Very good story or story that I read.
His life melted like sugar in the water, almost literally.
In June, the most stormy and ferocious storm of the last decade approached. It began at night, suddenly, the bastard who was, with all his fury, on that distant and humble little town in Santa Fe where the protagonist of this story lived.
Such was the speed with which the level of the daring river rose, that it assaulted with its black waters each house of the town.
His home was very close to the side of Paraná, in a somewhat low area, so in a matter of seconds our friend found himself swimming to save his life. He was the only one to come out alive. His wife did not have the strength to keep up with her husband. The little ones, the eight that were, did not even appear at the scene. He thought they did not even have time to wake up to realize they were breathing water and mud. They had not suffered, and that was the best consolation he could find when he thought about what had happened, after he reached a point of firm ground near the center of town.
He looked around there. It was all heaven, and he thought that fortunately he himself had died too, down there. A boat passed in front of him and with the swell it generated broke the spell, bringing it back to the disturbing reality: the whole town was submerged. The clouds that he saw at his feet were the mere reflection of the sky, which spent a cruel joke using the water as a mirror.
He wanted to get on one of those boats, but there was no place for him. "Only women and children," repeated a makeshift captain. His stomach churned with anger as one of the children carried his dog sitting next to him.
The few boats that were healthy were occupied only by women, children and the elderly. Oh, and that hateful dog, of course.
At that time he had a revelation: he would not leave if it was not by his own means.
From the small mound that jutted out of the water and served as a floor (what was that? The roof of a house? A silo? A tractor?), From there he traced in his head the path he would have to follow to approach the only piece of solid ground, which also served to leave the village: the route. It rose above the new level of the river, raised by almost vertical shoulders.
He took a breath and left. He was jumping from point to point, whether that was a roof, a trunk, a piece of furniture that floated ... Sometimes he would bluff and fall half a body into the water, and he would leave his breath in every attempt not to fall completely into the river.
Some people who saw him would come and help him. On one occasion a girl boarded him in a boat, but as he was heading towards the opposite side of his target, he only jumped on the boat, without first thanking him, even with the red and desperate look of those who lost him. everything, even sanity.
It cost him a lot to arrive, but he arrived. He reached his goal in the evening, considering the difficulty of moving forward, because sometimes there was nothing to hold on to and he had to wait for something to float there; other times, he had to hide from Prefectura, who had gone to help them, but he already had his goal very clear: he would leave there on his own. Besides, he could never accept the help of those who impose authority just by carrying a weapon on his shoulder.
With almost no light came to the shoulder that rose from the waters at a steep angle, impossible to climb with its mud walls. He climbed as he could to a cold flat surface.
At last the asphalt. It gave him chills, his skin prickled, his pupils doubled in size, waiting to see the white lines painted on the black floor.
He saw very little, the moon and its light were hostages of the clouds. He sat for a moment looking towards the town, to catch his breath; and saw small lights twinkling. The biggest and constant points were the lights of the camera of some television mobile that had arrived at the place, even before the firemen and the Red Cross.
That town was that: a weak little light on the verge of extinction. He remembered at that moment the fireflies that in happier times, went out to the country and warned him that it was time to go home, with his wife and children. Those days were good, but they would not come back. The rain that hit his face told him that it was in vain to think about the past. It was time to move on.
He fixed his feet on the asphalt, moved his fingers, as if they were going to tell him which way to start walking. He looked at his sides, moved his nose, took off his tight lips - ironically he had a very dry mouth. He must decide where to go, or the cold would immobilize him forever.
One side of the route seemed to have more light, besides that the wind was blowing in that direction and maybe it would help him get there faster wherever he was.
He started to move forward. The rain regained intensity, and the wind made him company.
For a while there was only the rain and the grinding of the few trees near the road. He stopped a couple of times, thinking about the possibility that the right way was the opposite ... as soon as he turned around, the rain hit him full in the eyes and he could not see anything. Why make things worse?
That clarity that he imagined moments before, suddenly concentrated, took shape and strength. It became more intense, at times it changed direction, it went wandering, lost. He thought that it was a person to whom the same thing had happened to him, with the exception that he had a flashlight and illuminated his irregular and tired steps, sure by the anguish of having lost everything, just like him.
He kept moving forward, and saw that the light was coming fast now, and that it was not a single ray of light, but two. He approached so quickly and abruptly that he could not even realize at what moment he came to be in front of him.
In the same way that his children would not have woken up to know that they would die drowned, he could not even think that he would die run over by a transit patrol car.
So it was that our friend almost left this world.
And I say almost, because part of him - his leg - today hangs swaying in the rearview mirror of the patrol car, wooed by a red belt and a little stamp of San Expedito.
