La temporada de lluvias estaba por empezar, y los campesinos de la zona, apuraban la siembra para aprovechar que la naturaleza trabajara a su favor, pero no contaban con que la lluvia no solo traía agua...
Marisela estaba colando el café muy temprano, cuando las primeras gotas empezaron a caer. Rápidamente dejó lo que hacía, para ir a buscar las palanganas que ponía donde caían las goteras en su casa, que cada vez eran más, pero en lugar de lamentarse, se disponía con paciencia a ubicarlas a lo largo de la casa, rodando muebles y a veces, colocando las maticas que tenía dentro, para que aprovecharan de ser regadas.
Su marido, en cambio, comenzaba a mascullar improperios en voz baja para que el niño no escuchara, aunque igual lo hacía, solo que no lo repetía en la casa. Para él, la lluvia era sinónimo de avivar la pobreza, de estar alertas sin poder tener alguna opción de cambiar el destino. Rodrigo era la antítesis de Marisela, que disfrutaba del olor a tierra mojada, mientras que él solo veía formarse el barro en la puerta de la casa.
"Hubiese preferido ser perro de rico que hijo de pobre" decía Rodrigo mientras veía por la ventana de la casita humilde que fue lo único que le dejaron sus padres. Su hijo David, pensaba lo mismo. Aunque amaba demasiado a su madre, el ver el mismo panorama a diario, lo ponía triste, y sin saber cómo hacer para revertirlo, se encogía de hombros en su catre sin colchón, arropado con una sábana hecha de retazos que le habían regalado a su mamá en el taller donde trabajaba.
David tenía 11 años, aunque se sentía como si había vivido 50 más sin que nadie se hubiese dado cuenta. En su casa pasaban cosas que solo él veía y no contaba. Había visto a su padre golpear a su madre, para luego obligarla a tener sexo mientras ella solo lloraba y suplicaba que la dejara en paz. También veía a Rodrigo hurgar en la cartera de su madre, sacar dinero sin decirle, para luego hablarle sobre la honestidad mientras cenaban.
Con esa edad, ya sabía demasiado sobre lo que según veía en el comportamiento de su padre, significaba ser hombre. Pero muy al fondo lo odiaba, sobre todo cuando llegaba con sus amigos a jugar dominó en la mesa del comedor mientras bebían. A veces lo llamaba para medir el tamaño de su mano con la de él, para luego denigrarlo y decía que tenía manos de nena, solo por ser más pequeñas.
Esos días, en casa no se comía...
Como había amanecido lloviendo, Marisela decidió que mejor no fuera a la escuela, pero él hubiese querido ir solo por no estar ahí, con él. Se fue al catre luego de tomar café con pan, a ver caer las goteras en su pieza, mientras contaba en silencio: uno, dos, tres... plic, plic, plic se escuchaban en la palangana.
Dominikastasiakphoto - Pixabay
Un trueno lo sacó de su ensimismamiento, y se incorporó del susto, quedándose sentado en la cama por un rato. A lo lejos escuchó a su madre gritar casi tan fuerte como el trueno, y aunque siempre lo mandaban a quedarse lejos de la discusión, su instinto le decía que saliera. Veía gotas de sangre en el piso mientras caminaba hacia donde su madre seguía gritando, y su angustia iba en aumento.
Al llegar al patio, vio a su padre con el torso cubierto de sangre, y en un acto de angustia se abalanzó sobre él tratando de defender a su madre, y fue justo en ese momento cuando un segundo trueno lo estremeció, pues al ver con detalles, su madre tenía un cuchillo en la mano, gritaba y lloraba con los ojos desorbitados, mientras que Rodrigo caía al suelo, con sangre manando de su pecho.
La lluvia seguía fluyendo fuerte, sin pausas, mientras David y su madre se miraban con miedo entre si, y Rodrigo se retorcía del dolor. No se escuchaban palabras, solo el plic, plic, plic en las palanganas, pero ambos supieron cual debía ser el siguiente movimiento.
Llevaron entre los dos el cuerpo hasta el fondo del patio, donde había un cuarto lleno de cosas viejas, que justo con la fuerza de la tormenta terminó cediendo luego de que ellos dejaran a Rodrigo dentro, y en medio de la tormenta, tomaron sus cosas, salieron por la puerta sin rumbo marcado, lavando con el agua del cielo todas las culpas, los malos recuerdos y el hambre sufrida, pero no solo de comida, sino de tener una vida normal, mientras se preguntaban por qué tuvieron que esperar que llegara la lluvia para salir de esa pesadilla.
The rainy season was about to begin, and the local farmers were rushing to finish sowing their crops to make the most of nature working in their favour, but they hadn’t reckoned on the fact that the rain wouldn’t just bring water…
Marisela was brewing her coffee very early in the morning when the first drops began to fall. She quickly stopped what she was doing to fetch the basins she placed under the leaks in her house, which were becoming more and more frequent; but instead of complaining, she patiently set about positioning them around the house, moving furniture aside and, at times, placing the potted plants she had inside them so they could benefit from being watered.
Her husband, on the other hand, began muttering curses under his breath so that the child wouldn’t hear, although he did hear them anyway – he just didn’t repeat them in the house. For him, the rain was synonymous with deepening poverty, with being on one’s guard without having any chance of changing one’s fate. Rodrigo was the antithesis of Marisela, who enjoyed the smell of wet earth, whilst he could only see the mud forming at the front door.
‘I would have preferred to be a rich man’s dog than a poor man’s son,’ said Rodrigo as he looked out of the window of the humble little house – the only thing his parents had left him. His son David felt the same way. Although he loved his mother dearly, seeing the same scene day in, day out made him sad, and, not knowing how to change things, he would shrug his shoulders as he lay on his mattressless cot, wrapped in a patchwork sheet that had been given to his mum at the workshop where she worked.
David was 11 years old, though he felt as if he’d lived another 50 years without anyone realising. Things happened at home that only he saw and never spoke of. He’d seen his father hit his mother, then force her to have sex whilst she just cried and begged him to leave her alone. He also saw Rodrigo rummaging through his mother’s handbag, taking money without telling her, only to then lecture her about honesty whilst they were having dinner.
At that age, he already knew far too much about what, judging by his father’s behaviour, it meant to be a man. But deep down he hated him, especially when he turned up with his mates to play dominoes at the dining table whilst they drank.
Sometimes he’d call him over to compare the size of his hand with his own, only to belittle him afterwards, saying he had ‘girl’s hands’ simply because they were smaller.
On those days, there was no food at home…
As it had started raining at dawn, Marisela decided it would be better not to go to school, but he would have liked to go just so he wouldn’t have to be there with him. He went to his cot after having some coffee and bread, to watch the rain dripping into his room, whilst counting silently: one, two, three… plip, plip, plip, they could be heard in the basin.
Dominikastasiakphoto - Pixabay
A clap of thunder snapped him out of his reverie, and he sat bolt upright in a fright, remaining seated on the bed for a while. In the distance, he heard his mother screaming almost as loudly as the thunder, and although he was always told to stay away from the arguments, his instinct told him to go out. He could see drops of blood on the floor as he walked towards where his mother was still screaming, and his distress grew.
When he reached the courtyard, he saw his father with his torso covered in blood, and in a fit of panic he lunged at him, trying to defend his mother; it was at that very moment that a second clap of thunder shook him, for, looking more closely, he saw that his mother was holding a knife; she was screaming and crying, her eyes wide with terror, whilst Rodrigo was falling to the ground, blood gushing from his chest.
The rain continued to pour down heavily, without pause, whilst David and his mother looked at each other in fear, and Rodrigo writhed in pain. No words were spoken, only the plip, plip, plip in the basins, but they both knew what their next move had to be.
Between them, they carried the body to the far end of the courtyard, where there was a room full of old things, which, driven by the force of the storm, finally gave way after they had left Rodrigo inside, and in the midst of the storm, they gathered their belongings, walked out through the door with no particular destination in mind, letting the rain wash away all their guilt, their bad memories and the hunger they had endured – not just for food, but for a normal life – whilst wondering why they had had to wait for the rain to come before they could escape that nightmare.
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