fuenteUn hombre viejo fue a visitar a su hijo sin antes avisar, en lo que ese hombre puso un pie en su hogar, este comenzó a observar con desagrado su desordenado alrededor:
La ropa sucia y basura regadas por todo el suelo emanaban un hedor intolerable en ese espacio cerrado.
Con sus pulidos zapatos, apartaba las porquerías que con suerte no pisaba mientras caminaba por el área.
En su recorrido, a su nariz le llegó un aroma bastante peculiar: Un olor nocivo y desagradable, como el del tabaco.
— ¿Estuviste fumando? – le preguntó con repudio al muchacho.
el joven no le veía la razón en negar esa acusación, por lo que suspiró con desagrado mientras desviaba la mirada a un costado mientras le seguía la espalda a su anciano padre.
Mientras se quejaba, guiado por el olor plagado en el ambiente, Su astuto padre deambulo por el apartamento hasta encontrar los restos de la humeante colilla de un cigarrillo.
En lo que la vislumbró en el suelo, se agachó sin doblar las rodillas para tomar ese trozo de basura con sus dedos pulgar e índice y mostrárselo al inepto muchacho a su espalda.
— ¿Que no te he dicho mil veces lo que está cosa le hace a tus pulmones? – le reprochó con firmeza en su enojo.
Al recriminarle su vicio, Lo único que hizo el joven fue guardar sus manos en sus bolsillos mientras tenía la mirada puesta en el techo, como si no sintiera pena o preocupación por no cuidar de su salud.
Su padre no se mantuvo quieto en su reproche, deambuló por el apartamento para encontrar un lugar apropiado en el cual desechar el trozo de basura que tenía en sus dedos a la vez que criticaba su conducta.
— Santo dios, pareciera que quieres contraer cáncer. - dijo frustrado mientras le echaba un vistazo a sus alrededores.
— Además… Pudiste provocar un incendio. – dijo enojón.
Ese hombre se dirigió a la cocina de la residencia, tal vez buscaba una papelera o una bolsa de basura en los lugares más recónditos de ese oloroso nido de ratas, en su mente juzgaba cada aspecto de la tétrica morada como si fuera un duque de clase alta.
Tanto era su disgusto, que lo dijo en voz alta.
— Si aún vivieras en mi casa... – dijo antes de ser interrumpido.
Antes de que fuera capaz de terminar sus oraciones, Su hijo le comento al instante una verdad obvia e innegable, Una de la cual no podía excusarse.
El joven se encontraba de pie a unos metros de la cocina, apretaba sus puños con todas sus fuerzas.
Había furia y desprecio en sus oraciones, No tuvo respeto al momento de dirigirle la palabra a su figura paterna y de máxima autoridad.
Sin embargo, ese hombre no se mostró furico tras ese comentario, sino frustrado y ofendido: Chasqueo la lengua y desvío la mirada con desagrado, dejó caer al suelo la colilla de cigarrillo que traía consigo en el piso sin seguir dándole importancia a ese fragmento de basura.
Se acercó al fregadero de la cocina para lavarse las manos: En lo que giró la llave del fregadero y empezó a fluir el agua por la tubería, junto sus manos debajo del chorro para restregar sus palmas a la vez que tomó aire por un momento, después de inhalar profundo, con algo de pesar le compartió a su hijo su más sincera opinión.
— Tsk... Bien, haz lo que quieras. No pienso seguir ayudando a una causa perdida. – dijo con seriedad.
¿Habrá sido una provocación o su más sincera declaración?
Sea cuales fueran sus intensiones, esas palabras desataron parte de la durmiente furia del joven.
De alguna forma, esas palabras desgarraron sus emociones de una forma íntima: Como cuando se hiere una fibra sensible.
Pero su padre no se fijó en ese burdo detalle sentimental, en lo que escuchó la pregunta que se le hizo, respondió con una insensible franqueza mientras cerraba la llave del fregadero y se secaba las manos con el abrigo que traía puesto.
Sin pelos en la lengua, le reveló la auténtica causa de su visita repentina.
— A causa de tu madre obviamente, ella se preocupa mucho por ti ¿Sabes? – le dijo con seriedad.
El padre del joven comenzó a aproximarse a él con lentitud mientras golpeaba su espíritu con palabras hirientes.
— Cualquier padre estaría orgulloso de su hijo se independizara por su cuenta... Pero tratándose de ti... Solo le provocas ataques de ansiedad a tu pobre madre. – dijo veraz y con seriedad.
— No llamas, No escribes, Y ni siquiera te das el tiempo de visitarnos. Es como si nos hubieras abandonado.
¿Tienes idea de cómo se siente tu madre al respecto? – le preguntó con firmeza mientras lo veía directamente a los ojos.
— Claro que no, ¿sabes por qué? Porque eres un ingrato, descuidado y egoísta. – dijo sin clemencia hacia su propia sangre.
No tuvo piedad contra su propio primogénito, la decepción y la frustración lo volvieron un hombre insensible que no medía sus palabras a la ligera contra quienes lo escuchaban.
Continuará...
LinkAs soon as the man set foot in his home, he began to stare at his untidy surroundings:
Dirty clothes and garbage strewn all over the floor emanated an intolerable stench in that enclosed space.
With his polished shoes, he brushed aside the filth that he was lucky not to step on as he walked through the area.
On his way, a rather peculiar aroma reached his nose: a noxious and unpleasant smell, like that of tobacco.
— Have you been smoking? - he asked the boy with disgust.
Franklin saw no reason to deny that accusation, so he sighed with displeasure as he averted his gaze to the side while following his elderly father's back.
As he grumbled, guided by the smell plaguing the air, his astute father wandered around the apartment until he found the remains of a smoldering cigarette butt.
As soon as he caught a glimpse of it on the floor, he bent down without bending his knees to pick up the piece of trash with his thumb and forefinger and show it to the inept boy at his back.
— Haven't I told you a thousand times what this stuff does to your lungs? - she reproached him firmly in anger.
When Franklin reproached him for his vice, all he did was keep his hands in his pockets while his eyes were fixed on the ceiling, as if he didn't feel sorry or worried for not taking care of his health.
His father did not stand still in his reproach, he wandered around the apartment to find an appropriate place in which to dispose of the piece of garbage he had in his fingers while criticizing his behavior.
— Good God, you look like you want to get cancer. - he said in frustration as he glanced at his surroundings.
— Besides... You could have started a fire. - he said angrily.
That man went to the kitchen of the residence, perhaps looking for a wastebasket or a garbage bag in the most recondite places of that smelly rat's nest, in his mind he judged every aspect of the gloomy abode as if he were a high class duke.
So much was his disgust, that he said it aloud.
— If you still lived in my house.... - he said before he was interrupted.
Before he was able to finish his sentences, His son instantly told him an obvious and undeniable truth, one for which he could not excuse himself.
Franklin was standing a few feet away from the kitchen, clenching his fists with all his might.
There was fury and contempt in his sentences. He had no respect when he spoke to his father figure and highest authority.
However, that man was not furious after that comment, but frustrated and offended: He clicked his tongue and averted his gaze with displeasure, dropped the cigarette butt he was carrying on the floor without giving any more importance to that piece of garbage.
He approached the kitchen sink to wash his hands: As he turned the sink faucet and the water began to flow through the pipe, he put his hands together under the stream to scrub his palms while taking a moment to breathe in, after inhaling deeply, with some regret he shared his most sincere opinion with his son.
— Tsk... Fine, do what you want. I'm not going to keep helping a lost cause. - he said seriously.
Was it a provocation or his most sincere statement?
Whatever his intentions were, those words unleashed some of the young man's dormant fury.
Somehow, those words tore at his emotions in an intimate way: like when a heartstrings are struck.
But his father took no notice of that crude sentimental detail; as soon as he heard the question put to him, he responded with an insensitive frankness as he turned off the sink faucet and dried his hands with the coat he was wearing.
Without mincing words, he revealed to her the real cause of his sudden visit.
— Because of your mother obviously, she cares a lot about you, you know? - he said seriously.
The young man's father began to approach him slowly as he struck his spirit with hurtful words.
— Any father would be proud of his son becoming independent on his own.... But when it comes to you... You only provoke anxiety attacks in your poor mother. - he said truthfully and seriously.
— You don't call, you don't write, and you don't even take the time to visit us. It's like you've abandoned us.
Do you have any idea how your mother feels about it? - she asked him firmly as she looked him straight in the eye.
— Of course not, do you know why? Because you are ungrateful, careless and selfish. - He said without mercy towards his own flesh and blood.
He had no mercy against his own firstborn, disappointment and frustration turned him into an insensitive man who did not measure his words lightly against those who listened to him.
To be continued...
Excelente escrito!
!HUESO
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