Marcus watched the sky above Insis from the train car window. He hadn't been back since he was a teenager to this almost uninhabited place. He took deep breaths every minute, imagining what he would encounter ahead. His mind fogged with deductions leading to eminent sadness.
He was now an adult, a successful accountant. He was no longer a country boy, but a city man. Busy life was his style and the noise of car horns fueled his optimism. The green fields flooded with bird and insect noises were already insignificant compared to the unimaginable numbers he contemplated every day. Work was his passion, his family, his wife, and his worldview.
During the trip, all he could think about was getting out of this business and getting back to work as soon as possible. He has ignored all his life and his mother's requests, but from this one, he could not escape. Grandma was ill and very seriously, that news stirred Marcus' hard heart. Despite everything, he loved her very much, as if she were his real mother, for she always believed in him; in his dreams and longings.
As he pondered, his thoughts were snatched away as he gazed at the field of sunflowers. Marcus shuddered, he knew he was already close to his grandmother's house. He remembered when he was a boy and went to the field to talk to the sunflowers. He treated them as if they were his friends, and gave them strange names every day as he imagined a new adventure. He would collect the most beautiful ones and take them to his grandmother's house, and she would place them in a glass jar with fresh water from the river near the field. A smile came to Marcus' face as he visualized this memory, back then, seeing his grandmother happy was everything to him.
Finally, the train pulled into the station. Marcus sighed and walked out of the stop with his suitcase to the nearest hill. From there he could glimpse his grandmother's house, and as he looked in that direction, he was overcome with dismay.
His eyes bulged as he gazed at that house with a dark countenance. The sun offered not a glimpse of its light. The walls from afar were a deep gray. Marcus drew closer and each detail he saw was worse than the last. His heart crumbled at the sight of his childhood home in ruins. That bright pastel color was replaced by shadows. The windows were fogged with corpuscles and the panes of glass bore crack marks. The walls were crumbling as was the gate outside the porch. The ceiling was covered with dirt and the wooden pillars were dry and aged. Marcus no longer recognized the place; he even doubted that it was the home he loved so much as a child.
As they were almost on the porch, Marcus' mother immediately stepped out the door. They both stared at each other in shock; inert as statues. A few seconds of silence passed until Marcus' mother spoke.
"I thought you weren't coming...," she said, holding a cigarette in her hand. Marcus's mother, Elaine, was never very expressive. Marcus remembers her as a cold, nonconformist, and capricious woman. She always relapsed into the same vices and ambitions, but her whims were devastated by raising Marcus and taking care of Grandma since her husband left.
"I told you I'd come," he said, almost whispering, his voice trembling as if he didn't want to answer her. Marcus watched his mother closely and noticed something different about her; it wasn't her physical appearance, but something in the definition of her face; it was an expression, an effigy that was settling in like a seed until it matured. Marcus tried to think about it, but he could not conclude.
"It's been ten years since I've seen you," Elaine stated. "You're just like you look in your pictures. You look a lot like your... your father."
There was a stony silence between the two. Marcus shuddered. How dare he mention it, he thought. Ever since her father abandoned them, Elaine had maintained a stern stance. She resorted to vices more frequently and often forgot about her son. Marcus always resented his mother. He detested her. He thought that because of her his father had abandoned them, because he could not please her wishes and her insistent demands. He realized that she never showed love for him, but unbearable contempt just because he led a nonconformist life.
When his father left, the relationship between Marcus and his mother was in ruins; as devastated as the facade of that house Marcus didn't want to ask about it.
"I just came to see Grandma," Marcus broke the silence with a tone of Coolness. Elaine ran her hand lightly through her red-tinged hair, sucked in a sip of her cigarette, and folded her arms.
"She's in her room, lying down," she replied.
Marcus gripped his suitcase tightly and walked past his mother's side without looking at her. He walked into the house and shuddered at how changed it was. The cheerful pastel colors were replaced by dun and vermilion. There was a musty smell that couldn't be eluded; perhaps a broken pipe or a mold problem.
Marcus ignored everything in sight. He hurriedly made his way to his grandmother's room, anxious to see her. As he entered, his heart twisted with sadness. She was prostrate with her eyes closed and her mouth open. Her skin was very pale, parched, and wrinkled. Her sunken, shadowed eyes gave Marcus an ominous feeling. He moved closer to her and noticed that she was breathing; it was a relief, as she looked like a living corpse.
She suddenly inhaled sharply and opened her eyes, and as she caught a glimpse of the face in front of her, her countenance changed color.
"Ronald, is that you?" Grandma said in amazement. Marcus was stunned at that.
"No, Grandma... It's me, Marcus," Marcus replied. Grandma's eyes bugged out.
"Oh..., but of course it's you. You look just like him, you know that?"
"Yes... Mom told me when I got here," Marcus replied, twisting his lower lip.
"She told me you'd come. You came and now I can die in peace...," Grandma said in a whispering tone.
"Don't say that!" Marcus responded immediately. "You're going to be all right. When I was a boy, you used to tell me you were going to live a thousand years... You have to keep your promise," several tears slid down Marcus' cheeks.
"Oh, dear, I'm so sorry. I've wanted to tell you about my illness for a long time, but I didn't want to worry you. You already have a life of your own, a job..."
"You've always been very important to me, you know that!" Marcus interrupted. "You were the light that gave light to this house, now look at it the way it is, it looks like a ruined place!"
"Your mother has never known how to maintain it, but I don't blame her, she's fighting her demons. Believe it or not, she's a good person, she's just hoping you'll see that and give her another chance."
"I can't believe it..." said Marcus with a hardened face. "I can't believe she's changed and now she has feelings. She never had anything for me."
"You're wrong!" Grandma interrupted. "She doesn't know how to deal with feelings, when she had you, she didn't know how to cope and no one in her family was there for her. She didn't want to get married or be a mother, and her lack of affection for you just kept driving her into a circle of discord. If she didn't care about us, she would have just walked away after you left, but she stayed to take care of me. She did it for you."
"For me?"
"Yes... She knows that I'm very important to you and that all the money, pictures, and messages you were sending were for me. Staying, was the only way for her to hear from you. Give her a chance, please do it for me. That's all I ask of you..."
Marcus pondered in silence at Grandma's words.
After a long talk, Marcus went down to the kitchen, where his mother was smoking a cigarette on the door frame. She looked at him with watery eyes; exacerbated by a lacerating, unbearable feeling.
"What will happen to you and this house when Grandma dies?" Marcus asked.
Elaine stubbed out her cigarette and flicked it away before answering. "I'll fix this house up and sell it. I know you don't care where I go, I'll just tell you that's what I'll do."
"Why don't you stay here?" Marcus asked. "Grandma told me she'll leave you everything."
"I don't want to live among bad memories anymore...," she replied. "I know you will always think I'm the bad one. Yes, I made a lot of mistakes with you and your father, but I can't live in the past anymore and continue to suffer some kind of condemnation," as she finished speaking, she wanted to withdraw, but Marcus stopped her.
"I'm sorry..." said Marcus with his eyes misty with tears. "I know you never wanted this life, that you had high aspirations. I'm sorry for causing you harm and being a part of your pain."
Elaine was petrified for a second but then reacted by placing her hand on her son's face.
"Oh dear, you were never part of my pain, it was me who didn't want this and I just had to conform. I had to hide my feelings with you, for, if I released them, I could hurt you. If I was indifferent to you all this time, forgive me... It was never my intention to hurt you."
Marcus embraced his mother broken down in tears. They were both wrapped in gasps of screams, releasing all the pain of the past. The foundations of that crumbling relationship began to shift, granting another step to the foundations of redemption.
The following day, the weight of grief settled over the house. Grandma had passed away, with no shortage of mourning tears and sunflowers falling over her lifeless body. Marcus vowed that he would fulfill his beloved grandmother's one request and so he did; from that day forward he began to work on his relationship with his mother and repair it.
After the funeral, Marcus left to return to the city, but first, he made one last stop by walking through the sunflower field. Elaine, as she had said, decided to restore the house to its former glory, not to sell it, but to stay there. Now, every morning, as was the custom, she picked sunflowers from the field and placed them in her mother-in-law's favorite glass pitcher of fresh river water.
THE END
Marcus observaba el cielo sobre Insis desde la ventana del vagón del tren. No había vuelto desde que era un adolescente a este casi deshabitado lugar. Respiraba profundo cada minuto, imaginando lo que se iba a encontrar más adelante. Su mente se empañó con deducciones que conducían a una eminente tristeza.
Ahora era un adulto, un contador exitoso. Ya no era un chico de campo, sino un hombre de ciudad. La vida ajetreada era su estilo y el ruido de las bocinas de auto alimentaban su optimismo. Los verdes campos inundados por ruidos de aves e insectos ya eran insignificantes comparados con las cifras inimaginables de números que cada día contemplaba. El trabajo era su pasión, su familia, su esposa y cosmovisión.
Durante el viaje, solo pensaba en salir de este asunto y volver cuanto antes a trabajar. Ha ignorado toda su vida las peticiones de su madre, pero de esta no pudo escapar. La abuela estaba enferma y con mucha gravedad, aquella noticia removió el duro corazón de Marcus. A pesar de todo, él la quería mucho, como si fuera su verdadera madre, pues siempre creyó en él; en sus sueños y anhelos.
Mientras cavilaba, sus pensamientos fueron arrebatados al contemplar el campo de girasoles. Marcus se estremeció, sabía que ya estaba cerca de la casa de su abuela. Recordó cuando era niño e iba al campo a conversar con los girasoles. Los trataba como si fuesen sus amigos, y les ponía nombres extraños cada día al imaginar una nueva aventura. Recolectaba los más hermosos y los llevaba a casa de su abuela, y ella los colocaba en una jarra de cristal con agua fresca del río cercano al campo. Una sonrisa se dibujó en el rostro de Marcus al visualizar este recuerdo, en aquel entonces, ver a su abuela feliz era todo para él.
Finalmente, el tren llegó a la estación. Marcus suspiró y salió de la parada con su única maleta hasta la colina más cercana. Desde allí podía vislumbrar la casa de su abuela y, al fijar la mirada en aquella dirección, quedó abatido por la consternación.
Sus ojos se desorbitaron al contemplar aquella casa con un semblante oscuro. El sol no ofrecía ni un atisbo de su luz. Las paredes desde lejos ostentaban un color gris profundo. Marcus se acercaba y cada detalle que percibía era peor que el anterior. Su corazón se desmoronó al ver el hogar de su niñez en ruinas. Aquel color pastel brillante fue reemplazado por el de las sombras. Las ventanas estaban empañadas de corpúsculos y los cristales tenían marcas de fisuras. Las paredes se hallaban derruidas al igual que el portón afuera del pórtico. El techo estaba cubierto de suciedad y los pilares de madera estaban secos y añejos. Marcus ya no reconocía aquel lugar; incluso dudó de que fuera el hogar que tanto amó de niño.
Al estar casi en el pórtico, la madre de Marcus salió inmediatamente por la puerta. Ambos se miraron fijamente, sorprendidos; inertes como estatuas. Pasaron unos segundos de silencio hasta que la madre de Marcus habló.
“Pensé que no vendrías…,” dijo ella, sosteniendo un cigarrillo en su mano. La madre de Marcus, Elaine, nunca fue muy expresiva. Marcus la recuerda como una mujer fría, inconforme y caprichosa. Siempre recaía en los mismos vicios y ambiciones, pero sus caprichos eran devastados por criar a Marcus y cuidar de la abuela desde que su marido se fue.
“Te dije que vendría,” dijo él, casi susurrante, con la voz trémula como si no quisiera contestarle. Marcus observó a su madre con detenimiento y notó algo diferente en ella; no era su aspecto físico, sino algo en la definición de su rostro; era una expresión, una efigie que se fue instalando como una semilla hasta madurar. Marcus intentó cavilar en ello, pero no pudo llegar a una conclusión.
“Han pasado diez años desde que no te veo,” Manifestó Elaine. “Eres tal y como te ves en tus fotos. Te pareces mucho a tu… a tu padre.”
Hubo un silencio sepulcral entre ambos. Marcus se estremeció. ¿Cómo se atreve a mencionarlo?, pensó. Desde que su padre los abandonó, Elaine mantuvo una postura severa. Recurría a los vicios con más frecuencia y muchas veces se olvidaba de su hijo. Marcus siempre tuvo resentimiento contra su madre. La detestaba. Pensaba que por su culpa su padre los había abandonado, porque no pudo complacer sus deseos y sus insistentes exigencias. Se dio cuenta que ella nunca demostró amor hacia él, sino un desprecio inaguantable solo porque llevaba una vida inconforme.
Cuando su padre se marchó, la relación entre Marcus y su madre quedó en ruinas; tan devastada como la fachada de aquella casa por la que Marcus no quiso preguntar.
“Solo vine a ver a la abuela,” Marcus rompió el silencio con un tono de Frialdad. Elaine pasó su mano levemente por su cabello teñido de rojo, aspiró un sorbo de su cigarrillo y se cruzó de brazos.
“Está en su cuarto, acostada,” ella contestó.
Marcus tomó su maleta con fuerza y pasó por un costado de su madre sin mirarla. Entró a la casa y se estremeció por lo cambiada que estaba. Los colores alegres pasteles fueron reemplazados por el pardo y el bermellón. Había un olor a humedad que no se podía eludir; quizás una tubería rota o un problema con el moho.
Marcus ignoró todo lo que veía. Se dirigió a la habitación de su abuela con prisa ansioso por verla. Al entrar, su corazón se retorció de tristeza. Ella estaba postrada con los ojos cerrados y la boca abierta. Su piel estaba muy pálida, reseca y arrugada. Sus ojos hundidos y ensombrecidos le otorgaron a Marcus una sensación nefasta. Se acercó más a ella y notó que respiraba; fue un alivio, ya que ella parecía un cadáver en vida.
Ella de repente inhaló con fuerza y abrió los ojos, y al vislumbrar el rostro que estaba frente a ella, su semblante cambió de color.
“¿Ronald, eres tú?” Dijo la abuela asombrada. Marcus quedó pasmado ante eso.
“No, abuela… soy yo, Marcus,” contestó Marcus. Los ojos de la abuela se desorbitaron.
“Oh…, pero claro que eres tú. Eres idéntico a él, ¿lo sabes?”
“Sí… mamá me lo dijo al llegar aquí,” respondió Marcus retorciendo el labio inferior.
“Ella me dijo que vendrías. Viniste y ahora puedo morir en paz…,” dijo la abuela en tono susurrante.
“¡No digas eso!” Marcus respondió de inmediato. “Te vas a poner bien. Cuando era niño, me decías que ibas a vivir mil años… Tienes que cumplir tu promesa,” varias lágrimas se deslizaron sobre las mejillas de Marcus.
“Oh, querido, lo siento tanto. Hace tiempo he querido decirte de mi enfermedad, pero no quería preocuparte. Ya tienes una vida propia, un empleo…”
“¡Tú siempre has sido muy importante para mí, lo sabes!” Marcus interrumpió. “Tú eras la lumbre que le daba luz a esta casa, ahora mírala como está, ¡parece un sitio en ruinas!”
“Tu madre nunca ha sabido mantenerla, pero no la culpo, ella está luchando con sus propios demonios. Aunque no lo creas, ella es una buena persona, solo espera que tú veas eso y le des otra oportunidad.”
“No puedo creerlo…” dijo Marcus con el rostro endurecido. “No puedo creer que ella haya cambiado y ahora tenga sentimientos. Nunca tuvo nada para mí.”
“¡Te equivocas!” Interrumpió la abuela. “Ella no sabe lidiar con los sentimientos, cuando te tuvo, no supo como afrontarlo y nadie de su familia estuvo allí para ella. Ella no quería casarse ni ser madre, y su falta de cariño hacia a ti solo la fue llevando a un circulo de discordia. Si nosotros no le importáramos a ella, simplemente se hubiese marchado después de que te fuiste, pero se quedó a cuidar de mí. Lo hizo por ti.”
“¿Por mí?”
“Sí… Ella sabe que soy muy importante para ti, y que todo el dinero, las fotografías y los mensajes que enviabas eran para mí. Quedarse, era la única manera de ella de saber de ti. Dale una oportunidad, por favor, hazlo por mí. Es lo único que te pido…”
Marcus se quedó cavilando en silencio ante las palabras de la abuela.
Después de una larga charla, Marcus bajó a la cocina, allí estaba su madre fumando un cigarrillo sobre el marco de la puerta. Ella lo miró con ojos aguados; exacerbados por un sentimiento lacerante e insostenible.
“¿Qué pasará contigo y esta casa cuando la abuela muera?” Preguntó Marcus.
Elaine apagó su cigarrillo y lo lanzó lejos antes de responder. “Arreglaré esta casa y la venderé. Sé que no te importa a donde vaya, solo te diré que eso es lo que haré.”
“¿Por qué no te quedas aquí?” Preguntó Marcus. “La abuela me dijo que te dejará todo.”
“Ya no quiero vivir entre malos recuerdos…,” Ella respondió. “Sé que siempre creerás que soy la mala. Sí, cometí muchos errores contigo y con tu padre, pero ya no puedo vivir en el pasado y seguir sufriendo una especie de condena,” al terminar de hablar, ella quiso retirarse, pero Marcus la detuvo.
“Lo siento…” dijo Marcus con los ojos empañados en lágrimas. “Sé que nunca quisiste esta vida, que tenías grandes aspiraciones. Lamento haberte causado daño y ser parte de tu dolor.”
Elaine quedó petrificada un segundo, pero luego reaccionó colocando su mano sobre el rostro de su hijo.
“Oh, querido, tu nunca fuiste parte de mi dolor, era yo quien no quería esto y solo me tocó conformarme. Tenía que ocultar mis sentimientos contigo, pues, si los liberaba, podía hacerte daño. Si fui indiferente contigo todo este tiempo, perdóname… nunca fue mi intención lastimarte.”
Marcus abrazó a su madre quebrado en lágrimas. Ambos estaban envueltos en jadeos de alaridos, liberando todo el dolor del pasado. Los cimientos de aquella relación en ruinas comenzaron a moverse, otorgando otro paso para las bases de la redención.
A la mañana siguiente, el peso de la pena se instaló sobre la casa. La abuela había fallecido, no faltaron las lágrimas de duelo ni girasoles cayendo sobre su cuerpo sin vida. Marcus prometió que cumpliría la única petición de su amada abuela y así lo hizo; a partir de ese día comenzó a trabajar la relación con su madre y repararla.
Después del funeral, Marcus se marchó retornando a la ciudad, pero antes dio una última parada atravesando a pie el campo de girasoles. Elaine, como había dicho, decidió devolver el brillo de antaño de la casa, pero no para venderla, sino para quedarse allí. Ahora cada mañana, como era la costumbre, recogía girasoles del campo y los colocaba en la jarra de cristal preferida de su suegra con agua fresca del río.
FIN
