SUPE QUE AQUELLA CHICA, que no sabía quién era, cargaba la prenda que necesitaba para completar mi colección. Cuando se la vi adornando su cuello, algo en mi interior me dijo que era esa la que me faltaba, el anillo, esa alhaja que apareció como por arte de magia en aquel cuello que la lucia sin saber que los aros al igual que las escobas, los trajes, las espadas, los espejos, las varitas mágicas, los libros y las esferas tenían algo en común; eran objetos que habían salvado vidas, que habían dado esperanza y que también habían producido desastres debido al uso que se hizo de ellos; aquel cuello no sabía que esos eran objetos mágicos, reliquias que aparecían en los cuentos de fantasía, pero que en el mundo real también representaban la posibilidad de encender la chispa de la magia.
     De inmediato quise apoderarme del anillo, pero no podía arrancárselo y menos frente al público que había asistido a la exposición que eventualmente se hacía en la Galería de la ciudad; esta vez exponían reliquias indígenas, vasijas de barro que databan de la época precolombina y que habían sido rescatadas por el estado para que fueran del disfruten de todos y no solo de la familia que las conservaba.

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     Cuando la chica se retiró de la galería, la seguí silenciosamente, cuando intenté alcanzarla ya había subido a un taxi y lo único que pude hacer fue tomar el número de la placa y el nombre de la agencia de servicios. Deseaba tener en mis manos a la sortija y junto a los otros objetos que había logrado coleccionar, provocar la chispa de la magia en mi vida, tal como había leído en el Manual de iniciación en magia, del alquimista griego, Ascanio.
     En la mañana concurrí al servicio de taxis y recordando el número de la placa di con el taxista, pero por más que intenté explicarle que necesitaba saber dónde vivía la chica, no quiso decirme ni porque le insistí diciéndole que la chica había dejado un abrigo en la galería y yo quería entregárselo, hasta se lo mostré, pero el taxista me dijo que la dejó en una discoteca. Más tarde me encontraba en la galería, recordé que los que entramos en la exposición habíamos dejado nuestra firma en una libreta para uso testimonial del evento y pedí la libreta para estampar mi firma porque dije que había olvidado hacerlo y aproveché y registré los nombres de las mujeres que asistieron, luego fui a casa y empecé a buscarlas por las redes sociales, una a una, hasta que di con ella.

***

     Se llamaba Sabrina, era oftalmóloga, aparte de tener pacientes en el hospital atendía en varias clínicas. Tomaba café de lunes a viernes, en La espinada, dos veces con amigas diferentes y una vez, sola, en la que aprovechaba para leer; al perseguirla silenciosamente durante varios días llegué a saber tanto de ella, pero lo que más me impresionó fue su orden estrictamente moral, parecía hecha de una disciplina extrema y de una inteligencia natural que le daba cierto misterio, tenía un conocimiento tan certero de sí misma que llegó a recordarme que esas eran las características de alguien dedicado a estudiar magia.
     La suerte me sonrió cuando la Galería de la ciudad anunció una nueva exposición, esta vez pictográfica y algo me decía que Sabrina iría y algo me decía que esta vez sí obtendría el anillo. En efecto, la vi entrar, esta vez con una amiga, se veía imponente con sus tacones, pero sencilla por su sonrisa, luego de las palabras del artista, vino el coctel y en un breve descuido le hablé, le pregunté por la impresión de los cuadros, pero no atendí con sentido a su respuesta porque había notado que no cargaba el anillo, su cuello me parecía común, vulnerable, por un momento me desconcerté y ella se movió, fue entonces cuando nombré el anillo; no hice una pregunta, no hablé de él, solo lo nombré, lo torpemente fuerte que ella lo escuchó, pero no dijo nada y se fue.

***

     Tres semanas después el anillo estaba en mis manos, me había apoderado de él por medios ilícitos. Supe que todos los sábados Sabrina contrataba a una señora para que aseara su casa, donde vivía con su madre y un par de cachorros; supe que la señora que aseaba su casa tenía una emergencia familiar y prometí solventársela a cambio de que me consiguiera el anillo, le dije que si me ayudaba no solo le iba a solventar su problema, sino que estaba dispuesto a seguirla ayudando, le sugerí dónde buscar, cómo hacer para que no la descubrieran y hasta le prometí que si el anillo no me servía para lo que necesitaba, podíamos devolverlo y hasta le hice creer que a lo mejor ni se daban cuenta de que el anillo había salido de su lugar.
     La señora accedió y cuando le preguntaron si sabía algo del anillo alegó que no porque ella no tenía permiso de entrar al cuarto de Sabrina y le creyeron porque era cierto y por la confianza que tenían en ella, pero entonces Sabrina empezó a pensar en el anillo y como si el cerebro lo hubiese estado guardando para la ocasión, le trajo a la memoria la escena en la galería cuando yo nombré el anillo.
     Sabrina fue a la Galería a preguntar si sabían de mí, pero no le dieron detalles, entonces recordó que los visitantes de las exposiciones dejaban sus firmas en una libreta como testimonio del evento y dijo que ese día ella no firmó y ahí aprovechó y registró todos los nombres varoniles y luego en casa, uno por uno, los buscó en las redes sociales hasta que dio conmigo.
     Supo que me llamaba Merbín, que coleccionaba objetos antiguos, pero no toda clase objetos, solo aquellos que tuvieran un nexo, objetos mágicos que según los cuentos de fantasía servían para producir magia. Supo también que me ganaba la vida escribiendo relatos para algunas revistas inglesas, buscó los cuentos y también la manera de recuperar su anillo y algo le decía que yo lo tenía. Lo descubrió cuando una tarde, en que me seguía, me vio entregándole algo a la señora que limpiaba su casa, a la que interrogó con metódica sabiduría y le sacó la verdad.

***

     Cuando se presentó en mi casa con la señora y la policía, yo estaba vuelto un mar de incomprensión, había estudiado metódicamente el Manual de iniciación en magia, del alquimista griego, Ascanio, había juntado las piezas, aquellos objetos mágicos que según decía el libro, debían conectarse cuando les dijera las palabras mágicas y luego irradiar una luz que impactaría en mí encendiendo la chispa de mi magia; en lugar de eso todo aquel ritual me estaba haciendo sentir como un idiota, alguien tan estúpido que había perdido una buena fortuna comprando objetos, y que además estaba a punto de ir preso.
     Cuando la chica entró a mi casa, me vio en mi desilusión, como si el mundo no tuviera sentido para mí, como si todo por lo que hubiera apostado hasta entonces se hubiera derrumbado ante la verdad más cruel que pudiera existir, no existe la magia. No pude mirarla a los ojos, sentía vergüenza conmigo mismo por haber estado engañado toda mi vida, le pedí disculpas por haberla seguido, por saber quiénes eran sus mejores amigas, las horas del café, sus libros favoritos, por todo lo que sabía de ella y por haber tomado su anillo que solo me había provocado la mayor desilusión de mi vida aparte de convertirme en un ladrón.
     Cuando la chica habló, no me miró a los ojos, observaba la colección de objetos, espadas de la época colonial, escobas artesanales, espejos de diferentes modelos, esferas de variados colores, libros antiguos, varitas que alguna vez parecieron mágicas, un par de trajes extraños y en el centro, su anillo.
     ─Por qué mi anillo ─preguntó con cierto interés.
     ─Solo me faltaba un anillo, cuando lo vi en tu cuello, algo en mi interior me dijo que ese era.
     ─¿Y? ¿era?
     ─No.
     ─¿Qué querías que pasara?
     ─Que al unir los objetos y decir las palabras mágicas se conectaran y me conectaran con la magia. Pero la magia no existe.
     ─Es triste, sabes, precisamente me habían dicho que ese anillo era mágico. La persona que me lo regaló me dijo que cambiaría mi vida, pero hasta ahora no lo ha hecho. Discúlpame.
     ─¿Por qué?
     ─Porque también te he seguido, te he espiado; sé lo que escribes, lo que haces y lo que andabas buscando. Lamento que no lo hayas conseguido. Si te sirve de consuelo, no te denunciaré.
     Minutos después, la señora y la policía se habían marchado, y ella estaba triste, se sentía desilusionada de algo, como si el mundo no tuviera sentido, como si de pronto se le derrumbara aquello en lo que creía; no podía entender que no existiera la magia. Fue ahí cuando por fin nos miramos a los ojos, nos vimos tan afectados porque aquella noticia que la misma fuerza de su impacto no nos dejaba voltear la mirada, nos centramos en esa emoción que empezó a hacernos entender que no éramos extraños, que sabíamos el uno del otro, que nos estábamos uniendo a partir de aquel encuentro, gracias a aquel anillo, el que no quiso que le devolviera.
     Un año después nos casamos, luego de descubrir que la verdadera magia no está en los objetos, sino en el amor.

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THE MAGIC OF LOVE

     I KNEW THAT GIRL, who I didn't know who she was, was wearing the garment I needed to complete my collection. When I saw it adorning her neck, something inside me told me that it was the one I was missing, the ring, the jewel that appeared as if by magic on that neck I wore it without knowing that rings, like brooms, suits, swords, mirrors, magic wands, books and spheres had something in common; They were objects that had saved lives, that had given hope and that had also produced disasters because of the use that was made of them; that neck did not know that they were magical objects, relics that appeared in fantasy stories, but that in the real world also represented the possibility of igniting the spark of magic.
     I immediately wanted to take possession of the ring, but I could not tear it off her neck, and even less in front of the public that had attended the exhibition that finally took place in the city's Gallery; this time indigenous relics were on display, clay pots that dated back to pre-Columbian times and that had been rescued by the State to be enjoyed by everyone and not only by the family that kept them.

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     When the girl left the gallery, I followed her silently, when I tried to catch up with her she had already gotten into a cab and the only thing I could do was to take the license plate number and the name of the service agency. I wanted to hold the ring in my hands and together with the other objects I had managed to collect, I wanted to spark magic in my life, just as I had read in the Manual of Initiation in Magic, by the Greek alchemist, Ascanius.
     In the morning I went to the cab service and remembering the license plate number I got to the driver and although I tried to explain to him that I needed to know where the girl lived, he did not want to tell me and I told him that the girl had left a coat in the gallery and I wanted to give it to him, I even showed it to him, but the cab driver told me that he had left the girl in a discotheque. Later I was in the gallery, I remembered that those of us who entered the exhibition had left our signature in a notebook for testimonial use of the event and I asked for the notebook to stamp my signature because I said I had forgotten to do it and I took advantage and wrote down the names of the women who attended, then I went home and started looking for them through the social networks, one by one, until I found it.

***

     Her name was Sabrina, she was an ophthalmologist, besides having patients in the hospital, she attended several clinics. She had coffee at La Espinada from Monday to Friday, twice with different friends and once, alone, when she took the opportunity to read; by silently pursuing her for several days I came to know so much about her, but what impressed me most was her strictly moral order, she seemed to be made of an extreme discipline and a natural intelligence that gave her a certain mystery, she had such an accurate knowledge of herself that she even reminded me that those were the characteristics of someone dedicated to study magic.
     Luck smiled on me when the city Gallery announced a new exhibition, this time pictographic and something told me that Sabrina would go and something told me that this time I would indeed get the ring. Indeed, I saw her enter, this time with a friend, she looked imposing with her heels, but simple by her smile, after the artist's words, came the cocktail and in a brief oversight I spoke to her, I asked her about the print of the paintings, but I did not attend with sense to her answer because I had noticed that she was not carrying the ring, her neck seemed common, vulnerable, for a moment I was puzzled and she moved, it was then when I named the ring; I didn't ask a question, I didn't talk about it, I just named it, awkwardly loud enough for her to hear, but she said nothing and left.

***

     Three weeks later the ring was in my hands, I had taken possession of it by illicit means. I found out that every Saturday Sabrina hired a lady to clean her house, where she lived with her mother and a couple of puppies; I knew that the lady who cleaned her house had a family emergency and I promised her to solve it in exchange for her getting me the ring, I told her that if she helped me I would not only solve her problem, but that I was willing to continue helping her, I suggested where to look, how to avoid being discovered and I even promised her that if the ring was not useful for what she needed, we could return it and I even made her believe that maybe they would not even notice that the ring had left its place.
     The lady agreed and when they asked her if she knew anything about the ring she claimed she did not because she did not have permission to enter Sabrina's room and they believed her because it was true and because of the trust they had in her, but then Sabrina began to think about the ring and as if her brain had been saving it for the occasion, it brought back to her memory the scene in the gallery when I named the ring.
     Sabrina went to the Gallery to ask if they knew about me, but they did not give her details, then she remembered that the visitors of the exhibitions left their signatures in a notebook as a testimony of the event and said that that day she did not sign and there she took advantage and registered all the manly names and then at home, one by one, she looked for them in the social networks until she found me.
     She found out that my name was Merbin, that I collected antique objects, but not all kinds of objects, only those that had a nexus, magical objects that according to fantasy stories were used to produce magic. He also knew that I made a living writing stories for some English magazines, he looked for the stories and also for a way to recover his ring and something told him that I had it. He discovered it when one afternoon, when he was following me, he saw me handing something to the lady who cleaned his house, whom he questioned with methodical wisdom and got the truth out of her.

***

     When he showed up at my house with the lady and the police, I was in a sea of incomprehension, I had methodically studied the Manual of Initiation in Magic, by the Greek alchemist, Ascanio, I had put together the pieces, those magic objects that according to the book, should be connected when I said the magic words and then radiate a light that would impact on me igniting the spark of my magic; instead all that ritual was making me feel like an idiot, someone so stupid that I had lost a good fortune buying objects, and that I was about to go to jail.
     When the girl entered my house, she saw me in my disillusionment, as if the world made no sense to me, as if everything I had bet on until then had collapsed in the face of the cruelest truth that can exist, there is no magic. I couldn't look her in the eyes, I felt ashamed with myself for having been deceived all my life, I asked her forgiveness for having followed her, for knowing who her best friends were, the coffee hours, her favorite books, for everything I knew about her and for having taken her ring that had only caused me the biggest disappointment of my life besides turning me into a thief.
     When the girl entered my house, she saw me in my disillusionment, as if the world made no sense to me, as if everything I had bet on until then had collapsed in the face of the cruelest truth that can exist, magic does not exist. I couldn't look her in the eyes, I felt ashamed with myself for having been deceived all my life, I asked her forgiveness for having followed her, for knowing who her best friends were, the coffee hours, her favorite books, for everything I knew about her and for having taken her ring that had only caused me the biggest disappointment of my life and going to jail.
     When the girl spoke, she didn't look me in the eyes, she was observing the collection of objects, swords from colonial times, handmade brooms, mirrors of different models, spheres of various colors, old books, wands that once seemed magical, a couple of strange costumes and in the center, her ring.
     ─Why my ring ─he asked with some interest.
     ─I was only missing one ring, when I saw it on your neck, something inside me told me it was that one.
     ─So, was it?
     ─No.
     ─What did you want to happen?
     ─That by putting the objects together and saying the magic words they would connect and connect me to magic. But magic doesn't exist.
     ─It's sad, you know, precisely I had been told that ring was magic. The person who gave it to me told me it would change my life, but so far it has not. Forgive me too.
     ─Why?
     ─Because I followed you too, I spied on you; I know what you write, what you do and what you were looking for. I'm sorry you didn't make it. If it's any consolation, I won't report you.
     Minutes later, the lady and the police had left, and she was sad, she felt disillusioned about something, as if the world had no sense, as if suddenly what she believed in had collapsed; she could not understand that magic did not exist. It was there when we finally looked each other in the eyes, we were so affected by that news that the very force of its impact did not let us look away, we focused on that emotion that began to make us understand that we were not strangers, that we knew each other, that we were united from that encounter, thanks to that ring, the one she did not want me to give back to her.
     A year later we got married, after discovering that the real magic is not in objects, but in love.