El cuaderno
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Valeria se encontraba organizado lo que quedaba de su antigua casa cuando encontr贸 el cuaderno en el desv谩n. Entre hojas, peri贸dicos y revistas descansaba, quiz谩s oculto de las miradas indiscretas. A simple vista parec铆a un cuaderno com煤n y corriente de esos que usan los ni帽os en las escuelas y son de color negro. No hab铆a nada fuera de lo com煤n en el cuaderno, unas 100 p谩ginas a rayas con algunas anotaciones hechas a l谩piz y otras a bol铆grafo. En la primera p谩gina en letra simple pero bonita y con tinta roja se pod铆a leer, lo que a los ojos de Valeria se vio como un epitafio: Aqu铆 se escriben las cosas que nadie debe olvidar. Las otras anotaciones se resum铆an en nombres propios desconocidos para ella, fechas que podr铆an ser de cumplea帽os y alg煤n que otro pensamiento suelto, pero que no ten铆a ning煤n sentido.
Valeria lo dej贸 a un lado pensando que eran los recuerdos de su abuela, pero esa noche, antes de dormir, abri贸 el cuaderno. El aburrimiento de la noche y la imposibilidad de quedarse dormida, hizo que hojeara sin preocupaci贸n cada rinc贸n del cuaderno y leyera su contenido. No reconoc铆a ninguno de los nombres, no identificaba las fechas con alg煤n acontecimiento de importancia, salvo por una sola l铆nea escrita a l谩piz, la 煤ltima l铆nea escrita en el cuaderno: Escrib铆 tu nombre para que no lo olvides. Y Valeria reconoci贸 la inconfundible caligraf铆a, sobria y elegante de su abuela. Valeria sonri贸 y, sin pensarlo mucho escribi贸 el nombre de su exnovio, Pablo. Lo tach贸 r谩pidamente, avergonzada de su impulso, y cerr贸 el cuaderno. 驴Qu茅 dir铆an sus amigas si la ven arrastr谩ndose de nuevo por 茅l.
A la ma帽ana siguiente, Pablo la llam贸. Era la primera vez que se comunicaban en tres a帽os. Valeria, desconcertada, le pregunt贸 por qu茅 llamaba.
-No lo s茅 -respondi贸 茅l- anoche so帽茅 contigo y no pod铆a dejar de pensar en tu nombre.
-No me llames m谩s-dijo Valeria
-Ten铆a que llamarte, no dejaba de pensar en ti.
Valeria termin贸 la llamada sin despedirse y sinti贸 un escalofr铆o. Mir贸 el cuaderno que segu铆a sobre la mesa. Hab铆a escrito el nombre de Pablo, y 茅l la hab铆a recordado.
Durante los d铆as siguientes, Valeria experiment贸 con el cuaderno. Escribi贸 el nombre de su profesor de primaria y al d铆a siguiente recibi贸 un correo de 茅l. Escribi贸 la fecha de su graduaci贸n y vivi贸 aquel d铆a de nuevo. Escribi贸 el nombre de un amigo de la infancia, y ese mismo d铆a apareci贸 en su puerta. El poder del cuaderno era real, todo lo que escrib铆a en 茅l volv铆a a la vida de la persona, como si el olvido hubiera sido un hechizo que el cuaderno pod铆a deshacer. Escribi贸 su fecha de cumplea帽os y vio aparecer en su tel茅fono fotograf铆as de ese d铆a y de una fiesta que sus amigos hab铆an olvidado.
Entonces se le ocurri贸 una idea escribir en 茅l la fecha de la muerte de su abuela. Esper贸 a ver qu茅 suced铆a y nada, solo un dolor en su pecho m谩s fuerte, como si reci茅n estuviese viviendo el momento de la noticia, lo entendi贸 r谩pidamente, no paraba de recordar ese d铆a. Trat贸 de borrar la fecha en vano, el dolor segu铆a ah铆. Un impulso de llamar a su madre la invadi贸, no lo hizo por temor.
El cuaderno no solo afectaba el presente, no solo hac铆a recordar, cambiaba el pasado, y ese poder la aterraba, decidi贸 no escribir m谩s fechas.
Valeria escribi贸 el nombre de su padre, un hombre que la hab铆a abandonado cuando ella era ni帽a y dos d铆as despu茅s recibi贸 una carta de 茅l, escrita desde un hospital donde le ped铆a perd贸n antes de morir. El poder del cuaderno no solo tra铆a recuerdos, tambi茅n tra铆a dolores que hab铆an sido sepultados. Escribir un nombre era abrir una puerta que quiz谩s deber铆a seguir cerrada. Valeria comprendi贸 que el cuaderno no era un regalo, sino una responsabilidad. Cada nombre escrito era un v铆nculo revivido, una deuda con el pasado que se reabr铆a. Y al final, decidi贸 escribir su propio nombre. No sab铆a qu茅 pasar铆a, pero necesitaba saber si ella misma pod铆a ser recordada por alguien que la hab铆a olvidado, ella misma. Esa noche, mientras el cuaderno reposaba abierto con su nombre escrito, Valeria so帽贸 con su abuela, que le sonre铆a y le dec铆a: Nunca te olvides de ti, querida.
A la ma帽ana siguiente no hab铆a cuaderno, no hab铆a cartas, no hab铆a hechos cambiados en el pasado, solo hab铆a una mujer que se amaba a ella misma, y que sab铆a que todos se podr铆an olvidar de ella, que no importaba para nada, porque se tendr铆a a s铆 misma por siempre y sus recuerdos, buenos o malos y eso la hac铆a quien era.
The notebook
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Valeria was organizing what was left of her old house when she found the notebook in the attic. He rested among sheets, newspapers and magazines, perhaps hidden from prying eyes. At first glance it looked like an ordinary black notebook. There was nothing out of the ordinary in the notebook, about 100 lined pages with some notes made in pencil and others in pen. On the first page, in simple but beautiful writing and with red ink, one could read what, in Valeria's eyes, was seen as an epitaph: Here are written the things that no one should forget. The other notes were summarized in names unknown to her, dates that could have been birthdays, and the occasional stray thought, but which made no sense.
Valeria put it aside thinking they were her grandmother's memories, but that night, before going to sleep, she opened the notebook. The boredom of the night and the impossibility of falling asleep made her flip through every corner of the notebook without worry and read its contents. I didn't recognize any of the names, I didn't identify the dates with any important event, except for a single line written in pencil, the last line written in the notebook: I wrote your name so you don't forget it. And Valeria recognized the unmistakable, sober and elegant handwriting of her grandmother. Valeria smiled and, without thinking much, wrote the name of her ex-boyfriend, Pablo. She crossed it out quickly, ashamed of her impulse, and closed the notebook. What would her friends say if they saw her crawling after him again.
The next morning, Pablo called her. It was the first time they had communicated in three years. Valeria, puzzled, asked him why he was calling.
-I don't know -he answered- last night I dreamed about you and I couldn't stop thinking about your name.
"Don't call me again," said Valeria.
-I had to call you, I couldn't stop thinking about you.
Valeria ended the call without saying goodbye and felt a chill. He looked at the notebook still on the table. She had written Pablo's name, and he had remembered her.
Over the next few days, Valeria experimented with the notebook. He wrote down the name of his primary school teacher and the next day he received an email from him. He wrote down the date of his graduation and lived that day again. He wrote down the name of a childhood friend, and that same day he appeared at his door. The power of the notebook was real, everything that was written in it came back to the person's life, as if oblivion had been a spell that the notebook could undo. He typed in his birthday and saw photos of that day and a party his friends had forgotten appear on his phone.
Then he had an idea to write the date of his grandmother's death on it. He waited to see what would happen and nothing, just a stronger pain in his chest, as if he were just experiencing the moment of the news, he understood it quickly, he couldn't stop remembering that day. He tried to erase the date in vain, the pain was still there. An impulse to call her mother came over her, she didn't do it out of fear.
The notebook not only affected the present, it not only made people remember, it changed the past, and that power terrified her, she decided not to write down any more dates.
Valeria wrote the name of her father, a man who had abandoned her when she was a child, and two days later she received a letter from him, written from a hospital where he asked for forgiveness before dying. The power of the notebook not only brought back memories, it also brought back pain that had been buried. Writing a name was opening a door that perhaps should remain closed. Valeria understood that the notebook was not a gift, but a responsibility. Each name written was a revived link, a debt to the past that was reopened. And in the end, he decided to write his own name. She didn't know what would happen, but she needed to know if she herself could be remembered by someone who had forgotten her, herself. That night, while the notebook lay open with her name written on it, Valeria dreamed of her grandmother, who smiled at her and said: Never forget yourself, dear.
The next morning there was no notebook, there were no letters, there were no changed events in the past, there was only a woman who loved herself, and who knew that everyone could forget about her, that it didn't matter at all, because she would have herself forever and her memories, good or bad and that made her who she was.