img_0.2166347687119553.jpg

☀️

Un hombre gritando es un loco, dos son tal vez un conflicto pero cientos a la vez hacen una suerte de estruendo que a lo lejos parece un zumbido producido por un enjambre enajenado de almas que ignoran o por lo menos olvidan que lo son. Un zumbido inintelegible que se extiende atrayente buscando más almas dispuestas a olvidarse de sí mismas.

Ese hipnótico y efervescente lazo sonoro hacía a Santiago caminar hacia la arena ese domingo cerca del medio día, no se trataba de la curiosidad por saber que decía aquel zumbido que se articulaba en una palabra a medida que se acercaba, que se intensificaba hasta hacerse ensordecedor.

Cuando Santiago se dio paso a la plaza, la luz del sol reflejada en la arena lo encandiló, sin evitar que la viera allí en el medio, a la orgullosa fiera de pecho erguido que parecía alimentar su coraje con la euforia de la multitud en la gradas gritando su nombre.

Allí estaba, haciendo un reconocimiento alrededor de la arena, desafiante y al mismo tiempo como si supiera que sería la última vez que su poderosa huella oradara aquel suelo. Sus ojos hechos chispeantes bolas de fuego se inyectaban de la sangre que parecía ya saborear. A cada grito de su nombre bufeaba y resoplaba vapor de furia, de pronto, fijó toda su atención en la puerta de madera de la que emergería su contrincante, el enemigo jurado que siempre muda de nombre pero no el coraje.

Allí la vio Santiago, ya en las gradas, formando parte del zumbido que gritaba el nombre de la bestia: Torero, torero, torero.

FIN

img_0.4805090400588722.jpg

ENGLISH VERSION

A man screaming is a madman, two are perhaps a conflict but hundreds at the same time make a kind of noise that in the distance seems like a buzz produced by an alienated swarm of souls who ignore or at least forget that they are. An unintelligible buzz that spreads attractively looking for more souls willing to forget themselves.

That hypnotic and effervescent sound link made Santiago walk towards the sand that Sunday around noon, it was not a question of curiosity to know what that buzz was saying that was articulated in a word as it approached, which intensified until it became deafening .

When Santiago made his way to the square, the sunlight reflected on the sand dazzled him, without preventing him from seeing it there in the middle, the proud, upright-chested beast that seemed to fuel his courage with the euphoria of the crowd in the bleachers screaming its name.

There he was, scouting around the arena, defiant and at the same time as if he knew it would be the last time his mighty footprint would pray that ground. His eyes, made of sparkling balls of fire, were injected with the blood that he seemed to already taste. At each shout of it's name he huffed and puffed steam with fury, suddenly, the beast fixed all his attention on the wooden door from which his opponent would emerge, the sworn enemy who always changes his name but not his courage.

There Santiago saw it, already in the stands, forming part of the buzz that shouted the name of the beast: Bullfighter, bullfighter, bullfighter.