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El violador

Una tarde de invierno me acosté en el sofá de mi casa, distraído por un momento no percaté que mi hija afuera de mi casa le acariciaban su rostro suave y delicadamente. De pronto mi esposa desesperada por no ver a la pequeña y exaltada me dice y Martita donde esta? Corrí con mi cuerpo encogido de susto y abrí la puerta de un jalón, al ver en el jardín como disfrutaba de aquellas hermosas flores y como el agua de la lluvia caía suavemente sobre su rostro, mi desespero y todo el frío del momento desapareció. Con solo verla mi cuerpo se cobijó de tranquilidad inmensa, porque había llegado a mi mente aquella persona que había abusado de una niña y solo quedó el rastro de sus huellas.

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One winter afternoon I lay down on the sofa in my house, distracted for a moment I did not notice that my daughter outside my house was caressing her face gently and delicately. Suddenly my wife, desperate not to see the little and excited, tells me and Martita where is she? I ran with my body shrunken with fright and opened the door with a jerk, seeing in the garden how he enjoyed those beautiful flowers and how the rainwater fell gently on his face, my despair and all the cold of the moment disappeared. Just by seeing her, my body was sheltered with immense tranquility, because that person who had abused a girl had come to my mind and only a trace of her footprints remained.

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