ENG
Many knew the story of Esteban, yes, that boy who liked to swim late at night in the canal, who worried his mother so much that he always came home barefoot and shirtless. Esteban represented youth in all its expression, being able even to challenge her, to impose himself before her as a being still unknown, in a much richer and courageous stage of life, being a being of extreme maturity in spite of his eighteen years of age.
One day Esteban did not return home, the mother as usual waited seated in a wooden boat that rocked with the night waves that lived in the canal, with her hand on her chin, her knees together and her elbow firmly on them, impatient, like an epitaph of flesh, with a sleeplessness written on her face. The mother knew he would not return, that the hours were already enough to savor the pain beyond hope, the mother felt over the canal the presence of death, the angel took him away... and she began to cry in despair. Her husband approached the dock where he saw her wailing, disappointed in everything, he heard her shouting “Stephen!
Then he looked at the wet sand on the canal bank and swallowed his life itself, whole and breathless as he listened to his wife being part of the lie, being part of what he never lived and yet died that night? the man wondered. That's how big is madness. Then he walked away slowly... children are the soul's desires, incomplete hallucinations, and he drank wine from a barrel, then threw himself into the canal, swimming to an unknown place.
SPA
Muchos sabían la historia de Esteban, sí, ese muchacho que le gustaba nadar hasta altas horas de la noche en el canal, que preocupaba tanto a su madre, que siempre regresaba a casa descalzo y sin camisa. Esteban representaba la juventud en toda su expresión, pudiendo incluso desafiarla, imponerse ante ella como un ser aun desconocido, en una etapa de la vida mucho más rica y valerosa, siendo él un ser de extrema madurez a pesar de sus dieciocho años.
Un día Esteban no regresó a casa, la madre como de costumbre esperaba sentada en un bote de madera que se mecía con las olas nocturnas que vivían en el canal, con la mano puesta en su mentón, las rodillas juntas y el codo firme sobre ellas, impaciente, como un epitafio de carne, con un desvelo escrito en su rostro. La madre supo que no regresaría, que las horas ya eran suficientes como para saborear el dolor más allá de la esperanza, la madre sentía sobre el canal la presencia de la muerte, el ángel se lo llevó… y comenzó a llorar desesperada. Su marido se acercó al muelle donde la veía lamentarse, decepcionado de todo, la escuchaba gritar ¡Esteban! ¡Esteban!
Entonces miraba la arena mojada de la orilla del canal y tragaba su vida misma, entera y sin aliento al escuchar a su mujer ser parte de la mentira, ser parte de lo que nunca vivió y aún así murió esa noche ¿Así de grande es la imaginación? Se preguntó el hombre. Así de grande es la locura. Luego se marchó despacio… los hijos son los deseos del alma, las alucinaciones incompletas, y bebió vino de un barril, para luego echarse al canal, nadando hacia un lugar desconocido.
The images and text are my own.
Las imágenes y el texto son de mi autoría
Congratulations @jcaguila! You have completed the following achievement on the Hive blockchain And have been rewarded with New badge(s)
Your next target is to reach 2000 upvotes.
You can view your badges on your board and compare yourself to others in the Ranking
If you no longer want to receive notifications, reply to this comment with the word
STOPCheck out our last posts: