La chica del bar no recordaba a aquel señor, ya ella tenía cinco años trabajando allí y era la primera vez que lo veía.

—¿Y qué es lo que te preocupa? — dijo Madam Tiffany, — Será un cliente más, así que, ocúpate.

—Si Madam, veré qué desea.

—No es para que lo enamores, pero háblale, escucha su historia.

El viejo la miró, le dejó una sonrisa obligada que ella sintió como si le dijera: no quiero hablar con nadie, pero ella lo ignoró y se sentó.

—Deme un licor fuerte, creo que me hace falta, Ud. es muy joven para mí, yo… creo que ando buscando otros rumbos, quizás más tranquilos.

—¿Cree que no he vivido lo suficiente para entenderlo?

—No he dicho eso, pero cuando camino por esas calles, quisiera no llegar a mi casa, soy como un fantasma, de esos que están pegados a un cuadro, donde una fotografía va perdiendo los grises, mutan a un sepia, una imagen borrosa, desde allí los miro a todos, como discuten, se lanzan los platos, los niños gritan y yo estoy ahí, me miran como cualquier objeto que se va diluyendo en el tiempo.

—¿Y su esposa?

El pareció perder la mirada en la calle que ya se vestía de silencio y penumbra, había algunos clientes que jugaban dominó, un par de muchachos hacían de mirones y reían de algunos chistes, más allá, Madam Tiffany, charlaba con un hombre de edad indefinida, ella reía con cierto alboroto y en la barra dos parejas apostaban quien caería primero.
El viejo tomó un trago de licor y sacudió la cabeza.

—Nunca habías venido a este bar, no te había visto antes.

—Cualquier bar es bueno para escanciar las penas, hoy el azar me trajo, con esos pasos que nadie oye, ese silencio que me acompaña... ¿Mi esposa?... todavía recuerdo cuando jugábamos a ser felices, no sé cuánto tiempo hace que dejó de verme, es como si todos se pusieron de acuerdo para hacerme invisible, olvidarme.

—¿Y por qué no se va y los deja? Ud. Puede hacer su vida sin ellos, bueno, son cosas que se me ocurren.

—No sé preocupe, yo, ya me fui, solo regreso sobre mis pasos para verlos, así de sencillo, les dejo mi olor, mi respiración, esa mirada dónde decía tantas cosas y el grito que siempre les quise dar, pero que yo lo ahogaba con licor, ya verá, ya lo vera.

Ella miró a la calle, luego le sonrió a Madam Tiffany, que no paraba de mostrar su risa hilarante. La chica se levantó de la mesa y recogió las copas, miró con tristeza la silla vacía y después levantó la mirada para ver la raída fotografía que llevaba en su bolsillo, donde un viejo desaparecía en unos grises que el tiempo iba borrando y ella, ahora trataba de fijarlos en su memoria.

The girl in the bar didn't remember the man, she had been working there for five years and it was the first time she had seen him.

—And what are you worried about? — said Madam Tiffany, — He will be just another customer, so take care of it.
—Yes Madam, I'll see what he wants.
—It's not for you to make him fall in love, but talk to him, listen to his story.

The old man looked at her, gave her a forced smile that she felt as if he was telling her: I don't want to talk to anyone, but she ignored him and sat down.

—Give me some hard liquor, I think I need it. You're too young for me, I... I think I'm looking for other, perhaps quieter, directions.

—Do you think I haven't lived long enough to understand?

—I didn't say that, but when I walk through those streets, I don't want to get home, I'm like a ghost, one of those that are glued to a painting, where a photograph loses its greys, mutates into a sepia, a blurred image, from there I look at them all, how they argue, throw plates at each other, the children scream and I'm there, they look at me like any object that is diluted in time.

—And his wife?

He seemed to lose his gaze in the street that was already dressed in silence and gloom, there were some customers playing dominoes, a couple of boys were watching and laughing at some jokes, further on, Madam Tiffany, was chatting with a man of indeterminate age, she was laughing with some commotion and at the bar two couples were betting on who would fall first. The old man took a swig of liquor and shook his head.

—You've never been to this bar before, I've never seen you before.
—Any bar is a good place to drink away your sorrows, today chance brought me here, with those footsteps that nobody hears, that silence that accompanies me? My wife?... I still remember when we used to play at being happy, I don't know how long it's been since she stopped seeing me, it's as if they all agreed to make me invisible, to forget me.

—So why don't you go away and leave them? You can do your life without them, well, these are things that come to my mind.

—Don't worry, I'm already gone, I'll just retrace my steps to see them, it's as simple as that, I'll leave them my smell, my breath, that look where I said so many things and the scream I always wanted to give them, but I drowned it with liquor, you'll see, you'll see.

She looked at the street, then smiled at Madam Tiffany, who kept showing her hilarious laughter. The girl got up from the table and picked up the glasses, looked sadly at the empty chair and then looked up to see the tattered photograph in her pocket, where an old man was disappearing into the greys that time was erasing and she was now trying to fix them in her memory.