Victoria felt her body tremble when she saw Margareth walk through the door of the room. She quickly picked up the cup of tea she was drinking and took a long sip of the hot liquid, burying her face in the stoneware, as if she could hide her unease in that small piece of cheap crockery.
She had fantasized so many times about all the possible encounters with Margareth that she kept a creepy script of each one. In those numerous staged scenes, Victoria knew exactly what to say, word for word, the facial expressions she should make, the posture of her body, the movement of her hands, the depth of her gaze; everything was perfectly scripted in her head. However, that day she was there, destroyed, crumbling on a bench in that terrible establishment.
His relationship with Margareth had not lasted long. It was a brief moment shared by their sad lives. Paradoxically, it was this fleetingness that tormented Victoria, who stubbornly needed to make sense of everything that happened to her and refused to accept that Margareth would become that unresolved issue, that bitter nonsense. It didn't take long for her to start planning another meeting with Margareth, now much more so, as she was so close to her.
She violently went through three or two scenarios. In any of them, she saw herself as sad and dissatisfied. Her pulse began to quicken, her hands trembled a little. At that moment, she knew she had to get out of there, that she had to throw in the towel, that she had to give up and let things stay that way, frozen in that unfinished ending. She drank the last of her tea and was about to leave when she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. At the touch, without having to look, she knew it was Margareth's hand, but she couldn't react because the hoarse voice of her former friend overwhelmed her, saying, "What are you doing here?
She turned slowly, until she met Margareth's cloudy eyes. She looked her up and down, not surprised to see that she was holding a beer in one of her hands, only then noticing the unbearable smell of alcohol. Victoria was about to turn away again, not wanting to answer that or any other question, but Margareth stopped her, holding her tightly by the shoulder. “What are you doing here?” she asked again. And before Victoria could answer or even utter a word, Margareth burst out in front of her:
“I'm glad to see you. I hope you're okay. I don't know what to say to you. I'm shaking.”
Victoria still said nothing. She didn't know if it was her body trembling or Margareth's tremors through her bony hand, which still rested on her shoulder.
“I know, I suddenly walked away,” Margareth continued, “but I didn't just walk away from you, I walked away from everyone and everything. I'm in a bad way, I'm aware of that. You can't imagine how many nights I've lain awake thinking about how to tell you.”
Victoria listened impatiently to Margareth, who seemed to fade away with every word. Victoria still didn't understand what Margareth was trying to tell her. For a moment, Victoria wanted to shout at her, to tell her that she wouldn't wait any longer, that she too had been losing sleep since her departure, that it wasn't fair to leave like that. Victoria wanted to cry the tears she had denied herself because of Margareth's absence. She wanted to cry for that strange woman who would no longer be her friend, or who perhaps had never been her friend. She wanted to cry for her and cry for herself, because by losing her, she felt like she was losing a little bit of herself, as she had with every past loss. But she didn't do it, nor did she say it. The only thing she could utter was the question that would finally break Margareth down: “What do you want to tell me? To which Margareth replied: ”Victoria, I couldn't and can't live up to your expectations. I'm sorry.
At that moment, the stoneware cup slipped from Victoria's hand. The sound of the clay hitting the counter could have been a little louder, but another delicate, muffled sound came from Victoria's cup. It was the sound of small bells hanging on the door of the establishment, announcing that Margareth was leaving. Victoria was stunned, while a waiter cleaned up the spilled tea before it dripped onto Victoria's pants. The hot tea she hadn't finished was lost in a new conversation she never had with her friend. Or rather, the woman who, from that day on, would only be someone she used to know.
Original content by the author.
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Translated with Deepl.com
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Victoria...y Margareth (Ingles/Español)
Victoria sintió que su cuerpo se estremecía cuando vio que Margareth atravesaba la puerta del recinto. Tomo rápidamente la taza del té que se estaba bebiendo y sorbió largamente el líquido caliente, hundiendo su cara en el gres, como si pudiese esconder su desasosiego en esa pequeña pieza de vajilla barata.
Había fantaseado tantas veces todos los posibles encuentros con Margareth, que guardaba un libreto espeluznante de cada uno de ellos. En esos numerosos montajes escénicos, Victoria sabía muy bien lo que debía decir, palabra por palabra, las muecas que debía gesticular, la postura de su cuerpo, el movimiento de sus manos, la profundidad de su mirada; todo estaba perfectamente guionizado en su cabeza. Sin embargo, ese día estaba allí destruida, desmoronándose sobre un banco de aquel terrible establecimiento.
Su vínculo con Margareth no había durado mucho. Un breve paso compartido por sus tristes existencias. Paradójicamente, está fugacidad era lo que tanto atormentaba a Victoria, quien necesitaba obstinadamente darle un sentido a todo lo que le ocurría y se negaba a aceptar que Margareth se convirtiera en ese asunto sin resolver, en su amargo sin sentido. No tardo en comenzar a proyectarse otro encuentro con Margareth, ahora mucho mas, que estaba tan cerca de ella.
Transitó violentamente tres o dos escenarios. En cualquiera de ellos, se vio triste e insatisfecha. Su pulso comenzó a acelerarse, las manos le temblaban un poco. En ese momento supo que debía salir de allí, que debía tirar la toalla, que debía rendirse y dejar que las cosas se quedaran así, congeladas en aquel final inconcluso. Bebió lo último de su té y se dispuso a irse, cuando sintió una mano pesada en su hombro. A simple tacto, sin tener que mirar, supo que era la mano de Margareth, pero no pudo reaccionar, porque la voz ronca de la que había sido su amiga la atropello diciendo - ¿Qué haces aquí?
Se dio la vuelta lentamente, hasta encontrarse con los ojos turbios de Margareth. La vio de arriba a abajo, no le sorprendió ver que llevaba una cerveza en una de sus manos, solo hasta ese momento se percato del insoportable olor a alcohol. Victoria se dispuso a darse nuevamente la vuelta, no quería responder esa ni otra pregunta, pero Margareth la atajo, sujetándola fuertemente del hombro -¿qué haces aquí? - pregunto nuevamente. Y antes de que Victoria pudiera responder o si quiera chistar, Margareth se desbordo frente a ella:
-Me da gusto verte, espero que estés bien. No se que decirte. Estoy temblando.
Victoria seguía sin decir nada, tampoco sabia si lo que sentía era su cuerpo temblando o los temblores de Margaerth a través de la mano huesuda, que aun permanecía sobre su hombro.
-Lo sé, me aleje de pronto - continuo Margareth - pero no solo me aleje de ti, también lo hice con todos y todo. Estoy mal, soy consciente de ello, no te imaginas las noches que me he desvelado pensando en como decírtelo.
Victoria escuchaba impaciente a Margareth, mientras esta, parecía desvanecerse con cada palabra. Victoria seguía sin entender que era lo que Margareth quería decirle. Por un momento Victoria quiso gritarle, decirle que no esperaría mas, que ella también coleccionaba desvelos desde su partida, que no era justo irse así. Victoria quería llorar las lagrimas que se había negado por la ausencia de Margareth, quería llorar por esa mujer extraña que ya no seria mas su amiga o que tal vez nunca lo había sido. Quería llorarla y llorarse, porque al perderle, sentía que se perdía un poquito a si misma, como en cada perdida pasada. Pero no lo hizo, tampoco lo dijo, lo único que pudo pronunciar fue la pregunta que finalmente desarmaría a Margareth - ¿Qué es lo que quieres decirme? A lo que Margareth respondió - Victoria, no pude y no puedo llenar tus expectativas, lo siento.
En ese instante la taza de gres resbalo de la mano de Victoria, pudo sonar un poco mas fuerte el golpe de la arcilla sobre el mesón, pero otro delicado sonido opaco el de la taza de Victoria. Se trataba de unas pequeñas campanitas que colgaban de la puerta del establecimiento, que estaban anunciando que Margareth se marchaba, Victoria se quedo pasmada, mientras un mesero limpiaba el té regado antes de que escurriera hacia el pantalón de Victoria. El té caliente que no se había acabado, perdida en una nueva conversación que nunca tuvo con su amiga. O mejor dicho, la mujer que desde ese día, solo seria alguien a quien solía conocer.
Contenido original del autor.
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