not know where he got this new cookie.) He looks at me Remiro, look at the TV and smiles. He puts his hand on my knee.
"This painter," he says ... I think I know who he is.
I stay silent, but it continues after the break:
-Si is friends with Juan Carlos "looks at me, Juan Carlos, you know? -Watch the TV, "if his friend, then I know who he is.
back to stay silent. The TV is so short that I can hear her breathing and-almost-licking his teeth. I close my eyes, I resigned, I open them again and say
"See, Grandma, tell me ... who is this painter.
Ay. Family .
