Los Mirmidones

por Gustavo Urquiza Valdez

Hidalgo del Parral, 1969.


Soy historiador del pueblo desde hace un poco más de veinte años. La primera gran motivación de mi vida fue cuando aquella inundación devastó los cimientos físicos pero también anímicos de mi amado pueblo.
Logré unas gráficas estupendas de esa inundación ocurrida en el cuarenta y cuatro.
Poco tiempo después, en el Cincuenta y uno, logré un premio nacional de periodismo cuando di a conocer dichos gráficos en el certamen “Francisco Zarco”
Para entonces ya contaba con treinta y dos años de edad. Era relativamente joven y no me cayó nada mal, ni la fama de buen fotógrafo ni el dinero que gané.
Aunado al hecho de que era ya una figura nacional, mis labores de investigador me llevaron al nombramiento de “Cronista vitalicio y cuidador del archivo histórico de la ciudad”.
Justo cundo pensé que nada mejor sucedería más adelante, allí estaba, buscando un documento que avalara que Hidalgo del Parral, Chihuahua había sido la Capital de la Nueva Vizcaya y no Durango.
Fueron meses de debate entre historiadores de todo el país, incluyendo foráneos. Debo recalcar que fueron meses de intenso debate.
Sin embargo, el Real de Minas de San José del Parral, como se llamaba hace centurias, no salió victorioso. Y es por ello que yo, el responsable, fui herido en mi orgullo, sabiendo que era quien más debió aportar a la lucha.
Pero he aquí que descubrí el documento más extraño que historiador alguno descubriera jamás en su vida.
Yo, que nunca pensé hacer un descubrimiento extraño, encontré entre incunables y registros de propiedad, dos papiros de siglos de antigüedad, aparentemente, que al momento captaron mi atención por el solo hecho de tratarse de papiros. Otro premio nacional estaba en puerta.
Uno de los papiros mostraba en letras, que yo consideré medievales, una declaración y una lista pertenecientes a un grupo supuestamente de carácter milenario.
“La resurrección del Ejército de Aquiles” era una y la segunda era, como dije, una lista de unos tipos que se hacían llamar “Los Mirmidones”.
Leí ávidamente la resurrección de tan extraño ejército. Me di cuenta que quien lo escribió mencionaba el sitio de un lugar llamado Ilión y que Aquiles, un rey griego, mató a uno de los príncipes más importantes de esa tierra.

Todo tomó un tinte más interesante cuando desfilaron ante mis ojos los nombres de los dioses griegos: Zeus, Hera, Apolo y todos ellos que la maestra de segundo año me había enseñado en la clase de gramática.
No pude leer más. Las letras medievales eran ininteligibles para mí.
Acudí a un amigo paleógrafo de la capital del estado, dispuesto a descubrir tales narraciones. Esteban Aragonés se encontraba en la ciudad de Chihuahua inspirándose ante la vista de la catedral y esperando formar un buen libro de poemas religiosos. Mi visita le incomodó.
Sin embargo, al mostrarle mi descubrimiento, me dí cuenta que mi viaje de cuatro horas no había sido infructuoso.

- Por la letra, sobre todo las mayúsculas, considero que este texto data del siglo catorce... pero utiliza palabras que no se usaron sino hasta el siglo dieciocho. La trama, es extraña. Según aquí, después de la muerte de Aquiles, Rey de los Mirmidones, éstos se dispersaron, quedando solamente un grupúsculo.

Esteban fue de gran ayuda para mí, pues siguió la lista.
Después de miles de años de su desaparición, un monje, quien supusimos, fue el autor del documento en cuestión, encontró una lista de nombres a la que le añadió otros.
Decidimos dejar la lectura de los nombres para después. Esteban dijo:

- Vamos, que necesitas descansar y supongo que ya tomaste esas tus pastillas para la depresión amigo Jacinto.

Y así lo era.


Al día siguiente, ávido de conocer qué sucedía, yo, Jacinto Flores, me dirigí muy temprano a casa de mi amigo el paleógrafo. No encuentro palabras para describir el semblante que vi en él.
- Había un párrafo que solamente se puede leer poniendo el papiro sobre la luz de una vela. Estaba en griego y es un juramento. Allí está sobre mi mesa de trabajo, traducido. Léelo y después sírvete leer la lista que ya pasé en limpio, y que como te darás cuenta no es tan antigua.

He aquí el juramento:
Nosotros los mirmidones, tras haber visto el sufrimiento de mujeres, niños y ancianos de la incendiada Ilión, hemos decidido no volver a la Patria Tierra, sino más bien reclutar seres vulnerables e iniciarlos en nuestro ejército para el progreso, por amor a la Humanidad.

Luego la lista que comenzaba con los siguientes nombres: Jacintus Flori, general tuerto en batalla y triste por ello, y Estebanus Aragonis, su escudero, que perdió una pierna.
Nunca recordaré el número de nombres y cuáles fueron esos nombres por lo sorprendido que estaba. Llegué hasta un punto en que estaban subrayados con rojo otros denominativos: “Fray Jacinto de Flores, franciscano expulsado de su abadía y su discípulo, el aragonés Esteban de sobrenombre “el cojo” y que siga la lista.”

Abraham Lincoln, José María Morelos y Pavón, Prince Hall, Hellen Keller, Edith Piaf, John Nash.

- Deja de leer y escribe nuestros nombres- interrumpió Esteban Aragonés, el paleógrafo-, y no olvides agregar, al mío, que tengo una pata de palo. Somos mirmidones. Y que siga la lista.

The melody. Memoirs of a teenager.

By
Gustavo Urquiza Valdez

Meditated on some issues that every teenager has us hurry sex. This morning I awakened from my horrible pests casting destination guiñapo fourteen years old. My frustrations have been elevated to full power last night because I could not address a single word to Morra I like. And that is unattainable for me is the old. My name (although I already know what they will say, "what we care about your stupid name, that is what we want done with this boring story), my name is Agustín Equis. Better to be resigned to my name, because it is not true and trying to cover anything else. Actually my name Equis. In fact I am a person equis. The sky pastel color of my room seems to be dropped on me, making it unbearable density of the environment and the tedium that I am at the same time. Damn! I am so absolutely disgusted by everything that surrounds me. Society, or rather, "the dirt"; Tembleque of the school, the school itself. Gladly send all of my life to hell. Only a matter of cutting veins or pull the trigger of a gun ... now it is very easy, very easy to get one, but nothing else is to the effect, in the end the seller does not, ever wonder why I . But I have to set foot on earth and understand that even for that you need money, and I'm terribly poor. And I shout that go into the kitchen to the steep glass of liquid that prepares mom in the mornings, so I either go to lunch that they call "prepares" and not have to buy anything in the cooperative or in the street. It is a big plus for me, because I hate eating outside the home, because for a server, what is to prevent contagion or amebiasis that microbes involved. I decide to get up with heaviness of my bed and ojeo some papers in which it is expressed that the name is my first novel. I am giving his final touches. A first novel, the fourteen years is not bad. I gave it the title "Melody", and is a misunderstood young man like me, and mocked and abused ... like me. In the end, parallel to its existence, composed a musical piece (as it is also a genius), whose hue, a beautiful line is taking shape, causing a higher quality of life in the boy's existence. Are only eight or nine pages of material, but I swear that is the exact form of a novel. I know, I am looking very bored, and I understand. They are not the only ones who think so, whomever you are reading this, or listening. But if you want to know something which I am sure they will be put in, it will be interested. All night ... I was masturbating. I feel completely swollen neck, a slight tremor in his hands, panting a burial detachment and an absolute joy for me to be young. As the beds of my parents and mine are in the same room, I had to resign themselves to come up with blankets and pajamas set, so that it can imagine the scene and smells so foul that dismissal to make any move. "When you're pulling the rooster crest, please do as you do not hear your mom at night ... just heard your sighs and pujidos when you know what you ...", I said the other day my Dad and I felt so cockroach. I still remember clearly the first time my little (pitirrín, cock, bird, tripitas, how you want to nickname), and launched the thick white fluid is called semen. Was, precisely, and I accept that many solemn events of my life have happened at the same time, the day I got the result of the admission exam to enter my high school wing. It was all because they saw chamaquita a little older than me, and with their newly acquired ways of women. After I got home, having been happily in the morning shift, in room "B" of the Federal High School, I went directly to the bathroom, taking advantage of mom and dad began to talk alienated by the big news. I had my own duties, more important than any result of testing in the entire world. Guessed: masturbating. It did before, because in elementary school to talk with friends who already had twelve or thirteen years and we talked for more dwarfs what is left when a "puñeteaba. But I did everything to the letter, but I'm not leaving anything ... Until that day when I saw that your puberita waisted denim trousers, showing his powerful buttocks that "appeared to be doing cachetón a hole every time you walked." Then I was done. For the first time I felt it was a fact and law bato. Flipped to see who had eight or ten years and knew that as I had left childhood behind. She was only eleven years old. What a mess! And to think that all chiludos have to go through that. - How will the school - my father asked. The truth of all adolescents is to hide its own truth. I think if there is actually a versatile intention to communicate (speak and when to communicate I do not mean the mere fact of exchanging words, but to listen to, tolerate, understand, etc..), Would not have so many misunderstandings between people. I had to tell a big lie, based on fear and desire not to be annoyed or scolded when he starts the day. I replied that everything was "doing very well," ie, very good. - Chemistry - Don insisted Eufrasio or my dad. - How do you say ... hummm ... wonderfully-answer cynically. Sometimes I am so disgusted. The issue is that of oil and the atomic number of any element bores me and I despair about. I always laziness, preferring to take its course over time, according to final results and ciñéndome to the will of the teacher, requesting not to know who to feel that my compassion and dignity as a respectable six, but then I went to say "panzazo. - Furthermore, the Ruca is very explicit and very well explained ... I understand perfectly ...- add to sauce to throw over my beans. - I hope my mom suddenly spoke, and what about biology ... I heard that many complain about the old woman who taught that class ... How do you say ... the raisins ... - Yes .. it is very old woman as well as tell you who has the wrinkled leather exclaimed with an ironic smile. - But how you go with it, Mom insists. Wavering, with a hesitation that I could not disguise, he replied that in that area I will of pearls, but more, of the ugly fact is that nobody has gone well with this lady. Arrives and is only limited to talk. Just sit and open the textbook, "Bios Life". Then it starts to let a bunch of nonsense that you are willing to put a muzzle or choke. "That plantelmintos here, that there staphylococci, the taxonomy of this animal, that the classifications of the other insects and a sleeping ...", the boredom. Surely Charles Darwin or the same class as a stand that I am describing. As was unwilling to continue to receive further questions or to be bombarded with more objections, grabbed the bag, I hung up the shoulder and left home. It is precisely now when I remember that I forgot to give my letters. I said that my name is Agustín Equis stupidly, I'm going in the second half of high school and I love the music oldies, but these beautiful old woman. At school I am a real ass, but responsible for my actions and always punctual. Here I am, wearing a uniform of white shirt and black trousers. Wears a wool jacket lamb inside, because it makes a hell of a thousand cold. I am known among the race because I have no friends or groups' social 'normally attend. Another factor that leads to my fame is that I am the classic "nerd". And I am the classic "nerd", all the rabble teases me and makes me comidilla and became the laughing stock of the day. I intend to take no care, but the simple truth is that torture is a real awakening in the morning, then think about what I expected in the classroom. But I continue to heart and guts attending. Nevertheless, provided the materials step, and my dad, Eufrasio says that's because I read. Leo as a mouse library. Any book, pamphlet, feuilleton, pamphlet or magazine that falls into my hands, just by reading it. Besides, almost never, unless I get sick, miss school. Needless to mention that I am poor and that is why I am not a gifted life. Another factor for which I'm not very sociable. Just start typing and it pleases me, because this is a way of compensating the lack of economic resources and problems of my interaction. So bizarre that word, right?. It refers to the ability to integrate a group or society in general. As for myself, I used to be a loner and I am worth. I have high expectations for a beautiful future. There is something you do not tell anyone, and I also really love pornography, to the extent that I have a alterote magazine "Playboy" and "Penthouse" at a small desk next to my bed. Of all these, the most I like is one where a steep and a Japonesita ... I went to step two morons. One more than another. Are treated Arozamena Miguel and Felipe Carrisales, both come to the Training Center who knows how to train Chepo ball. With bromitas heavy and frankly no one greeting me want to, and addressed me. - Where are you headed my mongus well-nicknamed Arozamena me, obviously because I felt a jerk. -A no matter where you hook-nosed answered what I could do it more aggressively and tried to leave them walk faster. - Have you heard the new rumors running through the neighborhood, about you - Miguel Carrisales asked. I pretended make the disinterested, but the loosening step. - I do not mind this stupid gossip gentuza, just finished high school and I look over. But in the end is not true. Somehow I do things that interest me are talking. It is run by fear of danger or any one days because, maybe, yeah I like that I accept the society. Question of masks. In this respect I am long, is a long history. They are an endless number of projects that I have for my life and occasionally a light jacket on when I can use as a defense mechanism when I was insulted or denigrated me. I'm not the only one who uses one of these defense mechanisms. - Oh yes, yes ... the little boy is going to look to who knows where, because it will become a great writer and is going to win the award, who knows what, who knows when one of mimic me ...- those morons ... Sabet animal after all in the neighborhood saying you're going joto well as Erick, who lives one block here. This led my obvious anger. When you remember the ten in May and January are very unhappy "justice and gave a good kick sound. Would have continued with their attacks but because Miguel stands and calm. As that happens in your car Cernera Victor, who also attends the same school that this pair are beasts and invites them to be loaded on your ship. At least I will leave in peace. - Quihubo mongus-mongus one of the many nicknames that I have applied and who is lying now Victor, not without the others mofaran, How have you been?, You still just as stupid or longer than usual you are a little off?. - So I fool mother fucker like you, so How do you see? Click junior. When does the gesture of getting off the car to gave a good tranquiza, which frankly I do not deserve it, and Miguel is back out to remove the "bato ... come and not worth soiling of hands with this Guey ... and we are going to do well then ... " Start the car and eventually leave. [Who would have imagined it when you saw that happen with contoneándote schoolgirl skirt, so let us see who carved your curves. The way you mojabas lips and made us all feel like we're Pedro Infante when we started that fire in your eyes of green eyes, the color of lemon rind. With your single view would have been sent to your whim. We gave the site each time you tardy. Many of the tasks you did the most intelligent of the room. I did not have to attend the library, since a lot of idiots you spend at your notes and consented to them copies in the math tests. When you were going to paint and you mattered little because the teacher of geography was also in love with you. So there it was, paseándote with your friends along the street Maclovio Herrera. Really, who would say, whenever parabas cars and other things ... ... to spend with the white uniform with blue, walking like models, because until you are solvent enough to have paid for a modeling school . Who was going to say.] School I was dumb. Like the lounge. They did not have much to say. Cade emphasize that this is being written now in the afternoon. Actually happened in the morning. It happened that I arrived. Already four years crossing the street. The Bartolomé de las Casas. It was so early that even the CHAVILLE from high school had arrived. The same high school where I studied. Really strange time. As usual, it was the first to make act of presence. In it, Lauren Esparza arrived, the Venus of the Nile Dream Ce sweaty second half of Morrillos we had all fallen at that school. His dark black hair, his piernotas marble, her breasts firm and levantaditos were the center of all the sessions I had masturbatorias in escondidito. I smiled and I answered by putting pale, then scrubbed it or did not do. - What are you doing? - Asked. - Reading-contest. - And what you read, asked again, looking forward to a book of art history that I had been given some time and was very hurt as much as read. - History of the ar ... ar ... te-again reply. I should add that I am the jester in the school and Lauren Esparza had no reason to go to the floor. But this time it was. - I also love art-environment with the eyes and continued sitting at the side of mine, and you imagine what I felt. Especially when your legs crossed. - Really? - Seriously, nodded, looking every time I go to Mexico, or the Defeo, my dad takes me to the Prado Museum with my cousins, and I see collections of Pablo Picasso, Dali, Diego Rivera of it ... What is the name of this famous Mexican painter who is very rebellious, "some of Jose Luis ... but I do not remember well ... - José Luis Cuevas-expressed triumphant and proud of my knowledge of painting. - Go, this grouper. What is your favorite painter? - Edvar Munch. - And who is this. One of the greatest exponents of Expressionism ... European paintings show the anguish of that man is prey ... all through the translation of ghostly figures ... one of their most representative works are "The Cry." No doubt that had stopped at six. - In that case, you have nothing to ask the more experienced artists, you are truly a well educated boy. .- Augustine exclaimed, taking the index finger to his mouth and suck, very sexy. Then I moved the right hand by left shoulder and I had already erased any notion of reality. I felt privileged. But I never needed a hair in the soup and I came all the troops. So it seemed that they did on purpose. Castruíta Jose, the unofficial boyfriend Lauren, at the time he saw me, dropped a roaring sound. His narisota Güero and the three hairs that are in the mustache annoys me, because when I felt that another attack was coming to my dignity, and so badly in these times. - And what have you done with my new "Babot" - another of my nicknames, to the sixth semester knew .. - Nothing that you value, stupid colorless. - Look at it that, is well ... Is that knife you're puñalito? If anything is that I hate to say dagger, joto, maricon, muerdealmohadas etc. But if there's anything I hate more than telling hidrocanoico, joto, or queer, is that they put me with my books and the damaged. That, after all is neither true nor me I believe it or not, but my books, what is most precious to God put me in life. So when Jose Castruíta dared to spit on a gargajo "Maja desnuda" by Francisco Goya, does not support more and punched him a sovereign on the chin, which caused him to leave a considerable stream of blood to I splashed. I will not detail what happened then, but okay, laugh. It is the hour of rest and I am with one eye completely black, the other purple, swollen cheekbones, arms scrapings, I have a terrible pain in the stomach and who knows why the crystal glasses are not broken. And I put a fleece championship damn unhappy, until the sides feel tight and I can hardly breathe. But I remain Augustine Equis writer. ¡Auch! Lauren is about and tells me: - Well we have a boxer here ... - I beg you not tease me ... it hurts to the core of the bone ... ... I mourn all of my kids saw humiliation. - It does not matter ... ... so you look a little comfort ... sit on this stool for you ... a little consolation, let me tell you more hurt in their pride that will let you jaw as Chingaza elephant with that, everything that you can feel ugly. Clutching her chin with his hands white, I am told, "I'm waiting in my house at about three, do you think?, You take something that Goya maja desnuda ... ..." He got up and left. - If you believe what I just witnessed you doing something to help, you're fried ... Is David Villalobos. Although I still do not really consider my very comparable, is the only person in whom I have confidence in the school. - What you gonna tell your mother? - Then I bronchi. What they say in the address? - None. As they are accustomed to the rich to fucking hit. Them. Take a cigarette and takes it to the mouth. Sixteen years and has kept himself (I mean the monetary issue, as it is very friendly). - Yesterday Alicia throne. I do not know why Ray must always come out with these talks. I am not interested. I want to know my favorite authors as Poe, Becker, the Marquis de Sade, my Playboy magazines. - You go, you do not know how sorry-old beggar, or even knew. - I was pregnant ... If something is not what I expected, this was news. The tawdry drama or saw in movies that I thought would never be near me, I got there, face to face. I am an imbecile for not knowing how to react. - Now how you gonna do ... - I said I was, I made it ... ass-abortion expressed lacrimosa eyes, and a coca cola cans. - Has chingao ... - How did you hear. - And how did the abortion. - In Juarez there is a lady very good for this bussiness. After this no longer want anything to Leticia. It was a matter of quinientón Case settled. With respect to Lauren ... be very careful, remember what kind of people are that group. I felt as an accomplice of the child aborted. However, David gave him the same. Arose from the bank and went for another cigarette. I could not stop feeling tingling in the belly as suggested by the invitation that I had time to rest. The last three hours I spent with her chin supported on his right hand, which in turn was supported on his elbow, which was on the palette. This classic position that makes it seem like a real stupid, lost in the view I do not know where. II Wanted all over my favorite book of art history. One is called "Muses, and Majas odalisques", a Spanish critic of the early twentieth century. But what interests me is the quality of who wrote it, but it brings only nude paintings of women. That excite Lauren. I look around the room you are booksellers and my eyes encountered my favorite painting, "The cry of Edvar Munch. It is simply great. It's like I feel the mood in which I am. This is an individual who looks agonizingly fixed and the viewer, touching cheeks and opening her mouth. Then suddenly it's as if the table becomes more than just a painting. In a mirror that reflects my exterior. My soul. There are moments I'd like to know what lies beyond all these brilliant scene that appear in the sky growing dark. When I was ten years life had more meaning for me. Had a fixed target, well drawn and the victory was at my disposal. Only issue was that I told you, "Come to Me" and now. I had dreams, hopes. Today I feel a tremendous desire to scream for help. Finding someone to listen to me, and I understand it is not ready to move on from me or want to impose their will, pretending he wants to fix my life. When I despair, looking onto the floor window. In hot weather it is easier, because the stars are more visible. Then I imagine that if not here on Earth, probably in one of these planets millions of miles of light years away, there is another teenager like me, who is hoping to turn a response similar to that which I seek in imaginarily Riding space, and also at the same time, key your eyes on one of those small bright spots and that is our land. In a book, I do not remember what I read it in a beautiful wilderness, which is undoubtedly a point, though distant or hidden in the vastness, you can find a well of water, flowing streams of hope turned crystal-clean water for thirsty. So I guess my heart, like a solitary desert in which I lost, but it keeps me alive the desire to find that well. [Who was going to say. So beautiful. If you knew all that you dreamed, and what we dreamed about you. You would have swelled with pride. But things are this way and nobody is to blame over who originated] One of my ambitions is the French entry to study at the Faculty of Arts. I would like to write and publish books. Also comics. Before leaving the house of Lauren, in fact, I stopped a moment to see the comics I've written, and of course, the most valuable, my first novel. I thought him a few refinements, but this is pretty cool. My character is a happy man, and now I have a rendezvous with chava guapa most of the school. I calc my shoes brand mountaineers Perestroika, I my leather jacket, some jeans, bent on the court, I comb back, using a fixative, I set the glasses and left. Sure, the book "History of Art" which had promised to teach Lauren. Were playing somewhere, "Dying Slow" with Timbiriche, and I felt a tremendous mess. Not bear such kitsch. Took the street where the main entrance of the Lopez Velarde and I realize how much BOMBONCITO there in that school, although much fresilla. With regard to the music. I like classic rock and pop rolas those of the sixties as the Beatles and the Rollings Stones. Moreover, after six in the afternoon, I can tune into the radio station is called gringa Koeman, who play in the pure music Oldies. I also have tapes. Many, where I recorded the music of the Temptetions, the Monkees and the Doors. Just a stone dry cement in front of the Lopez Velarde I find Elisa, La Morra I like. Since we know that we are children, and she studied at the cbtis. It is very pretty. Guerita cafes and clear eyes. Body ... You can imagine! Sister is my best friend, Esau. And they count on these adventures. - What - I asked. - What? - I answered. - How to keep the blows - ask me and I tenderly melts, because when I spoke so I can not find how to react and I become stupid. As you heard from the school zafarrancho the asshole of Castruita and others. Has, indeed, Elisa is the "old" to which I meant when I started with these notes. - No wonder you're the ... comidilla of all, besides, who is not going to set the makeup you put on your face, your nose Respingo was moving his right leg and caressed, then I looked in their blue jeans landslides , who had been allowed to appreciate more and notching effect. - Where you are going - still wondering if you know. - At Lauren's house. - At the home of Lauren Esparza, Are you crazy? That is the girlfriend that you just left like that. As revenge for what I just said, I answered that I was getting late and we pretend to give a goodbye indifferent, and in myself, I die for it. Definitely I am a loser. III On entering the house of Lauren Esparza, I realized how unfair life had been to many of us. Hardly was the incredible richness of those chambers. An elegant living room furniture and worthy of a European castle, leaving those in the movies. When I arrived, Lauren, the strawberry girl sexy femme fatale with complex, was taking a bottle of coca cola and watching "The unforgivable," with Clint Eastwood, the matamexicanos. I must confess that the style palazos wearing pants, it was not so bad. - Like a soft drink ... - No thanks, not tome soda - So what about a glass of water - That would be great. - Do you like movies that deal with the Old West and the gunmen? The truth is that this kind of films I do not fall entirely wrong. I said that my favorite was the "The Good, the bad and the ugly", one of the masterpieces of the genre and bla bla bla ... Noticed something strange in the atmosphere within the house of Lauren, but failed, to my misfortune, at guessing what it was. I began to ask about the book and I had paint, but sensed that something was loaded hand. It was clear that he did not know much about art, not to say anything. I felt a sense of bitterness and frustration to turn to see around me. Definitely did not see that just a single word of that girl, her "daddy" will put the world at his feet, whereas I was just hoping that my mom told me that it would not cost more with the house and my studies and that would leave the school. Meant an insult to me, somehow, to remain in that place, in the midst of many luxuries. I tried not to pay more attention to the issue and concentrate on the immediate moment, but my brain was still in the idea that something strange floating in the air. The skirt I had forced me to hit me sweat for the temple and could not stop looking at those legs and molded Trigueña somewhere that allowed air to percolate entertain your clitorito. I opened my book, "Art History" to show it to Lauren, but that, she grabbed my sides. - I think ... I think there is an error here, is supposed to ... Laureen said ...- shaky. - There is no mistake ... I know exactly what I do and what I do. I want to go to my room at this very moment and we love ... Without further miramientos I grabbed the collar of his shirt and drew me to it, forcing me to climb the stairs in a few ten seconds, for moments later, found in his room. Something was definitely very wrong. I'm not exactly the kind of boy crazy for a woman, and less if the woman is the most popular of the preparation. - I go to the bathroom ... when I come back to fix, you are naked and ready. Just when you enter the room Laureen, adorned with all kinds of plush toys and stuffed, I noticed the presence of a closet. I felt the presence of someone within that site and my instincts worked correctly, then advised me that I completely undress and be wary of that "complex with strawberry femme fatale." Laureen minutes passed and no return, but that, and it was not wrong, I heard that the interior of the cabinet came out a few murmurs in a low voice that even though they were violent. I was sitting in bed Lauren, what I decided to stop and open the doors of that cabinet. Finally I decided, and I was slowly approaching the doors of the cabinet said. That's when I heard, now clearly visible, a voice saying "... we already discovered ching teto ...", click and almost immediately opened the door suddenly and I saw I threw up two moles. Were Castruíta and company, who brought a video camera in hand. - Grab a ...- screaming, while I, by surprise, failed to do absolutely nothing, but after the latter began to struggle with bravery. "Get your pants," shouted one, while the other tried to take off their clothes. Were not many moments for the struggle to become an exchange of minds and cabronazos mother, I took the brunt. Finally I achieved its mission and I was completely naked and Laura at the door, looking very serious. The very unhappy were used to record and leave uncovered.
In that, Laureen intervened and intervened between the camera lens and I, I took time to get dressed again, between sobs and curses. I knew something was discussing the trio head hollow, but could not guess what, after all my courage was beyond my keen senses. I was dressed and on the run, down the stairs three strides, and when he was about to open the door of the house, heard the voice of Lauren that I screamed. - I want you to forgive me ... I do not know what the hell he was thinking when they convinced me to do that ... I swear that ... - The words ...- the post-over interrupted and left without saying more. Needless to say, I stopped up to the CAS. A cold feeling ran through all my bones. That took place was called mugrero solo. I put a tape and immediately broke Paul, George, Ringo and John with "Hey Jude". Frankly not stand the idea of being regarded as stupid, to the extent that these morons a humbug me play like that. A twinge, almost struck me as pain in the neck. I pressed my head with both hands. What is ugly adolescence. I did not realize the time they finished the chorus of the song over and already the "Archie" singing "Sugar, Sugar." In tune a stereo radio that he planned only gringa music Oldies. Went the song "Diana" by Paul Anka. Grabbed my pen and notebook desktop ... embarnizada a piece of board ... and began to scribble ... "The man eventually died and fell over the melody like the poem ..." My dad came suddenly and exclaimed "nice song" ... The songs of my time is best ... I like the singing in Mexico César Costa. - You know ... I think we have long since distanced itself came out of high school ... your mother told me why that gap ... are right to be unhappy with what I did. I worry for my ideals, gait and unionist leader of the truth is that neglect your well being ... but mind you, because you're finishing school English and whatever happens no kites with your children the same mistake that I commit to you. You'd rather have all the comforts and all that I've given you are problems and frustrations. He left the room. Without paying a fotoalbum, and I began to give it a glance. There were all kinds of pictures. It was Saturday and gave me the luxury of getting up early. Belonged to a kind of subculture. "The Albatross". Only Rock and Roll listening. The picture was there, five brats dressed to James Dean in "Rebel without a Cause." Eighteen of May nineteen ninety. Oíamos to marcels, Little Richard, Ray Charles ... Another picture. March Seventy-Nine. A baby born a month of sleeping on a bed and dressed in green Mamelouk. The school I was always cold. And yet more news of the frost that I learned not to like hearing the news: Lauren died in a car accident the night before. I must say that I do not care. The catalog of books in my house is as follows. The books that were in my house were in philosophy, classics and contemporary. The Dialogues, The Nicomachean Ethics, Politics, Treaty of Catilinarias, Thus spoke Zarathustra, Travelers and its shadow, the castle, the process, America, The Little Prince, Southern Mail, Night Flight, White Fang. The prince. It means purity, which is beginning to be born. He travels to many planets, each planet must be one with a bias. Clear. Each planet is an evil, a complex human bias: vanity, greed, false door, existing without living. And what about the pink. That is the reason to live the prince. It shows us that living is for a reason. Anyone who does not have a reason to live, only that it exists. The mean baobads evils, the planet, the heart of man. Which was neglected baobads some seeds that were in his world, he grew the great trees which represent evil. And the spring, the fox, the snake, the bells? I am missing so many things to be defined. I remember the painting "The Cry" of Edvar Munch. I feel fairly well. For the first time I thought of suicide. And it was the latter. I want to continue living.

1993/1994

Una historia del sufrimiento de la lectura: bibliofobia de principios de siglo.

Por
Gustavo Urquiza Valdez

Un buen principio: la personalidad de Don Alfonso.
A través de todos los tiempos, una de las armas más claves para el desarrollo de las sociedades humanas es la capacidad lectora(o bien de lectura, según se le quiera considerar).
Nunca habría sido posible la edificación de monumentos literarios tales como “La guerra y la paz” de Tolstoi, si no existieran documentos tales como el memorial de Santa Helena o incluso “Rojo y negro”, del mismísimo Sthendal.
Y qué decir de actos políticos tales como la liberación del sur africano o la Reforma Mexicana, sin los filósofos del Iluminismo Francés, quienes elaboraron pensamientos de justicia y equidad en pos del beneficio de los hombres de su tiempo.
Francois Mauriac en “Los libros que he leído”, declara que lo mejor de su vida fue el haberse topado con las estructuras gramaticales y esos entes que de alguna manera poseen una existencia propia y se llaman palabras.
Si nos echáramos un clavado en el acervo de una biblioteca, o bien, si nos imbuyéramos en una pila de tomos con el fin de realizar una árdua tarea de investigación acerca de cómo ha evolucionado la historia del libro, nos quedaríamos sumamente perplejos por la enorme cantidad de testamentos, legados y confesiones en los que se exhorta a nosotros, los de las nuevas generaciones de seres humanos, el cultivar un verdadero amor, limpio y puro dirigido al conocimiento.
Esto es como si aquellos ancestros comunes hubieran(aunque en realidad el hubiera no tiene cabida en el mundo), tácitamente, estado al tanto de las sartas de tonterías que los habitantes de la América Latina íbamos a cometer en el, para aquel entonces, futuro.
¿Por qué referirnos a la América Latina de una manera tan específica, e incluso, sin quererlo, de una forma probablemente tan peyorativa, pero sobre todo acometiendo hacia la mítica posibilidad de prosapia cultural que según algunos optimistas de la lengua nos heredaron los españoles?
Sencillamente porque los jóvenes de este continente están pasando por una crisis en la materia de humanidades, misma crisis que se ha agudizado con las recientes desapariciones y aún peor, decadencias de sus literatos originados en el famosísimo Boom, quienes, muy por el contrario a lo que se pensaba en los años sesentas, no pudieron inyectarle a la sociedad de habla hispana un amor por la lectura.
Y por supuesto, que no se podría dejar de lado ni un solo momento, otro factor que desgraciadamente es importante e insoslayable en los últimos tiempos, la especie de luminosidad y sombra que se cierne sobre la humanidad: la globalización.
Claro que se podrían escribir y escribir verdaderos adoquines de puros ensayos, tratados, monografías y artículos especializados eslabonando este penoso y doloroso tema para quienes no están preparados para afrontarlo y su relación devastadora con las artes y la poesía, sin olvidar lo crucial para el desarrollo de los pueblos, sin poder llegar a un punto de encuentro entre la concordancia, la congruencia y el descubrimiento, menos la solución.
Algún pensador de aquellos que destilaban materia gris de tanta que tenían, expresó en cierta parte de su maravillosa existencia: “Los libros hacen libres a los hombres.” Nadie le ha hecho caso en la tierra que descubrió Colón y la que se agandallaron Cortés y asociados; lo peor del caso para sus habitantes, es que aquel pensador ilustrado estaba en toda la completa razón.
Es por eso que sus habitantes, ya mencionados, los derivados de Amerigo Vespucio son tan asquerosamente interdependientes en un mundo globalizado.
Las muertes de grandes maestros como Octavio Paz y Juan José Arreola, han provocado consecuencias conmovedoras y han dejado un hueco inllenable en las letras mexicanas, cuyo pueblo es quien ocupa las preocupaciones más lacerantes en el horizonte internacional por su baja actividad lectora y no se diga su baja comprensión entre los alumnos de educación básica.
He aquí el por qué de que en las próximas líneas, la tinta estará dedicada a esbozar ligeramente una breve estipulación de los pormenores a través de algunos años a la fecha, en la nación de el águila y la serpiente.
Comenzando pués, por los años en que el levantamiento armado en contra del General de Generales y dictador Porfirio Diaz se encontraba en toda su efervescencia, haciendo retumbar cañones y disparos en el suelo mestizo.
Recuérdese muy bien que el país había sufrido una aculturización europea paradójicamente bárbara, ya que sólo la gozaba la aristocracia, entre comillas, de aquel entonces. Sin embargo, surgieron otros cerebros que utilizaron sus talentos en pro de los marginados(verbigracia los hermanos Flores Magón).
En medio de todo este caos se gestaba un orden intelectual pequeño: el Ateneo de la Juventud. En el mencionado movimiento se enarbolaba una praxis indiscutible y esa era la de compartir conocimientos con los jóvenes de aquellos tiempos y concientizarlos, de esta manera, de los sueños de libertad y justicia que volaban sobre alas doradas por Europa, posibilitando su aplicación en la nación que ya había explotado de tanta inconformidad.
De entre ellos sobresalía muy especialmente uno que con el paso de los años llegaría a ser considerado “La Cultura Universal Personalizada”: Alfonso Reyes.
El mérito general de este hombre es sencillamente el haber nacido cuando más se le necesitaba. Pero el objetivo es simple y es el de haber puesto al alcance de los entendimientos menos complejos obras y una amplia variedad de información, así como acercarlos a visitar grandes y antiquísimas civilizaciones por medio de sus libros.
En el caso de Reyes se puede hablar muy bien de precocidad literaria, porque justamente su primer publicación ostenta tal calidad que los mismos contemporáneos españoles le recibieron y le dieron la bienvenida con críticas muy bondadosas.
No fue la pueril manifestación de un niño mimado que gracias a las influencias de papá o a la cursilería de una élite, logra ver impresos sus insulsos textos(la Grazia Deledda y otros, por ejemplo, además de algunos casos aquí en Parral). No. Se trata de una obra paradigmática en la ensayística hispanoamericana: “Cuestiones estéticas”.
En el tomo que contiene su primer obra publicada aborda diversos temas de carácter, como bien se entiende, cultural. Sin embargo, no olvidemos que todo fue enmarcado por charcos de sangre y pérdidas de patriotas, por lo que el joven Reyes tuvo que salir disparado a España tras el asesinato de su padre, el General Alfonso Reyes, quien cayera el primero al inicio de la “Decena Trágica”.
Contrario a lo que se puede pensar, no hay mal que por bien no venga y Don Alfonso tuvo la oportunidad de codearse con los grandes de la Generación del 98, cuyos integrantes, novelistas de gran renombre, se encontraban en pleno apogeo y madurez.
Vinieron tiempos de prolija producción y el regreso a su México. Tiempos de fundaciones y revistas, cátedras universitarias y la avanzada edad. Pasaron varias guerras, se llegó la Era Atómica, una expropiación petrolera, un éxodo, la destrucción de dos ciudades.
Sostiene Peter Berger que “por contraste, las relaciones del hombre con su ambiente se caracterizan por su apertura al mundo”. Nada más cierto. Tal vez Reyes así lo comprendió y sus acciones se deriven de su condición de hombre internacional, no sólo por sus viajes físicos, también por sus miles de lecturas que a fin de cuentas es la mejor forma de viajar.
Dejó este plano astral en mil novecientos cincuenta y nueve, dejando un testamento de independencia literaria en Hispanoamérica, que forjó con la ayuda de Jorge Luis Borges, los hermanos Henríquez Ureña y Octavio Paz.
Claro, Vasconcelos y Torres Bodet brillan con luz muy propia.

El Boom Literario que animó a la América Latina.
Se tiene la creencia de que después de los sesenta nada quedó igual. Ciertamente. Pero tan cierto es también que no se debió precisamente a la aparición de nuevas manifestaciones musicales que excitaban a los jóvenes, sino más bien a la irrupción de ideologías que eran el producto de la mixtura de otras doctrinas y que tuvieron un impacto muy fuerte en el transcurso de los sistemas imperantes, al igual provocaron la aparición y consolidación de entrantes.
Con todo este removimiento de capas políticas y la independencia cultural de Hispanoamérica que antes mencionábamos, cabe precisar que no resulta extraño el hecho de que se llevara a cabo un fenómeno literario de enormes dimensiones y sin precedentes que comenzó con la publicación de la novela “El Señor Presidente”, del guatemalteco Miguel Ángel Asturias y se reafirmara con la entrada en escena de otros libros tales como “Rayuela”, del argentino Julio Cortázar de origen belga y radicado en Francia.
Sin embargo, México, y es doloroso mencionarlo, sólo aportó con un pilar para este movimiento, aunque de gran solidez. Carlos Fuentes, quien gravita por primera vez en la Galaxia Gutemberg con “Los días enmascarados”, colabora a sembrar conciencia en los jóvenes de su patria con libros de una relevancia y brillantez determinante en la prosa mexicana.
Pero se debe aceptar ya que el tiempo de las grandes escuelas de intelectuales ha quedado sumido en el pasado y nadie se acuerda de ellos. Sólo la memoria polvosa que le otorgan los textos escolares de historia les dan un poco de vida y les agradecen su lucha. Y no hay más.
Lo que resta es el cacicazgo intelectual y el empobrecimiento educativo de las mayorías. Como escribió Rulfo en boca del “viejo Esteban” en su cuento “En la madrugada”: “bien puede ser...” que tengamos muchos doctorados en artes, “bien puede ser...” que tengamos literatos muy versados, pero hacen falta las intervenciones de grandes altruistas del conocimiento que antes edificaran hermosos monumentos al progreso y pugnaran por que aprendizaje fuera un proceso solidario.
Probablemente ya sea el turno para los Licenciados en Intervención Educativa. Probablemente ya vaya siendo hora de aliviar esa herida que es el rezago y la baja comprensión de lectura. Probablemente ya vaya siendo hora de asegurarle al mexicano que la respuesta la puede encontrar en “El contrato social” de Rousseaou o en una buena narración de Faulkner o Agustín Yañez.
El lugar número treinta y cuatro, deshonroso y vulgar que nos dio la OCDE, tiene que ser abandonado cuanto antes. Pero eso sí, es crucial consolidar una alianza tripartita entre padres, alumnos y magisterio para lograr este sueño que no es utópico.