October Meeting

In this meeting, we have analyzed three stories taken from the "Revista Martiricos", with texts written by colleagues from the School. These are the chosen texts:

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Diversion

By Encarni Jiménez Martín

The alarm call wakes me up at four o´clock on the dot. Eyelids half-closed. I make a great effort to locate myself on an imaginary map. My reflection in the bathroom mirror reminds me of my position and suggests the name of my next destination. Complying with the strict dress code and appearance policy laid down by the company, I put some discreet make-up on, I wear my impeccable uniform and I grab my hand luggage. A taxi is waiting outside the hotel. In the dead of night, my day dawns.

On my way to the airport, the last messages keep me fully informed about the weather conditions. I look out of the window and I raise my eyes heavenwards. A little cluster of stars is twinkling in the cloudless sky. I only catch a fleeting glimpse of them and I plunge into my laptop.

In the crew room, I warmly welcome the rest of the flight attendants and we share a frugal breakfast garnished with amusing anecdotes and a handful of laughter. I suddenly check the time on my stylish wristwatch and I realise that we are on the brink of departing. Once more, an unrivalled experience awaits us. The countdown begins.

I could give an elaborate description of every single moment. Despite the unearthly hour of the morning, the terminal was crowded with a flock of tourists who had arrived from all points of the compass. We shifted from landside to airside through the fast track for staff members, we scurried along the boarding area, we reached the gate and exchanged a few words with the passenger handling agents before the boarding process was initiated. 

In the cockpit, no sooner had I assumed command of the aircraft than memories of my imperishable passion for planes knocked on my mind. I will be eternally grateful to those courageous pioneers who, guided by their spirit of adventure, conceived ambitious projects and paved the way for the future generations. By virtue of their perseverance, I was able to conquer the heights and behold peerless landscapes.

One hundred and eighty-six souls on board. I confined my attention to the flight instrument panel. The aircraft started to move slowly and taxied gently across the airfield to the exact point where the take-off was going to be performed. Engines roaring loudly. The aircraft accelerated progressively and in a matter of seconds, it lifted off the runway, pointing upwards at an angle. Even though I considered myself a seasoned pilot and having managed the manoeuvre many times, I could not mask that fluttering sensation in my stomach, comparable to the intense butterfly feeling of a roller coaster ride. And we climbed through the air higher and higher.

I hoped that year would be different or, at least, that was the intention. A concert, a wedding and the holiday of a lifetime would rescue me from routine. And you may be wondering if there is still a remote corner of the world able to seduce a keen traveller. The answer without a shadow of a doubt is affirmative.

Roughly two hours had passed when I had reasons to suspect that something could be going wrong. The displayed altitude information was inaccurate, so I opted to warn the control tower to keep away from other aircrafts and prevent a mid-air collision. Moreover, the visibility conditions remained unchangeable until I could distinguish a dense layer of grey dark cloud approaching slowly and stealthily. 

As a last resort, the tower gave me permission to land in the nearest airport. In all likelihood, we were on the threshold of a hazardous situation. I was ensnared by a sense of doom and gloom. My irrational fears led me to seek solace in the co-pilot´s words and I breathed a sigh of relief when the hands of the altimeter started to measure again.

We were almost shrouded in complete darkness.

To those whose dreams were grounded by a pandemic.

📜

An unexpected gift 

by María Cielo Juri

In the garden stood an ancient marble statue. It was covered by moss and ivy, and the woodbine hidden on it would flourish each summer, delighting everyone with the pleasant fragrance of its flowers. The statue guarded the main entrance to a magnificent library.

Alexander was undoubtedly wondered by the air of grandeur that surrounded him. The first time, he entered the library looking for a cool and shady place to rest during the unpleasantly burning hours of the summer afternoon. To disbelief and horror of the guardian, he once dared to open a gargantuan specimen that might be older than Alexander’s great-grandfather. Inside of it there lived all kinds of monstrous creatures, made by parts of others, as if someone had just cut them into pieces with a scissor and mixed them up. One of them seemed to be a lion, with strong wings that could support its weight in flight, and splendorous golden feathers that catch the reader’s glance. Another beast looked like a magnificent horse, but with a strong and proud human torso in stead of a head. He knew that one, it was a centaur! But the book was full of other marvellous images he couldn’t recognize, and tons and tons of heavy words he couldn’t read. Damned were his five years of age.

- What is that creature doing? – Said an extremely worried spectral figure, covered by likewise spectral leaves (and some flowers).

- He is reading – Replied calmly another ethereal shape, this time a human one that was busy reading.

- No, he is not. – The guardian answered sharply. 

- He has a book in his lap and he is flipping the pages. It’s like the duck thing… if it looks like one, why wouldn’t it be? 

- But… those things are not written. – It doubted, mistrustful and puzzled, slithering back and forth – This is MY LIBRARY, MY BOOKS, and I know them! I know all the History and all the stories in the library; all the poems, novels, and fables; the old news in the printing press, the obsolete and current theories of science in the encyclopaedias… All I know is every little thing contain in these archives. - It spouted proudly - And I am absolutely sure the things he is saying are not. – It ominously concluded, pleased.

- Maybe he knows things that you don’t. – He tried to hide his amusement by turning over the page and admiring a particularly complex decoration.

- IMPOSSIBLE!!

- Hmmm…- “It can´t take its eyes from him, it seems charmed by the kid”- Thought the human figure. – Anyway, nice suit the one you are using.

A mix of anger and shame coloured the dragon’s face; and then it simply sighed – They don’t respect me anymore; the gardener thinks I’m a huge flower pot. – It said, looking suddenly quite crestfallen.

- At least a nice aroma precedes you, now that your reputation is fading out. – He couldn’t help but saying.

-…

- Oh, come on! – He left the book to console his friend. - It was just a joke. Don’t take me so seriously, I’m just jealous of you. – He joked again.

The unearthly guardian raised its head, its gaze back to the child, its eyes bright with knowledge - He is lying to us – it said slowly - He is not reading. He doesn’t know how to read! He is just inventing things! – Exclaimed annoyed and disenchanted.

- He is not lying to you. You are the one who is spying on him. You are just afraid of him because he is different from the others and you don’t know what to expect from him. 

- But those things are not true! They are not written!

- Those things are not written here, in YOUR library, but that doesn’t make them less true. I recognize them, you know? I had read some of them once, a long time ago. - He paused – In fact, I don’t understand why you don’t have them here. – 

He remained lost in his thoughts for a while. The dragon’s gaze was again on the boy. 

– You should enjoy it, you know? Rarely do we have the occasion to be delighted with a new story. In your case, I would say, it is one of a kind, when it comes to opportunities. 

But the guardian wasn’t listening any longer. The whole of the dragon’s attention was in the alien stories of a five-year-old boy, who couldn’t notice anything but the familiar woodbine perfume that strangely reminded him of the ancient marble statue outside, under the beating sun.

📜

IN THIRD PERSON

by Ana M. González Postigo

Spring can never be blamed, although it was late March when the life-blood coursing through her veins got disturbed. Outside everything was flooded by the sunshine and LIFE was everywhere. She lay in a hospital bed, in her late forties, surrounded by cables to monitor her pressure and heart rate. The episode had started the day before, it was a Monday (but she loved Mondays). Difficult to get out of bed and get dressed, but the hardest was walking normally, she couldn´t keep her balance.

A visit to her GP who referred her to hospital where, despite the obvious symptoms, they found nothing. “Everything is fine, go home” the doctor said confidently. How is that possible? What about the vomiting? And the loss of balance? “Nothing to worry about”. At her side, he felt powerless and scared as she looked at him in disbelief in front of the young doctor. She threw up again. However, something very awkward was changing inside her. As the hours passed, her right hand became unable to hold a fork and her right leg didn´t move when she needed to go to the toilet. What was happening? Nothing?

When her sisters arrived at her mother´s house to see her, worried about her immobility, they called an ambulance. Her dear mother, disorientated by dementia and lost, was taken to another room to avoid the sorrow. It was already evening, it was late.They had no doubt whatsoever, -to the hospital straight away. Why didn´t she go before? they asked. She did, but they sent her home, it was just gastroenteritis. No, it wasn´t. Actually, it was a hemiplegia triggered by a brain injury. That made more sense. She was forced to wait until dawn on a stretcher for a free bed.

She wasn´t sad or frightened, only confused and eager to see what would happen to her now. Her relatives´ faces showed concern, avoiding their looks she reassured them: “Don´t worry, I´m alright, it´s only that my right side wants to rest for a while”. She made them laugh, that was the point, although the reality was quite harsh.

Once in the designated room for that kind of patient, connected to a machine, she had to stay up, the light on and a computer screen too. What a discomfort! How could she sleep like this? Had she known, she wouldn´t  have come!

Now and again her leg moved involuntarily, but if she tried, there was no answer. When the doctor visited her insisted: “Come on, raise your hand, I know you can”. Then, she got serious and told him: “Much as I´d like to, I really can´t, believe me”.

It was so frustrating to need help constantly, for eating, grooming and so on. She dragged her silly leg as though it were a very heavy piece of cloth and her hand was closed. Even so, she had no pain, she could express herself by chatting. There were patients in her ward who misundertood words, others could barely swallow or even see or hear. She only had that annoying immobility, even her appetite was normal. She kept up her mood and wouldn´t stop talking. That was her best therapy, talking freed her, relaxed her and helped her through that mess.

All kind of tests happened daily in search of more clots in her blood vessels, trying to lower her heart rate to avoid a relapse. Although the clot causing the damage was tiny, how harmful it was! She might remain like this, or improve a little or get worse. They took too long to examine her, it wasn´t her fault, maybe nobody´s. Why look for culprits? She had bigger fish to fry.

Another dazzling morning, while sitting in bed, she struggled to move her index finger until it moved slightly, but it did. Wow! It was wonderful because if she could move one, all of them would move soon. With patience and tenacity she would get it, she felt thrilled desperate to show her latest discovery to her family. She cried with happiness with her sister upon demonstrating it. There was nothing more to fear, shortly everything would wake up, everything would return to normal or at least a “new normal”. She rightly felt upbeat. She knew for sure, she would recover.

Then the uncertainty when leaving the hospital, and now what, how and where? Luckily she didn´t lack help as she had the most wonderful family who adored her. Physiotherapy, neurologist and endless tests. Daring to leave the dreaded wheelchair and exchange it for a cane. How much work ahead!

Not looking at the images the mirrors gave her back. Who was that limping lady? Not her, she didn´t like it at all. She´d better not think about what was going on, just about the work required to recover. Living it in the third person: “there was someone inside me who had this bothersome problem and I´m helping her to get over it. Keeping her mind clear and positive, not letting it get to her, at a safe distance”.

It´s been almost a decade since her life completely changed: modifying habits, work, social and intimate relationships, but her mind, her desire to live, the rejoicing with which she receives the gift of each new day, have all simply increased.

She enjoys her new second life, the best, as the other option was definitely not life. When she gets up every morning she thanks the life itself and the wonders waiting to be discovered. She thanks him for having being there with her, and many THANKS to so many for so much. She´s determined to miss nothing the day brings.

With her clumsy gait she manages to walk alone and enjoy it. Regarding her idle hand, it has improved to the point of scribbling these feelings to express them in her own name. And now they come out with a global pandemic caused by a lethal virus. Come on!  Enough now! 

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