You want to tell you a story? My Granny Huri
I say I'm very excited about the comments made in my previous entry. The necklace is wonderful stories we have woven together from the picture of my grandmother, each of you remembering grandmothers, aunts, mothers, people who have made our lives in indelible, and which are part of who we are ourselves.
Y. .. you know? Reminded me of a story that I like enormously, so that each and every time I reread again excited as the first time: It's "Women with big eyes" of the Mexican writer Angeles Mastretta (which I admire and follow.) So I brought him to continue calling for the emotion, what we have inside, what's important.
Aunt Jose Rivadeneira had a daughter with big eyes like two moons, a desire . Just placed in his embrace, still wet and shaky, she showed her eyes and something in the wings of his lips that looked like a question. - What want to know? - Aunt told Jose played to understand this gesture. Like all mothers, aunt Jose thought it had in the history of the world such a beautiful creature like yours. The dazzling color of your skin, the size of your tabs and the calm with which he slept. Proudly trembled imagining what it would do with the blood and the chimeras that beat in your body. was devoted to contemplate with pride and joy for more than three weeks. Then the impregnable life girl knocked on a disease that turned his extraordinary five hours in a dream vividness remote seemed exhausted and take her back to death. When all healing talents have failed to improve, Aunt Jose, pale with terror, carried her to the hospital. That was taken away arms and a dozen doctors and nurses began to move agitated and confused about the girl. Jose aunt watched her go behind a door that barred the entrance and with that pain like a cliff. There he found her husband, who was a wise man and wise as men tend to pretend they are. He helped her up and scolded for their lack of wisdom and hope. Her husband trusted medical science and spoke of her as others speak of God. So it disturbed the folly in which he had placed his wife, unable to do anything but mourn and curse his fate. isolate the girl in an intensive care ward. A clean white mothers who could only get half an hour daily. So filled with prayers and supplications. All the women crossed themselves the face of their children, they roamed the body with holy water and prints, they asked God to let them all live. Jose's aunt, but could not get next to the crib where her daughter was barely breathing to ask: "Do not die." After drying cry and cry without eyes or move until she was informed that the nurses had to leave. then returned to sit on the benches near the door with her head on her legs, no hunger, no voice, bitter and sullen, passionate and desperate. What could I do? Why did your daughter live? What would be nice to offer your small body full of needles and probes to that interested him stay in this world? What could you say to convince her that it was worth making the effort instead of dying? One morning, not knowing the cause, lit only by the ghosts of his heart, approached the girl and began to tell the stories of their ancestors. Those who had been that women wove their lives with men before the mouth and the navel of his daughter were tied up in it. They were made, all the work had passed, penalties and revelry that brought her an inheritance. Those who sowed with boldness and fantasy life that played longer. For many days he recalled, imagined, invented. Every minute of every hour available spoke endlessly on his daughter's ear. Finally, at dusk on a Thursday, while implacable had a story, his daughter opened her eyes and looked hungry and defiant, as would the rest of his long life. aunt's husband Jose gave thanks to the doctors, the doctors gave thanks to the advances of science, aunt hugged her daughter and left the hospital without saying a word. Only she knew who to thank his daughter's life. Only she always knew that no science was able to move much, such as hiding in the rough and subtle findings of other women with big eyes. Thanks for being, and part of my women's personal "big eyes" ...
A warm hug!!
The beautiful picture accompanying the story is one of the "Habanera" by Cuban painter Servando Cabrera Moreno, I found and loved!
