Inside OutOur Short Stories and Poems

Compilación de trabajos escritos por alumnos de la carrera de Inglés FFyL - UNCUYO

CONTENTS

Short Stories

THE BROKEN GLASSMaría José AguilarSOMETHING YOU SHOULD KNOWMelisa Natalia AntúnezHER ROCKING CHAIRRocío BonadéLIKE A ROLLER COASTERGabriela Yasmín BittarMY GUARDIAN ANGELLucía CampoMATTERS OF THE HEARTIleana CanoTHE BEST DREAMMaría del Rosario De MunnoTHE CALLSofía GallardoA SIMPLE QUESTIONNoelia Alejandra GioiaTHE GRADUATION TRIPTzu Ying LeeTHE PORTRAITJosefina MarcóIN HEAVENMarisol MassóON THE MERRY-GO-ROUNDSoledad MercadoWHEN THE CURRENTS FLOW

María Alejandrina PetraTHE MYSTERIOUS SMILESabrina PrietoA VALUABLE FRIENDAna Paula RiverosGILADAnita Voloschin

Poems

THE ENTERTAINERValentín CappadonaTO WHOM IT MAY CONCERNValentín CappadonaHE WAS AND HE ISMaría Mercedes CrayonTHE LESSONMaría Mercedes CrayonOH GRAVE INJUSTICE!Brenda GuardattiMY BELOVED MANBrenda GuardattiEARTHQUAKESamanta HerasA BOYSamanta HerasSWIVELGraciana LupariALIVE THE WAY NO ONE COULD BEGraciana LupariONLY YOUCeleste MartiniWHAT IS LIFE?Celeste MartiniTHE HUMBLE QUEEN

Mariana ObredorHIDDENMariana ObredorLIES, CRY, GOODBYEAndrea PolitinoTHREE FISH ON MY DESKAndrea PolitinoLITTLE WARRIORAlejandra PalleresMISTER, MISTERAlejandra Palleres

PREFACE

"You write in order to change the world, knowing perfectly well that you probably can't, but also knowing that literature is

indispensable to the world....The world changes according to the way people see it, and if you alter, even by a millimeter,

the way...people look at reality, then you can change it.”James Baldwin

Inside Out is an anthology that collects poems and short stories written in 2010 by Language IV students, at EFL Teacher Training College, UNCuyo.

All along this year, we have explored the wonderful world of literature and adopted a critical attitude towards the different elements of fiction the authors we read used in their works. Not fully aware of it, all the reading we did prepared us for the creation of our own stories and poems. The time finally came. We were asked to write our own stories and poems. We knew our writings would not be as accomplished as those we had read. Yet, the creative writing experience turned out to be so positive that it soon inspired all of us. For most of us, it was the first time we wrote our own fiction or poetry. Little by little, our stories and poems became part of us and writing turned out to be an enjoyable and gratifying task, one in which we felt the enthusiasm of creating characters, of orienting them, of creating new worlds. We found inspiration in our family, our friends, in everyday experiences and feelings that lead people to live fully, in little problems or changes that we undergo at some point in our lives and can transform our inner self in some way or other.

In Inside Out, we reveal a little about each one of us as we explore themes that have moved us: problematic

childhoods; the loss of a beloved person; death; the power of love, sharing and caring; the limitations of hatred, individualism and indifference; embracing the opportunities of life; valuing differences. Each one of our writings tells a story, explores feelings, shares experiences and emotions, evokes memories, stirs up the senses.

As we experimented with our writing, we discovered the power of words, of creating life with their rhythmical patterns, of creating cascades of emotions that echo our own deepest needs and desires.

We would like to thank our teachers and teaching assistants, who made the Anthology happen: Corina, Cristina, Guillermina, María Laura and Victoria, Alejandra, Carolina, Leandro, Paola, Sara and Tiziana. They all kindly shared their ideas, which helped us in one way or other.

Who knows how far our stories will travel? We wonder... and invite you to share them with us. These are our voices…

The Authors

THE BROKEN GLASS

María José Aguilar

Born in Mendoza, María José Aguilar has a very positive attitude towards life and values the simple things around her. She loves writing short stories, especially drama, to explore the processes of maturation that people go through. Inspired by the good relationship she has with her father, Maria José wrote the wonderful story “The Broken Glass”. Taking advantage of the simple things in life and overcoming difficulties from the past are two key ideas that she wishes to transmit in her work.

Calmly walking back from his job at the car factory, dressed in his gray overall, and quietly smoking his last and long-awaited cigarette, Gregory Turner was heading home. The gentle evening breeze blew his short silky brown hair. His contemplating emerald eyes were hooded by large eyelids that made them look as if they were closed. Some inertial force seemed to move his body, but his mind was somewhere else. His thoughts seemed to mix with the smoke of his cigarette and then, together, thoughts and smoke seemed to vanish in the evening air. Spring surrounded everything and almost everyone. It was eight and the town in which he lived seemed to be more alive than ever. The wind was high, the lights were bright and people looked exhausted and contented at the same time. Another day of hard work was over. Gregory, however, knew his daily routine had not ended yet. He would get home; he would say (as lively as possible) Hi!; then he would carefully listen to his wife while she told him what had happened at home during his absence; absent-mindedly draw and color

some pictures with his six-year-old daughter; take a shower; have supper and go to bed. To him, life was as plain and simple as that.

While Gregory was not at work, he preferred spending time alone at home to being anywhere else. He did not like public places very much and besides that, he had no friends, only a few acquaintances he would run into by chance from time to time. So his wife Veronica would take their daughter Emily to the park or for an ice cream, since differently from Gregory, they loved being among other people and they indeed had lots of friends to visit. That was one of the reasons why Gregory and his daughter were not as close as most fathers would be with their only child. They did not have much in common and for some reason it was difficult for them to bond. They did not spend much time together; and when they did Gregory felt awkward, uncomfortable, as if he were performing a task he had never been made for. It was the same uneasy feeling he got when he lacked the necessary tools to effectively perform this task at the factory where he worked. He could never tell with absolute certainty what were the right things to say or to do. If there only was a handbook that would tell me how to do this, it seemed so easy for other people, he used to think. How do you know for sure that the things you do or say now will not hurt your child later? he always asked himself. So Veronica was in charge of almost everything related to the little girl, even playtime. However, there was no doubt he loved her, did care for her, and always made sure that she had all the things she needed. Actually Gregory had decided to take double shifts and work extra hard in order to save more money and pay for the piano lessons Emily had been craving for so long. But still, there was a wall between

them. It was a wall that had been up between them for too long, even before Emily had been born, and by now that wall had become stronger, more solid and more difficult to overcome or demolish.

One morning a few weeks later, the phone rang at the Turner house. It was Anne, Veronica’s sister, asking her to go to their mother’s house for only a couple of days, since their mother had pneumonia. Neither Veronica nor her sister could afford a nurse to take care of their old mother and besides that, they preferred to do it themselves. So a decision had been made: Veronica would spend the next two or three days away from home. Gregory would have to take care of the child while his wife was not at home because Veronica could not and would not take Emily with her. Gregory agreed to this plan. He appreciated and liked her wife’s commitment towards the people she loved the most. Yet, he had to acknowledge that deep down inside, a slight fear was slowly beginning to crawl. It was the same tightness he felt when he had to spend time with his daughter. He had nothing to offer to her, he did not know how to act and react in the presence of this fragile child. She did not need him at all, it seemed to him, and besides, he always asked himself: what is the point of this bond? Her childhood would soon be over and she would certainly find some other things and people to be interested in, and she would move on, away from him, and he would end up the same way as he was then except that the most painful heartache would be added. He had the same feeling towards other people as well to his life. What is the point of getting attached? That only means getting too close to the dangerous weapon that wounds.

That day progressed naturally. The only difference was that Veronica was packing her belongings and Gregory went to the factory to ask for a week off from work. While he was returning home he tried to construct a mental picture of what could happen during those days. He could not picture what it would be like. His mind was completely blocked. Now the time had come for him to see whether he was “father material” or not. As he traversed the street he could not help watching his neighbors playing with their children. Lucky them, they seem to be gracefully sliding over an invisible ice rink while I am frantically trying not to drown in this sea of uncertainty, he thought to himself. Two houses before his, he watched his pretty wife take her suitcase and some bags out to wait for the taxi that would take her to the bus station. Emily was with her, telling her things that Gregory could not hear and following her everywhere she went. As he got closer, the conversation became clearer and he stayed by their side listening.

“Mommy... do you really have to go? Why can’t Auntie Anne take care of Granny by herself?” asked the child.

“Oh, honey, I know it sounds unfair to you, but it’s the right thing to do... You will understand this well when you grow up,” replied the mother.

“I know Granny is sick... but I don’t want you to go away. You have never gone on a trip without me, mom,” Emily insisted.

“I know that honey, and believe me; it’s hard for me too. I don’t like having to go away without you, but you’ll be here with Daddy, okay? I know he’ll take good care of you,” said Veronica.

“Okay... but please come back soon Mom. I’ll miss you,” Emily said.

“Me too babe, but I promise you’re going to be okay and you won’t even notice that I’m gone,” Veronica assured her.

Veronica and Emily’s conversation seemed to rekindle Gregory’s bittersweet memories. Time stood still and he was taken back to the moment when he was six years old. He was the apple of his father’s eye. And Gregory considered him his best and only friend as well. His father seemed to know no such thing as sadness, boredom or sorrow. They used to spend a lot of time together, since his father looked after him while his mother worked. To Gregory, every game they invented was an adventure worth publishing in a book. The time when his father picked him up at school was Gregory’s favorite part of the day. And at home his very soul would brighten up whenever his father patted him gently on the shoulder or fixed any of his beloved toys. Gregory would spend hours and hours telling him about his adventures that day and he was proud and at ease because he did not need to share his invaluable father with anybody, since he was an only child. Even though he was only six years old he was well aware that the relationship between his parents was not good. Gregory’s parents were constantly arguing about things Gregory at that moment could not fully grasp. The regular pattern of their arguments included more or less the same words: drink, change, again, be here, leave, money and what seemed to be Gregory’s mother’s favorite phrase in the whole world: the kid needs a responsible father, not a friend. These continuous fights were the antecedent to the event that would change Gregory’s life forever. This event would be the true origin of his distrust and of his

negative attitude towards almost anyone he knew. Gregory’s mother thought it would be easier to lie to a six year old. However, in time she proved to be wrong. At first, she told him that his father was out looking for a job, then that he was on a business trip, then that his trip had been delayed until there was no more need to lie and strangely enough, the truth was not necessary either. Deep down inside, Gregory knew his father would not come back. For some reason he did not understand, his father had abandoned him and his mother. He had left them alone in the world, never thinking about the dangers that they would have to face. It took Gregory years to find out what was happening to his parents those days. Reality was that Gregory’s father was always at home because he did not want to get a job, and if he did, he drank too much and soon got fired. Gregory’s mother’s theory was that he used to do that on purpose, not to work at all. And during the year before he abandoned them he was violent towards Gregory’s mother at times. This behavior was getting more and more frequent. According to Gregory’s mother, somewhere along the way, his father changed, drastically changed. Once she told Gregory, “He was like a friend to you, but certainly he was a foe to me.”

And that did it. Gregory lost track of how many times he had asked himself why his father had left. He asked himself whether there was something wrong about him that may have caused his father’s decision. For years he blamed himself. Gregory secretly experienced years and years of sorrow. The person he loved the most had let him down. He was disappointed with love, with life, with himself, and with everyone he knew. He grew dark, pessimistic. His hopes, dreams and expectations for the future were lost. They were dead to him. He promised

himself that he would never ever trust anybody so much again; he would never put all his faith on a single person, because people are extremely likely to deceive you and to let you down. More than anyone, he knew how it hurt to be left behind as if you were an object and he would not take the chance to experience that pain again. There, in that crystal prison he had built throughout the years, he remained distant from everybody and everything. He could not be touched and no one could touch him or hurt him either. The glass was a protective shield that kept him safe.

Suddenly, the taxi honk brought Gregory back from his thoughts. Veronica was ready to go and Emily was now holding her hand and looking straight at her as if she wanted to take a mental picture of that very moment. She approached her husband and tenderly embraced him.

“Bye honey. This will take only a few days I hope, only until mom gets better,” Veronica said.

“It’s okay, take as long as you need... Emily and I will be here waiting for you. Send my best wishes and I hope your mom gets better soon,” Gregory answered.

“That’s so sweet of you, don’t worry, she’ll get your message. I must admit I’m a bit worried, are you going to be able to handle this? I mean, taking care of Emily all by yourself?” asked the wife.

“Sure, don’t you worry... If it makes you feel better I’ll call you at your mother’s if there’s anything I need. Now get going! The cab will leave you. We’ll be just fine. Don’t you worry about a thing,” Gregory answered, trying to convince himself of what he was saying.

For the twentieth time Veronica said goodbye to her daughter and Gregory. Father and daughter waved goodbye at the moving taxi until they lost sight of it. The child seemed to be at ease and she also seemed to be thinking about what to do during the rest of the day. The father looked terrified thinking about how to deal with the things the child would want to do during the rest of her day. Before he could even utter a word, her daughter asked softly, “Are you ready for supper Dad?”

“Sure,” answered the surprised father, who was glad that she had made the first move.

Gregory hurried to fix their meal, gave Emily some time to do her homework and accompanied her to her bedroom. In the meantime they both seemed to be curiously awkward in the presence of each other. Gregory felt as odd as ever and Emily looked nervously at him and thought about all the things she could do to gain his father’s approval. Although Gregory did not notice it, she was desperate to do so. Emily knew that while her father was alone at home he enjoyed listening to the piano music which he loved. She was eager to know how to create that marvelous music. Maybe those melodies could put his father out of his melancholy, she used to think. While he tucked up his daughter in bed, Gregory went on with some routine questions he had been rehearsing for a few minutes: Did you do all your homework? How was your day? Don’t worry, Mom will soon come; Get some rest; Tomorrow’s a school day, See you in the morning. He stood up from her bedside before she could ask him anything he would not know how to answer. He rapidly turned off the lights, for the last time said “see you in the morning”, and walked out before the child could reply. He walked away feeling like a rabbit that survives the attack of some ferocious

creature. He went to his bedroom where he intended to go to sleep, but for some reason he could not understand, he felt as if his chest were about to explode. It was burning with something cold that he felt growing inside him. He could not tell what it was. It was a completely new sensation for him and it made him feel uncertain about everything he knew. His mind went back and forth, from his good childhood days, to the bad ones too, his daughter, his wife, their present, their future, the moment when they would surely leave him, where he would be left alone again. The routine of a lifetime.

A shrill sound and a blinding light awoke Gregory the next morning. They were annoying. He turned off the alarm clock and closed the shades. He got up, fixed their breakfast and went up to Emily’s bedroom to wake her up. When he saw her he was surprised by the look in her face. She was sick. She was shivering and when he touched her she was hot and her forehead was wet with perspiration. Emily opened her eyes and weakly greeted her father.

“I don’t feel well daddy... but if you want me to go to school I will,” Emily said.

“No, it’s okay, you can stay in bed, and it’s pretty obvious you have a fever. I’ll call the doctor and we’ll see what he has to tell us, okay?” Gregory replied.

About an hour later the doctor arrived and Gregory cordially escorted him to the little girl’s room. She was in the same state as earlier. Nothing seemed to have improved. The doctor took a quick look at her and finally gave his evaluation. Her fever was only the result of a cold. After the doctor left, Gregory went back to the child’s room to give her the medicine and to see how

she was doing. She quietly drank her medicine, she had tea with some cookies and went back to sleep again. How curious! Gregory thought. This simple fever seems to have taken away the very essence of Emily. She was no longer talkative and cheerful. She was silent and reticent. She had drastically changed and he prayed for the medicine to quickly take effect so she would be the same bright girl he knew, instead of this unknown dark and mysterious child lying in bed. He let the child sleep for as long as she needed to. She slept until the afternoon, getting up from time to time to go to the bathroom. The very last time she got up, Gregory heard her calling him. She urged him to her room.

“What’s wrong? Are you not feeling better? Do you want me to call the doctor again?” Gregory asked.

“No, Daddy. I’m okay. I’m calling you because of something else,” Emily replied.

“What is it?”“Would you stay with me until I’m okay? Or at least

until you make sure I’m asleep again? I don’t like being alone Daddy. I know you may have other things to do now, but please just a few minutes, would you stay with me? Please?” Emily asked her father.

A gigantic tight knot grew in Gregory’s throat. An uncontrollable tremor shook his very soul and it was visible in his face. He had to look away for a few minutes to hide the storm of nightmares that tormented and terrified him. Hearing her child’s plead was like going thirty years back in time and he could see himself as a child falling asleep all alone, crying until his swollen eyes would hurt, and falling asleep between sobs. He could hear himself praying not to God but to his father to come back. Gregory hated being without him more than

anything. He prayed, and begged, and hoped, and cried and suffered until he thought he had run out of tears. But no one answered. He more than anybody knew what it was like to be alone.

“Are you okay, Daddy? Did I say something wrong? You look so sad,” said the child.

“No, mmm... I’m okay. I’m a bit tired that’s all.”“So would you stay with me? Please?”“Sure, I swear I’m not going anywhere unless you

ask me to,” Gregory said.“I don’t want you to go away.”

And he fulfilled his promise. He stayed by her bedside the rest of the day. With his emerald eyes, Gregory tried to absorb every little detail of this lovely child. She was a map in which every territory was somehow familiar to him. Looking at her was an eerie déjà vu. He could see himself reflected in her. He had never noticed how alike they were. Gregory discovered that her face not only resembled his face when he was a six year old, but he also discovered that his daughter had the same spirit, the same attitudes and the same love and trust he had once had. He started to wonder what had happened to him during all those years that had led him to be so blind. This was a magnificent sight, a new incomparable uncharted territory ready for him to look at whenever he wanted to, but he had not paid much attention to it before. He started to feel warm; maybe it was the child’s contagious heat. But he did not have a fever; for sure. It was something awakening, begging to be released. Gregory’s lustrous eyes lingered on Emily, who dreamily opened her bright green eyes and turned her head as if she were looking for something she had lost. She met her father’s luminous eyes and sweetly smiled. He

warmly smiled back and caressed her. She sighed and went back to sleep with the same charming smile she had given him before.

And that did it. The cold crystal prison that held Gregory’s soul captive opened its doors and let love in. The beast inside him was released from its enclosure. It was the most liberating experience of his life. The opaque glass out of which that prison was made completely shattered into a million pieces, it seemed. He could feel it explode, allowing him to feel, to touch, to joyfully open his arms and embrace life. That explosion would allow him to live and not to waste another minute of his life being afraid. A secret force was now binding his soul with his daughter’s. That natural bond that linked them would last a lifetime and even more than that. He would not let her down. That was the only certainty in his life. He would always be there by her side, just as he was now. He would never let go of her hand. Only if she needed it, he would do so. He took a solemn vow not to make the same mistake again. He knew he was in time to do so.

The crashing of the glass around his soul suddenly woke him out of a long, long dream. He started to laugh quietly as tears of joy fell from his beaded eyes. It had been years since he had smiled or laughed at something truly meaning it. At first, Gregory wanted to hide those tears before someone could see them. It was almost like an involuntary reflex to do so. It was a habit he had developed throughout his life. But now he realized he did not care if somebody could see those tears. In some strange way, he was actually proud of them. They were happy tears; they were tears worth being shed. He carefully stood up from the child’s bed

and walked to the bedroom window. The window was covered by lace curtains whose color went from a pale blue to a warm pink. Gregory could see his own reflection in the opaque glass. He looked different, renewed. He felt that that room needed some fresh air, so he lifted up the shade and let the light breeze warm up his gray face, his arms, and his hands. He felt embraced by the rays of light that seemed to enthusiastically welcome him back to life. Sighing, he looked out of the window and noticed a small pigeon sitting on its cozy nest on one of the branches of a tree. The pigeon was protecting its egg. It was carefully averting any danger from his offspring. The wild bird seemed to be unswerving and determined not to go anywhere. Gregory approvingly nodded and smiled again saying, “I got you.”

SOMETHING YOU SHOULD KNOW

Melisa Natalia Antúnez

Natalia Antúnez was born and raised in Mendoza and is currently a third-year student of English. She embarked on the difficult but thrilling experience of becoming a teacher of English because she considers this language a wonderful way to communicate with other people around the world. In “Something You Should Know” Natalia presents us with a moving story about a special boy. She got the inspiration from her personal experience as she is currently working at a kindergarten for children with special needs. In this story we are invited to reflect upon the importance of learning who we are and why we are here.

Thomas could not believe where he was heading. It never crossed his mind that this day would come so soon. His mom and dad never let him believe so. They had preferred to hide the truth from him for so many years. The thought of an interminable five-hour drive across the mountains to Denver made him feel more distressed and confused as each minute passed. He would not quite pay attention to John’s question, right next to him, in the driver’s seat.

“Hey! Are you OK? You look pale,” John asked, for the third time.

“Yes,” he said, lost in his own thoughts. “Just nervous… I don’t know how you convinced me to do this.”

“Look, I know this must sound crazy to you, but if I were you, I would try to clear up this mystery. It’s

everyone’s right to know where you come from,” John answered vehemently.

Thomas could not ever regret having met John. Not only had Thomas considered John his best friend for over fifteen years, but also thought of him as the blood brother he never had. They had shared so many things. His being there with him to meet his biological mother meant a lot to him. Their friendship went back to primary school. John had been the only classmate who had accepted him without pointing at his learning difficulties. In fact, Thomas knew that having been helped by two teachers, one for the whole group and the other just for himself, and by John, had been essential to his becoming what he was now. John had also been more patient than other classmates. He would stay with him in class, even during breaks, when it took Thomas a little longer to finish his work. He would give his friend his full attention when Thomas wanted to say something but found it so hard to grasp the words that expressed his feelings. In the afternoons, they would play together whenever Thomas was free from therapists. But, most importantly, John had been by him, unfailingly, during high school. He had been the advocate friend who had held out his hands when he was lost, who had listened to him when he needed a word, who had spoken to him when he sought advice.

***

Her face was fair, her eyes distressed, her temper affable; at least that was what Thomas thought he could capture from the snapshot he was holding in his hands, a flavor of his “mother”. The woman was cuddling a tiny, newborn baby: Thomas himself. On the back of the

picture, there was a name: Jane Austing. Feeling queasy inside, rambling thoughts filled his mind: why had she abandoned him, what had her feelings, her thoughts, and her dreams been when Thomas was still part of her life. Her father, mother and John were looking at him, worried about his reactions. His breath came in short gasps, and his wan face was illuminated by the natural light in the room. Tomas finally spoke, his words shattered the moment.

“Why… did you cover up the truth… for so long?” he murmured.

“I wanted to wait a bit longer. John was the one who thought it was high time. He actually was the one who found that hidden photo a few weeks ago. He thought it was something you should know before he goes to college and he is not around to be with you,” Rosa, Thomas’s mother, answered.

“What do you know about her now?” he stammered after a few minutes, as he was processing the unwelcome news. Is she… alive?” he asked his parents again, looking back and forth to them and John.

“We don’t know. We lost contact after we adopted you when you were five,” Thomas’s father added.

“I don’t know,” he took a few minutes to find the words “if I want to know more about her… She did abandon me, right?”

“What did you say?” John spoke for the first time, bluntly. “Don’t you want to know why she left you with them? If she has a family, kids? If she is looking for you right now?” he reached out to him and patted his back.

“Don’t you understand … that being this person, that being me… could have been more than enough to get rid of me… Leave me alone,” Thomas replied and

ploughed his way through the room, striding outside the house.

***

John watched Thomas, driving next to him, carefully studying him; trying to guess what thoughts could be crossing his mind. But Thomas felt as if he had been walking around in a dream all day. He could not believe that he had actually plucked up the courage to make the decision to meet her; he was well known for not acting on his own initiative. Ever since they had set on the trip, Thomas, as elusive as he generally was when he felt cast down, did not say a word. He looked away as if he were scanning the horizon for any sign. He caught his image reflected in the wing mirror, yet could not quite recognize himself. He looked studiously at his features: the oblique eyes, the flat nasal bridge, the peculiar short neck, his plump round face. As if he were thumbing through the pages of his life, he remembered again the old times, those he had had access to as his mother revisited them for him, supplying all the details his frail memory would not retain. The interminable sessions of physical, occupational and speech therapy was what he remembered best, as they took up a huge part of this childhood and adolescence. As if John had read his mind, he said,

“Remember the time when we used to play the memory games? Like the lists your mom made with errands, and instructions, and how I would help you remember at least five of them…”

“No, I have forgotten,” he answered, without any other word. “I can barely remember some of the teachers I worked with a few years ago.”

It seemed as if his whole short life had started to lose shape, as if, all of a sudden, a piece of a puzzle did not fit. All the funny anecdotes John was telling him about: the time Thomas had spent with his family, the summer camps, the movie nights together, the school time with him, appeared to be the memories of other person. The windshield wiper went back and forth as the ceaseless spring rain fell. This outlandish idea of driving to his “mother’s” made him realize –already in the pit of his stomach- that his life could actually change from now on. After musing on his most recent memories, he spoke again.

“Wait! Stop the car!”

John obeyed and pulled over. Thomas fled from the car out to the road. John followed him.

“Are you ok? What’s wrong?” John asked, sounding disturbed.

The sound of cars passing by brought him back to the moment with a start, and he remembered what he was doing there.

“I don’t even know what I’m going to say to her… No idea how she’ll react. Yell out in surprise, ask me to leave, let me in, cry?” Thomas wondered, uneasily.

“Don’t worry, I will be with you. Just be calm, ask all what you need to ask. You have to get this over with,” John said, reassuringly.

***

As he packed some clothes for the trip, Thomas admitted he felt cramped in his bedroom. Nothing would cheer him up, not even looking at the words on the piece of paper he kept in a picture frame on his bedside table. He read: “People should understand that special kids do not have a disease, but a condition; they are not looking for a cure, but for acceptance; neither are they looking for pity nor indifference, just respect and your genuine love for them”. Of course, he always thought it was also a message for the people who accused special kids from a distance, not only for himself. He sat down on the bed, hid his head in his hands. He cried bitterly. He understood that being special was so much harder, particularly when you want to look normal for others. He knew he was taking a risk with this woman.

***

They were now facing the semi-detached house. The sun shone palely through the clouds. It seemed a perfect spring day. Thomas stood transfixed with shock. John held Thomas’ hand and led him on gently. Thomas took short steps to the front door; every step seemed to be taking him a long way. They walked up the wooden steps, crossed the porch. Thomas hesitated a moment before ringing the bell. Feeling edgy, he forgot what he had rehearsed in the last two hours in the car. Was it “Hi, I’m sorry to interrupt you today, but I’m your son?” or something like, “Hello! My name is Thomas. I’m your son” and then maybe let her know about his existence, or was it the other way around? He took a long breath and looked at the massive door, still confused and frightened. He searched for his friend. John nodded reassuringly and whispered, wishing him good luck. He knocked at the door. After what seemed

hours to him, the door clattered open and a woman stood there, looking frightened. She stepped back, took her hand to her mouth, and fainted.

Her skin was of a fair color; her pale lips were cracked, her eyes tear-filled, her hair short and wavy, with strands of grey. As she woke, she felt six pairs of eyes watching her, studying her moves: Stephen, her husband, her two young sons, John and Thomas. Stephen helped her to straighten herself up, and carefully explained to her what had just happened.

She sat down and the only person she could really see was Thomas. She took her hand to her neck, as if she had a lump in her throat. She came closer to him and touched his face softly, and watched him as if she was staring him out.

“Your deep blue eyes have not changed, those blue deep eyes which I always dived into, as if I were in the vast, warm ocean. I was always spellbound by their beauty, your beauty,” she said. “I never thought I was going to see you again, my dear,” she said, weeping.

A gentle smile of reminiscence flickered across her face. She stood beside him, teetering on wobbly legs. Thomas, almost unawares, approached her and hugged her tightly. She cried over his shoulder and asked him to stay with her for a while just like that. Both needed that hug. She needed to hug him so as to recognize every single detail of her beloved baby, to distinguish the savory smell she could still recall, the hair she had longed to caress, the smooth skin she had nourished.

They just sat for some time. Everybody in the room had waited for her to speak up. He did not want to hear about her whole life now. He just wanted to know only about that part of her life that concerned him, that explained how he had ended up with Rosa and Pablo.

“Well, you were born when I was thirty-five.” She cleared her throat. “Your father was my second husband, and he left the minute I got pregnant. Back then, I was alone, my parents were both dead and I was staying with a relative. I knew from the start that you were going to be special. I could feel it in my womb that you were going to be someone different, that you were going to change my life. I was unprepared for the shock of being told my baby had Down Syndrome.”

As if they were the only two people in the room, he felt her words were only his. She talked to him as if her family was not there. She wiped tears from her eyes. Thomas could only picture her regretting having had him in the first place. Then, feeling ashamed of his being hers.

“I knew so little about it… and I was overpowered by fear… It frightened me to death not knowing how…to take care of you… overwhelmed by feelings of loss… guilt, fear… think of all the problems ahead… how I would take care of you” her voice trembled, as if she had anticipated for a moment that these words were not going to repair what she and Thomas had lost.

Some pieces of her speech were the only words Thomas could capture. Thoughts inside his mind spun rapidly, round and round.

“When… was I born?” Thomas asked abruptly.“November, 15th. When I left you in the convent I

asked one of the nuns to keep your name and your birth date. Did that happen?”

“Yes,” he said in a clear voice.

Thomas felt this was not his place at all. Jane’s sons met Thomas’ eyes for a moment, and he felt the curiosity in those eyes, which caused him a deep feeling of unease. His eyes became fixed on John, sitting in a corner of the room. He smiled at him, and he received his expression of support. Jane spoke again.

“In fact, I asked her if I could know… what would happen with you… I could send you photos, write to you, and send you some presents… so that you would eventually know more about yourself… where you come from…. She said I should reconsider my decision to leave you there.” She took a moment to calm down, and then continued “I hesitated for a moment and I handed a snapshot with my name on the back to her.”

“When and why did you leave me there?” Thomas finally asked what he had fought inside him so hard, all the rambling thoughts, expectations, fears, and his true self depended on this question.

“You were five. Back then,” her hands moving backwards, trembling “I was diagnosed with cancer,” she paused. “My doctor told me I had no more than a year of life.” She clutched her hands, stood up, and walked across the room to the window. Looking outside she continued, “I wouldn’t leave you with my relatives or at an orphanage, so I looked for someone willing to take care of you. I thought of the only place I’ve always felt welcomed and at peace, a church.” She turned back, and went back to Thomas again, and finally said, “So I

left you there with the nuns, with the strong belief that God had sent me there, and guided me to leave you with them.” She held his hand tightly and said, “Sorry.”

It was then when Thomas understood her. He felt her pain and repentance also his. A feeling of unbelievable tranquility, almost of communion with someone, flowed through him.

Little by little, Thomas loosened up, and the rest of the day was filled with anecdotes of his early childhood.

“How strange … I can’t get over how things have worked out for us. Now every memory begins to take shape in my mind. The lullaby song; I remember humming “You are my sunshine” along with the music, with the feeling that I’d heard it before. I even remembered the beautiful voice of a woman singing. Gosh, and the smell of a spring flower, a sweet-scented lavender bluebell…”

“I loved that song. I remember it was the only one which would make you sleep,” she confessed, and laughed for the first time in the afternoon.

At the end of the day, she asked him if she could write to him and see him again. Tomas could not say no. As she was walking them to the car, she said.

“There is something you should know. I was the one who wrote the message you mentioned to me about a minute ago, the one you keep on your bedside table. I just… want you to know, I never, not once, felt ashamed of you, and I never will.”

On their way back to Denver, in the car, he took a form out of his bag. It was an application form for college. He fetched a pen and started filling in the blank spaces.

“You finally made up your mind. What has helped you?” John asked, intrigued.

“Everything. Now I feel I can find a place at college, where I can feel comfortable, safe, and proud of who I am. After all, only few of us can go to college. I want to be one of them.”

LIKE A ROLLER COASTER

Gabriela Yasmin Bittar

Gabriela Bittar lives in San Martín, a big city in the east of Mendoza. She has always liked languages and still remembers the day she animatedly told her mother she wanted to become an English teacher. So strong was her desire to do so, that nowadays she is a third year student of the English Teaching Training Course. When the time came to write her first short story, she was very enthusiastic about the idea, but was not sure about her creative power. However, in "Like a Roller Coaster", we see those insecurities fade away as Gabriela presents us with a touching story about loving and being loved.

It was a sunny afternoon in November, and Stasia was at home, getting ready to go out. She took a bath, as she did every time she went out, and she carefully chose the right clothes for that occasion. She looked at her night table alarm clock to make sure she was not delayed and waited anxiously, facing the mirror and thinking of the best way to greet him.

They hadn’t seen each other for about four weeks because things had started to go wrong; in fact, their relationship had never worked out. They had been dating for about six months; they liked and loved each other. But they were so different; they fought so many times that she told him she wanted to break up with him.

Once again, the time for the date came and she was so eager to see him. They had talked by mobile phone several times and they had told each other so many

things, trying to figure out why their relationship hadn’t worked out. They both felt sad and lonely, and she cried - so in need of his love, so in love with him, so blindly in love. He talked to her in a sweet voice and in such a gentle manner that she finally agreed to meet him again.

They arranged to get together in the park at 5 o’clock and, as usual, she got there first. She sat on the park bench for a few minutes, then she stood up, then she sat again; she kept on looking at her watch. She looked for her mobile phone in her bag but she hadn’t received any messages. She went to buy a bottle of water in a shop across the street and came back to the bench. Many people passed by, people walking their dogs, people exercising, couples playing with their children, but she was alone, waiting for him. She looked at her watch many times, longing for time to pass. But it did not; she felt disappointment every time she looked at it. Twenty minutes passed and nothing happened; she was there, alone, staring at the ground, wondering what might have happened to him. After several seconds, what she felt was no longer worry but a strong feeling of irritation.

“I hope this hasn’t been a joke,” she told herself.

Twenty, thirty, forty minutes had passed since she had arrived. She took her phone, made a call but nobody answered. She left a voice message saying, “I’m leaving. I thought you were coming this time,” and she hung up. She spoke very quietly but her words sounded as deep as the blue sea. She was almost leaving when she suddenly raised her head and stopped.

More and more people started to arrive at the park. Many of them took pictures, some others passed on their way to work. And Cliff was there too.

“Sorry,” he said with an apologetic smile.

Stasia remembered how much she loved the calm smile on his face and his penetrating look, which made her feel uneasy at times. But she knew that when he looked at her in that way, she could trust him. She had always thought that the eyes were the gateway to a person's soul. A few seconds passed and they both hugged each other and he kissed her with the sweetest lips she had ever kissed before. They sat down on the park bench and started talking, quietly and sincerely. She burst into tears, overwhelmed by all the suffering she had gone through for him, but she never stopped looking at him – straight into his eyes. They talked for about ten minutes and then there was complete silence. They just looked at each other, expressionless. Suddenly, she hugged him and told him, “I love you and I really want things to work out with you”.

“Listen,” he said, “I can’t talk here with all the people passing by. Why don’t we go to my apartment?”

Stasia accepted immediately. She stood up and held his hand strongly. In the apartment they drank some orange juice and after they talked, hugged and kissed for a while they decided they would try again, for the third time, to really commit themselves to their relationship and see if it worked out.

“I will never leave you. I love so much. I promise to be with you and take care of this relationship. You know what I feel. You are the girl I want to be with,” he said.

She, for the first time in their relationship, believed his words.

After having spent the whole afternoon together, while he was taking a shower, she sat in bed and started thinking. She thought she had to tell him. Why not? He had been so lovely, so kind and sweet with her lately. What’s more, he had always kept in touch with her, he had always insisted on meeting again and trying again and… she loved him. She had always told him everything, so why should she keep this to herself? She needed to tell him... even more now that they had been together in bed after all the things that had happened between them, and after all those days… yes, she loved him, and she needed him by her side, helping her, supporting her.

“Sweetheart,” she told him when he came back to bed. “I need to tell you something that for some reason I didn’t tell you before”.

She was anxious to see how he would respond. But she knew he would understand and support her. He had previously told her he loved her.

“Look, I know we’ve been through difficult situations, disagreements, fights, disillusions but we are here, again, giving ourselves another chance. What has happened to me this afternoon was wonderful because I know I love you. I want to change all the things you don’t like, and hope you will change yours, too. Baby, we

have to learn to cope with this situation. But now I want to go a step further and open myself to tell you something that is really important to me. I want to share this with you because you are everything for me… I love you Cliff.”

She had fought so hard not to cry but before she finished talking she burst into tears.

“I have leukemia,” she sobbed.

Absolute silence hung over the bedroom. She waited to see his reaction. She was expecting him to hug her, to tell her he would be there to support her. She was expecting him to ask for an explanation, to go mad or… or something! But no, he only stared, two meters away from her, near the bathroom… motionless, expressionless, saying nothing at all.

Why should I be surprised? she thought to herself. Why? He never says a word, he never expresses what he thinks or feels!... No way! This is happening to me again. Please God, make him speak!

“OK,” he said.“OK?” What does that mean? she thought.“I mean, everything will be alright,” he said with a

blank look on his face.

He bore a strange expression on his face, but she thought that maybe he needed some time to assimilate what she had told him.

Should I wait? Do other people act like this in a similar situation? she asked herself but she didn’t say a word.

He didn’t look at her in the eyes but he said, “Sorry baby, can we talk about this later on? I have to go to the gym now.”

What?! she thought. Is that what I heard? To the gym?! No… no no no, it can’t be possible.

“To the gym?” she asked, with an ironic tone of voice. “OK, go to gym if that’s what you need.”

She stood up, gave him an insignificant kiss and then left.

“See you tomorrow?” she asked in disappointment, but he only nodded.

She walked home thinking about what had happened. She couldn’t help wondering what was on Cliff’s mind. She tried so hard to understand his behavior but sometimes, getting to know a person takes longer than what one usually expects.

Several wonderful spring days passed and Stasia remained at home, waiting for her mobile phone to ring. She hadn’t been paying attention to her surroundings, her family, friends, nothing… Cliff, just Cliff… he was the only person she wanted to see and talk to. It seemed life was passing her by when she found herself lying on bed, constantly checking her mobile phone and wondering when he would call or text her. Wherever she went she took her mobile phone with her. It was like an addiction, she couldn’t help it. Hours and hours passed and she didn’t stop thinking of him –not even one single minute– desiring to talk to him, dreaming of that longing

phone call. And the phone finally rang, yes, it was a text message. But no, no no no… it was not Cliff; it was her best friend asking how she was. Stasia wanted to tell her friend she had been with Cliff again, that they had talked and had decided to be together again. She wanted to scream out loud what she was feeling, how happy she was. She wanted to tell her how kind and sweet Cliff had been with her, how close they had become, how…

What? she thought. He hasn’t even texted me once. We are not close… and… and I’m… I’m not happy.

At that precise moment she could feel something strange. It felt like a knot in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t figure out what it was and when she tried to swallow, she couldn’t. There was a bitter taste in her throat. Something she couldn’t describe, something… something wrong, something bad. Stasia knew that his behavior was not right. She decided not to tell anybody about this. By the following week, she had texted him twice, she had also phoned him up, as she always did to wake him up, to cheer him up, and to show him all her love, but he had never ever answered back. Never. He had completely disappeared. She could have thought many things about him. He may have been immature; he may have paid too much attention to his friends leaving her aside. He may have been lazy. But there was no way she could understand his behavior that time. She would never have thought he would disappear. She had trusted him, she had believed his words.

Two days later, she passed by the park where she had met him the last time. Lots of memories came to her

mind and she was pushed, by a feeling of nostalgia, to go away from that place. All the wonderful moments they had lived together, all the sweet words he had told her, all the kisses and hugs, and… and also all the sad days she had spent crying, wondering where he was, what he felt, who he was with, when he would pay more attention to her and become the Prince Charming she had always dreamed of. At that precise moment, the light blue sky and the bright hazelnuts against green leaves just attracted her. She lay on the green grass, thinking and taking a look into her life, her past, her present, and the way she wanted her future to turn out.

Her arms were wide open and she had closed her big blue eyes. She felt alone, although there were many people around her. She started daydreaming; she was flying in her own world. She saw herself in an amusement park with nobody in it, no big rides to go on. There was just one thing in front of her, the roller coaster. She felt like going on it.

But there’s no one here to help me, to be with me…what if I fall? What if I …?There was complete silence.

And what if I fall? Nothing, nothing will happen. I mean, I can go on with my life, I can even go on other rides; there are actually other rides…

Suddenly, she opened her eyes and for some reason she felt renewed. She had never thought of her illness as many people do. For her, it was just an illness that she would have to cope with. It was not a big deal. She had always known she was a strong girl. So, why would it be hard for other people, like Cliff?

Maybe he was confused. Maybe he only wanted to get revenge for the time when I broke up with him, she thought. Maybe he just wanted sex. Maybe he thought of his self-preservation instinct and didn’t want to be with an ill girl or maybe he… if he was able to leave me, he didn’t love me that much. Yes, that could be one reason, and I know I’ve been a difficult girl and that sometimes I’ve been a pain for him. But I don’t care anymore. I’m not sad, I don’t feel like crying, and I don’t deserve to be with a guy who doesn’t care about me. I took the risk to enter this roller coaster facing the ups and downs of it, yes, I entered the rides, but once the ride is over… well, it’s over. I don’t want this roller coaster anymore, no. I want something else… I want to go on other rides. I might have been wrong or not, but as everybody says, a stumble is not a fall, and I’m not falling, not when I’m still alive.

HER ROCKING CHAIR

Rocío Bonadé

Rocío Bonadé knew from an early age that someday she would like to be an EFL Teacher. After receiving primary and secondary education, she entered college, where she had her first direct contact with English Literature, which she has come to love. Rocio enjoys reading classic short stories as well as children's poetry. Although she does not have a favourite author, she prefers to read works set in the early XX century. Her preference for this kind of literature is clearly reflected in her charming short story "Her Rocking Chair."

It was a warm afternoon and Ursula Kendrick was sitting in her bedroom, relaxedly rocking in her rocking chair. Her head was tilted to one side, her brown silky hair arranged into two thick braids that started in her temporal hairline and ended in her nape. A single curl had dropped out of the braids and fell on her forehead. With one hand she held a strand of hair from her nape around one of her fingers, curling it the way she did when she caught sight of a handsome young man. With the other hand she mindlessly turned over the pages of The Delineator – especially brought from the United States by her mother – her emerald green eyes taking a glance at the designs, thinking about what to wear to the Concert Hall, coming next Saturday.

Even though she was very relaxed, her torso was tucked into a tight corset, making her breathe spasmodically. She also wore a green petticoat, matching her Sunday dress, made exclusively for her by

the family’s seamstress, and she herself had chosen the fabric. The deep green of the shirtwaist matched her eyes, and the high collar made her neck look longer. The skirt was decorated with very thin silver grey stripes. She looked like a porcelain figurine glowing in the faint sunlight coming from the window. Now and then the voices of her parents downstairs came to her as the faint echo of the sea you can hear in a seashell.

The next moment she heard hurried footsteps coming up the marble stairs, and a nervous knock at the door woke her from her daydream. In came Bruna, her nanny, her eyes frantic, her cheeks rosy, flushed by the hurry. Ursula leaped up at Bruna’s abrupt entrance.

“M-Ms Kendrick,” Bruna stammered, “your father is coming right now to tell you something. By the look on his face I wouldn’t say it’s good news.” Before Ursula could utter a word, she heard a knock at the door.

“Come in,” she said, and her father entered the room, followed by her mother. He bore a sorrowful look; her eyes were watery and red. Ursula immediately asked what had happened.

“Uncle John and Aunt Betsy died last week,” said Mr Kendrick in a somber voice; “and that leaves your cousin Anastasia as an orphan,” he continued, thoughtfully rubbing her beard with his hand.

“I have decided that you should go to their house in the country and raise her. You will surely make a good governess, given the education you have received.” Ursula bowed her head.

“We have fixed everything for you to go to Thornborough as soon as possible, say, next Friday. Bruna, please, start packing Ursula’s belongings right away.”

This was big for Ursula. She had spent her childhood cycling in the park, playing with her neighbors, eating candy, having belly-laughs with her friends. She had lived more than comfortably since Bruna had almost been her shadow, a shoulder to cry on, a confidante, and the one who pampered her. Now, all of a sudden, she had to turn into a grown-up woman, leave the splendid life she was living, and go and raise a child she didn’t quite remember ever meeting. Ursula only knew that her cousin, Anastasia, was an only child who lived in the countryside with her parents, in a decent cottage. It was comprehensible that she should go and accompany her cousin in such a difficult situation, but raise her? Take care of her? That was impossible. She was not one to take care of anyone, but the one who was always taken care of.

Anyway, her father had been blunt about her going to the countryside. Not that she had more options; she had been, in fact, pushed to take over the care of Anastasia. Once she had dreamt of moving to London and having her own clothes shop, where she would sell her designs; now she reluctantly started selecting her best clothes for the trip and for her stay there, the flame of hope and happiness consuming themselves till there were only ashes. “No Concert Hall for me, then,” she thought.

Ursula was hectic during that whole week, getting ready for her new life in the countryside.

“Mmm I’ll take this in case it is extremely cold, and this in case it´s mild. These five hats to cover my face from the sun... Oh! I’m forgetting my dance shoes!” she had said, running around the house, trying not to forget a thing. She had been disappointed, though, when her father had frowned at the size of her luggage.

“What about your books, Ursula?” he had asked, and so she had sighed and started selecting some books -as well as old editions of The Delineator- for her future job as her cousin’s governess.

Ursula had mixed feelings about the trip. She had accepted that there was no way out, that she couldn’t stand against her father’s decision. And that really upset her. But at the same time she was expectant, looking forward to meeting her little cousin, excited to give her the presents she had so specially selected for her.

When the day came to leave her house, she dressed up, wearing her best dress and a beautiful hat matching her shoes. She needed to be prim and proper for the occasion. When everything was ready, the Waverley packed with boxes of books and her trunk on top of it, she smiled at herself. “Maybe in Thornborough there’ll be a Concert Hall too,” she thought.

The trip lasted three long, tiring days, which Ursula spent reading and staring out of the window. Now that they were approaching the village, she could get a clearer idea of what kind of life she was to live in the next years. “Wrong attire for the occasion, Ursula,” she thought to herself, as she looked at the landscape. On each side of the road she could see tall, thick pasture covering the land, and small woods of ten trees or so

scattered here and there. As summer was approaching, everything looked green and lively.

Anyway, she sighed hopelessly when she could only see one or two cottages in the distance. There were no people in sight, which scared her and made her stomach go up and down. When the driver told her her cousin’s cottage was only a mile away, she powdered her face and neck, and repeatedly straightened her dress with her hands. She looked for the things she had especially brought for Anastasia: a beautiful blonde doll, a bar of Mary Jane candy – her favorites – and a domino game. She imagined both of them having a picnic under a tree, laughing heartedly, pretending the doll was their guest, playing domino and enjoying life. But that was far from reality, which she came to know when she arrived at Anastasia’s house.

When the car came to a halt in front of the cottage, Ursula felt a heavy brick in her chest, sinking deeper and deeper into her soul. She stepped off the car in order to get a better view of the house. It was a small modest house, but its surroundings were creepy. The walls of the house were blackened by dampness, and there were only two large windows in the front, one at each side of the main door, whose white carpentry looked like the house’s eyes. The grass around the house was almost as high as Ursula’s knees, which made the house look abandoned. It seemed as if spring had forgotten this house. There was a huge tree on the left side that seemed to cover the house, as if it were hugging it. A rope was tied to a tire hanging from the tree, gently swaying in the light breeze. She had imagined that Anastasia would be on the swing, waiting for her arrival; but she was wrong. The front door was

wide open and there was a wide woman standing there who seemed to be the maid, forcing a smile at Ursula. Then she realized she was frowning, and caught sight of her cousin.

Anastasia was no older than seven, Ursula thought. She seemed very little compared to the woman next to her. Her fine blond hair, blown by the wind, hid part of her face. Anyway, she could see her eyes were cast down. She was wearing a long white dress, which also fluttered in the wind and made her look like an angel. With one of her tiny hands she was holding the woman’s hand; with the other she cradled a teddy bear in the crook of her arm, and she sucked her thumb. The sight of that little angel broke Ursula’s heart, and she had to hold back the tears in the back of her eyes. She sighed and marched towards them, hoping to be welcomed.

“Hello Ms Kendrick. I’m Gertrude, Anastasia’s aunt,” the woman said in a serious tone. “How was your trip?” she continued without much enthusiasm.

Ursula felt the brick in her chest was going to leave a whole there, since it hardened and seemed to sink deeper than before. So this woman dressed like a maid was not a maid, but an aunt.

“It was long, but nice indeed, thank you,” Ursula managed to say. “I suppose you are Anastasia,” she said, turning towards the girl, bending to look closer at her face. She looked at the child with intent eyes. The girl nodded and let go of the woman’s hand, running towards the swing.

“Come in. I’ll ask the driver to get your belongings inside. You must be really tired,” the woman said, while she invitingly extended one of her hands towards the inside of the house. When Ursula crossed the threshold, she first caught sight of a trunk and a suitcase packed with things which were in the hall.

Next thing she knew, the driver had unloaded her trunk and boxes, and Gertrude was putting on her ragged hat, gathering her suitcase and a few books. She stood frozen, unable to move or utter a word, watching this woman leave her and Anastasia, arguing she had to go home to take care of her own children. She thought she heard the woman say something about the things in the house, and about Anastasia’s bedroom, but she couldn’t hear. Her words just echoed in her head.

When the woman closed the door, Ursula stood in the hall facing the door, staring at it incredulously. She felt the brick disappear from her chest, but instead a twister was beginning inside her, stirring everything. Then, she looked outside, and from the window she could see Anastasia swinging in the home-made swing, still holding the teddy bear… clinging to it.

Ursula instinctively reached for the door, and went outside to see if Anastasia needed anything. Their first encounter hadn’t been as she had expected, and now she was looking forward to making a good start with the girl. She couldn’t wait to give her the presents she had so specially brought for her. When she reached the front yard, the wind brought the scent of linden flowers, and she felt renewed. She trotted towards Anastasia, seeing the idyllic life they would both have from that moment on. To her surprise, Anastasia didn’t utter a word, not

even when she gave her the doll, the candy and the domino set. Not letting herself be that easily discouraged, she left the gifts on the floor, next to Anastasia, and sweetly told her she was going to be inside the house in case she needed anything. But Anastasia remained speechless for two weeks which seemed endless to Ursula.

During that day, she wandered around the house, getting acquainted with its rooms. The dining room had only a small table with three chairs, and it was the first room you got to as soon as you stepped into the house. The kitchen was on the left corner, and was connected to the dining room by a swinging door. On the right-hand corner there was a single chesterfield facing a small fireplace, which Ursula took as the living room. On the mantelpiece there were two china figurines, one of which seemed very old since it was chipped all over. On one of the walls there were two shelves with books. There was a door frame in a corner of the living room – with no door – which led to the hallway into which four doors converged.

In her attempt to discover what was in every single room, Ursula opened each door and peeked in. The first was her aunt and uncle’s room, since there was a big wooden bed and two night tables at each side. There was also a chiffonier facing the bed and a mirror hanging on the wall next to it. She got goosebumps at the thought of how timeless this room looked. The second was the bathroom, and the third one was the sewing room. To her relief, there was a bed there, a small wardrobe, and a chair. For a moment she felt she had found her place in the house, and sighed. Then she

imagined her aunt spending whole afternoons there, carefully making Anastasia’s clothes, and shivered.

When she reached the fourth door, she was interrupted by Anastasia, who was standing right behind her. Her heart thumped, since she hadn’t heard her come in. Ursula let go of the door knob, and stepped to the side, smiling at Anastasia, not wanting her to notice her curiosity. The girl darted a look at her and started for her room, closing the door behind her. Of course this didn’t make Ursula stay away from the room; on the contrary, it was a magnet that attracted her even more towards it.

During the first week of her stay, Ursula found herself lost in the complicated world of the household. But her problem wasn’t exactly the house. She still couldn’t see what was in Anastasia’s room. Even though she was very busy trying to clean the house and make breakfast, lunch and dinner every day, she kept wondering about that room.

Ursula tried to speak to Anastasia, asked her repeatedly whether she was alright, whether she needed anything, whether she was hungry or cold, but there was no response. Whenever Ana went outside, Ursula went right after her with a book or a magazine. She sat under the tree and read aloud, while Anastasia mindlessly swung in the tire, her gaze lost. Anyway, the child didn’t utter a word. She seemed to hide in a recess of her soul which was impenetrable.

Things were getting very complicated for Ursula. And what was worse, she hadn’t imagined this. She had never thought she would come to a house where there would be practically no space for her clothes,

magazines and books; least that she would have no one to talk to. There were no neighbors – the only ones were a few miles away – and this girl didn’t articulate a word. She looked at her, and ate what she cooked. But Ursula was not contented. Desperation struck her in the form of furious waves, reaching her soul, but from time to time the tide calmed down. These were the moments in which she read aloud to Ana, and she felt that the louder she spoke, the calmer she became.

During the second week, things started to change. Ursula had become used to using the stove for cooking, and was very glad about it – though she only knew two or three recipes. Opening all the windows of the house and the front door was one of the things that made her feel better. Wind came into the house and reached every corner, which made Ursula feel renewed. She also swept the floors and removed the dust from the shelves. She reluctantly cleaned the bathroom and the kitchen, the places she most disliked cleaning. Anyway, she started looking at the house with different eyes. Little by little she felt she was the mistress of the house, and so decided she would give it her personal touch.

Every corner of the house she saw she imagined what could be done to make it fresher, newer. She started with her room, her very own space, and moved all the furniture around to have more space. She hung a beautiful portrait of herself and her parents, which cost her a bruised finger, but made her feel at home. The chair that had been uselessly placed in a corner of the room became her night table, which she dressed with a little table cloth her mother had especially embroidered for her. On top of it she placed a porcelain vase with fresh wild flowers she had picked near the house.

After embellishing her room, she continued with the living room. She moved the sofa around so that it would face the window, and she could sit there and have tea in the afternoons. She ordered the books alphabetically and took the figurines off the mantelpiece. She hung three paintings she loved on one of the walls. She even thought of changing the grayish white of the walls into a vibrant blue or green.

She didn’t feel the desperation waves hit her anymore, but a calm ocean instead. She saw a world of possibilities open to her, waiting for her to dive into it. The previous week everything had seemed so blurry, so uncertain, that she had thought she wouldn’t resist much longer. But now she was starting to realize that this was her home, her place in the world, and what was better, that she was its ruler.

Ursula felt a little more hopeful since Ana started to be a little bit friendlier towards her. Whenever she offered something to her she nodded in acceptance, and Ursula could see her lips curving into a smile – or maybe she imagined it. Now the two of them went hand in hand under the protective shade of the tree, and Anastasia sat next to her, listening attentively while she read. This time Ursula lowered her voice, almost whispered, so that the child would bend closer and pay more attention to her.

Things seemed to be running smoothly, but there was one thing that Ursula couldn’t figure out yet. Though Anastasia was gradually getting closer to her, she still didn’t allow her to go into her room. Ursula knew very well that “curiosity killed the cat”, but there was such a

mystery around this room that she couldn’t stop thinking of ways to take at least a peek.

The opportunity came one Saturday afternoon, when Ana was playing outside. She could not believe her eyes. The room was suspended in time, as if nobody had been sleeping or living in it. There was a little bed, in which she assumed Anastasia fit comfortably, and the sheets were carefully smoothed. There was also a small wooden wardrobe with its doors open – the only sign that someone had been there – showing two dresses in their hangers. She was dejected when she caught sight of the blonde doll, the box of candy and the domino set still in their packaging, lying at the bottom of the wardrobe. There was a beautiful painting on one of the walls, which showed two teddy bears hugging each other.

There was a rocking chair in one corner, facing the only window the room had. For a moment Ursula felt this was hers, the one she had in her own bedroom. There was a carefully stacked bunch of clothes on it, which she placed on the bed so as to sit on that chair. A nostalgic mood undertook her, her eyes looking through the window, remembering the moment in which her father broke the news to her. She got lost in thoughts of her previous life, of how she longed for it, the endless ball nights, the rides along the park, the afternoons sitting and reading, thinking of everything and anything.

It was then that a thud woke her from her daydreaming. She jumped off the chair, her left hand wide open on her chest, as if holding her heart. Anastasia was at the door, a stern look in her eyes, her cheeks flushed, her hair messed up, and her dress crumpled.

“Oh! Ana, you scared me! Is anything the matter? I’m sorry I was just think…,” Ursula said, but was interrupted by Anastasia’s voice. For the first time in what were now three weeks, she opened her mouth and spoke to her, directly.

“That was my mother’s” Anastasia said in a low voice. Ursula looked down and then up, her eyes looking at the bundle of clothes on the bed and then at Anastasia, her heart pounding. She felt so guilty now.

“I’m sorry Ana”, she managed to say, feeling she ran out of breath, “I just wanted to sit for a while… So I took the clothes off the chair thinking that…”

“Get out of here!” Anastasia said, this time her voice louder, her eyes sterner. Now it was Ursula who had run out of words. She stammered, trying to answer to this little girl who had spoken to her for the first time only to scold her.

Ana had stepped to one side, her arm stretched out, and her finger pointing towards the hallway. Her head was down, tears streaming down her rosy cheeks. Ursula bowed her head and went out of the room, fighting to lift her feet, which seemed like two concrete blocks. Ana slammed the door behind her, and Ursula stood in the hallway, not being able to move. She covered her face with both hands, hiding her tears, trying to cool her cheeks that were boiling hot. She was really ashamed… she had come to this house and rocked Ana’s world, not thinking of her feelings. She had taken the house as hers, and even decided to remodel it, leaving behind all the memories, feelings and emotions each inch of it contained.

That night, when they were both having dinner, Anastasia spoke to her again. This time her face bore a pleasant look, but still Ursula could see the sadness in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and after hesitating for a minute she squeezed herself down from her chair, walked around the table, and extended her hands towards Ursula. Her eyes flooded with tears at the sight of this little angel, asking for protection. She took Ana into her arms and sat her on her lap, hugging her. She could feel her little arms tight around her neck, her head on her shoulder, her body tense and then relaxed, tense and then relaxed, sobbing quietly. There they sat for what seemed ages, holding each other, their souls exchanging glances, shielding one another against pain and loneliness.

Later that night, when Ursula went to Ana’s bedroom to check is she was asleep, she quietly opened the door and peeked in. There were some crumpled candy papers on the floor, and next to them the domino set was halfway open. Anastasia was in bed, soundly asleep, curled to one side, cuddling her bear, and her new blonde doll.

MY GUARDIAN ANGEL

Lucia Campo

Lucia Campo was born and raised in Mendoza, Argentina. Her father is an accountant; her mother is history teacher and she has four siblings. She attended Reyes Católicos Primary School in Godoy Cruz and Ernesto Pérez Cuesta Secondary School. After receiving primary and secondary education, she entered Universidad Nacional de Cuyo to study at English Teacher Training College She is a current third year student who found herself sharing the marvellous experience of writing a short story. “My Guardian Angel” in which she wants readers to share her insight into what life really is, and the difficulties each person eventually faces.

“Why do you think we are here all Doc?” my amusing little friend asked me once.

“You mean on earth? Well I believe that we are here to reach out to one another and take care of each other. Once, when I was your age, I was trying to grab the cookie jar from the kitchen counter. In a blink of an eye, the jar slipped out of my hands and broke in little pieces. My grandma saw this and told me something that would always etch on my memory “Reach out your hand, if your cup is empty.” And you know what Rose? She was right. Against all odds, we reach out to one another.” “What do you think Rose?”

I remembered I had promised her then that I would take care of her and would not let anything happen to her. But now I didn’t know if I would be able to keep my

promise. I was trying really hard to save little Rose’s life. Her heart had just stopped beating. Cholera was the most fatal murderer after the earthquake. My little patient was dying from it. All the fluids this five-year old had lost led her into shock. After doing CPR for almost ten minutes now, I was losing my faith when a miracle occurred... I saved my first patient. Just then, I remembered how all this started...

I arrived in the country one week after the calamity. The earthquake of January 2010 left Haiti in ruins. I worked with a team of doctors at one of the two hospitals in Port-au-Prince. In the middle of this terrible catastrophe, going for a walk every time we needed a break was not the most pleasurable thing to do. Sometimes I didn’t know what was worse, whether staying in the overwhelming and tense atmosphere of the hospital or going out to see the thousands of homeless people that crowded the narrow streets. Walking through them you could see injured people, destroyed buildings, dilapidated houses and episodes of urban violence. I remembered an old man in the street asked me once “Where am I? I don’t know where my home is. Please help me.” At first I thought he was in shock but then as I scanned him carefully I realized his head was injured. I brought him to the hospital with me to treat him. But we didn’t have proper medical equipment. It all made me feel so useless. I couldn’t provide him with the surgical care he so badly needed. The only thing I could do was to offer first aid care; which was obviously, not enough.

I had an experience with a woman with four little children who were trying to rescue their personal effects from their house. It was heartbreaking to see the mother’s desperation. She was trying to hold her back

from bursting into tears. This is when I felt most powerless, I couldn’t remember the reasons why I had decided to enlist as a doctor in “Doctors without Borders”. When I heard this organization needed volunteers I didn’t even hesitate to join up. For a while I had really started to regret having done this. However, this changed when I met a very wise little girl who reminded me of the true essence of being a doctor. She simply said with her tender and innocent voice “there’s always light in the middle of the darkness.” Even though she had lost her entire family in the earthquake she was still fighting for her life with unshakable faith. She had given me the most precious gift I could have never imagined: strength and resilience. After such an important life lesson the least I could do was to make sure that she wouldn’t feel alone. That’s why, I would visit her everyday to read to her and keep her company. Until the night of the disaster…

I was doing my regular night shift when all of the sudden the earth started to shake violently. I could see the other hospital from across the street falling down and I understood what was going on. Our hospital was also falling apart. We were evacuating the area as well.

“Come on Peter we have to go, the hospital is about to collapse!” I heard one of the nurses scream at me. “We need to get out now!”

“I can’t leave Rose here! I have to take her out!” I answered.

“Hurry, you won’t be able to make it, she’s in ICU, that’s on the lowest floor! Peter listen to me, this is the biggest replica of all, and this place will go down.”

I had a promise to keep. The inspiring words of this little person now sleeping made me realize the real meaning of my mission. I couldn’t leave her there alone. I had to take care of her, she was my patient, but above all she was my friend. The hospital lights went out. Before fear took complete hold of me, I managed to take her hand, close my eyes and pray. After a while I heard her sweet voice: “Oh there you are my guardian angel.” Suddenly I noticed a wide crack on the roof and heard a deafening noise. The surrealist movement of the earth and the violence of the noise of my beloved hospital collapsing froze the blood of my veins. My instinctive reaction was to pounce on her in order to protect her. Outside, Haiti was total chaos. In the dilapidated Port-au-Prince General Hospital these two friends kept taking care of each other for good.

We have one another. We have the love that lets us reach out when our cups are empty-- and share when they are full. We reach out to one another with love, with understanding and with hope. Your pain becomes my pain. Your joy becomes my joy. Your hope is my hope. Some of us are far along in our grieving; others still experience grief so fresh and intensely painful that we feel helpless and see no hope. But above all, we are not alone; we all are each other’s guardian angels.

MATTERS OF THE HEART

Ileana Cano

Ileana Cano was born and raised in Mendoza. Following her longstanding passion for the English language, she is now studying English to become an EFL teacher, at UNCuyo. She has described her experience of writing a short story as a “unique and invaluable experience which I would like to repeat.” In her short story, “Matters of the Heart”, she invites the reader to reflect on moving themes such as family bonds, cultural differences and forgiveness.

I still remember the look on my husband’s face when Nai’lah gave us the news. His eyes were fixed on her; his lips curled up in a thin line; his right hand became a hard fist ready to hit something. He hit the floor so hard that his fist touched the bowl of shwarma, which flew in the air and scattered all over the cushions. Neither Nai’lah nor I raised our eyes to meet his. My husband stood up quickly and said, “Never.” I would not be mistaken if I said that those were the only words that Fakhir, my husband, said to Nai’lah for a very long time.

Nai’lah had fallen in love with an American, an outsider, who knew nothing about our traditions and who did not know that Nai’lah’s marriage had been already arranged. Fakhir had chosen a humble but honorable craftsman to wed Nai’lah. But she had refused obstinately. The tension that was born between them that day awoke an unknown feeling of restlessness in me. I remained waiting for something else to happen because I knew that things had changed forever and

both, my husband and child, had changed forever as well.

Every day when the first rays of light passed through the curtain in her space in the house, Nai’lah woke up with a smile in her face, ready to make coffee without sugar but spiced with cardamom. Sometimes she also prepared some tea. I would meet her in the kitchen to start making our traditional khobz, which Fakhir and the rest could not wait to taste.

One morning Fakhir said to me, “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean what am I doing? I’m preparing our morning coffee,” I said.

“I know, I can see that,” he answered. “But where is Nai’lah? She always gets up earlier than anyone in this house to make our coffee.”

“Well, she hasn’t got up yet,” I answered. I knew my words sounded empty and perhaps meaningless to Fakhir, but he did not say anything more; instead he turned around and grabbed a piece of fresh khobz and started eating. When I turned around to ask him if he was leaving for work, I saw that he was staring towards the space where Nai’lah was sleeping.

He immediately noticed my looking at him and said, “I’m leaving now.” I realized that Fakhir wanted to say so many things, but did not. He was worried about Nai’lah, but he was also stubborn and proud, and he was not going to yield.

A few minutes later Nai’lah appeared wearing her golden dress and carrying her abaya and niqab, which indicated that she was going out somewhere.

I asked her, “Did you ask for your father’s permission?”

Before she answered she rolled up her eyes and said in a disgruntled manner, “Yes mother, I did.”

“What did he say?” I asked. “Nothing. He just nodded.” We both knew that

lately that was Fakhir’s way of addressing Nai’lah and tell her that she could go out.

“Asim is not here so you’ll have to wait for a bit,” I said to her. She perfectly knew that she could not leave the house without the presence of her mahram, her male guardian. She just sat on the floor and poured coffee to the others. While I was making the rest of our breakfast, I noticed that she looked at the wall clock every now and then. She sighed impatiently.

“Are you alright?” I asked her gently. “Yes, I’m just in a bit of a hurry. I’m going to the

bank,” she said in a trembling voice I did not recognize. She suddenly stood up, placed the coffee pot on top of the kitchen table next to me and said almost agitated, “I’m forgetting something,” and headed towards her space in the house. Before disappearing completely from my sight and before I could ask her why she was going to the bank, Nai’lah turned around and said to me, “I love you, mom,” which made me smile because she had not said that in a very long time.

“I love you too, honey,” I answered softly and saw her leaving. After a moment, I heard a slam at the door and called Nai’lah, “Nai’lah, dear. Asim is here. You can go now.”

But she did not answer. I called her again, only this time I turned around and headed towards the front door holding a plate with freshly cooked falafel. When I entered the room, where I assumed Asim was waiting, I

realized it was empty, and then I knew. I ran to Nai’lah’s space but she was not there. A chill ran through me at the thought of Nai’lah leaving the house alone. Suddenly, the front door opened and for an instant I thought it was Nai’lah who had come to her senses. I was infuriated. I turned around and I saw Asim. He looked at me and immediately knew something was wrong.

I said loudly, “Nai’lah! Did you see her? She just left!”

“Left?” Asim asked in disbelief. “Yes! She said she was going to the bank.” Again, Asim looked confused and said, “Maybe

she needed some money to pay for the tickets.” Asim’s words pierced my ear like a missing arrow.

“Tickets? What are you talking about?” I asked Asim with watery eyes.

“I don’t know,” Asim said to me, afraid of saying anything else.

“Asim,” I said firmly, “What tickets? Plane tickets?”“Yes, plane tickets,” he said without meeting my

eyes.

Without wasting any more time, I grabbed my abaya and niqab and said to Asim, “We have to go get her. Now.” I opened the door and Asim followed me obediently. Fifteen minutes later we arrived at the airport and a black sea of abayas confused my eyes. My legs felt like dead weight and it was almost impossible for me to move. My heart started beating faster and faster and I felt a shooting pain in my left arm. I could see Asim’s mouth moving but I could not hear him. Suddenly, everything went black.

***

“Wafiya,” I heard a man saying gloomily. “Wafiya, darling, can you hear me?”

I slowly opened my eyes and saw a man’s wrinkled face looking at me. It was Fakhir. At first I thought it was someone else because I had never seen those wrinkles in his eyes.

“What happened?” I asked him trying to figure out why I was dressed in my sleeping clothes.

“You fainted at the airport, remember?” he said. Immediately, everything came to my mind. But I was afraid of saying anything. Fakhir looked at me and said, “I know all about it. Asim told me. You know what’s going to happen, right?” he said in anguish, which surprised me. My biggest fear had been Fakhir finding out that Nai’lah had escaped; I had imagined the worst reaction. But everything turned out different from what I had expected, and that was even more confusing. Fakhir continued, “Nothing is going to happen. This is her decision. Imagine if people knew about this,” and for the first time in many years I saw my husband’s eyes filled with tears. I did not recognize this new man in front of me, but his eyes full of tears made me feel safe because I knew that he was not angry, but sad.

Nai’lah’s space was left for the others to have more room. I put her stuff in a box and kept it in my room inside an ancient wooden closet. Every now and then I used to go over her stuff and think about her; and when I did that I felt a slight pain in my chest. I had so many

unanswered questions. People eventually heard about Nai’lah’s departure to America, but we did not speak about that in the house. We waited and waited for some news from Nai’lah, but they did not arrive. In the meantime, Fakhir became very ill. He had some troubles to breathe at night but he always said it was just the incense burning that bothered him. He tried so hard to conceal his pain, his anger and disappointment. He just did not understand. Neither did I.

One Thursday morning, after nineteen months without Nai’lah, I was preparing some khobz when Asim came in and handed me an envelope. It was a letter from Nai’lah. I desperately opened it and started reading. She tried to explain the reasons she had had for making such decision. She added that she was proud of who she was and where she came from; she just did not belong in Saudi Arabia. Her words broke my heart but I understood what she meant. She had always been different from the rest. She was adventurous, imaginative, and always eager to discover new things. She wanted to be a doctor and swore that some day she would become one. It would have been almost impossible for her to achieve her goal in our country. Very few women had the possibility to go to university, and if they did, the chances to be part of the working field were more than scarce since women were not allowed to work. She said she was very happy. Jed, her American husband, was a university teacher and they lived in Chicago, a very cold city, she called it. They had twin girls, Amber and Hana’. The girls both had emerald eyes and long silky black hair. “Just like you,” I said to myself and smiled. She said that Jed had never agreed with her decision of never coming back until finally she decided to write us a letter. Nai’lah explained that she

had not plucked up the courage to write because she knew how much suffering she had brought on us.

Immediately after I finished reading the letter I answered back telling Nai’lah that her father needed her. I asked her to come back because her father needed to see her. A few weeks later there was a knock on the door and when I opened it Nai’lah was standing there, her face full of embarrassment. I hugged her so hard that I almost felt our hearts touching. We cried together but did not say anything at first. I took her leather suitcase and told her to come in.

She finally spoke, “Everything looks the same.”“Certainly not everything,” I said and smiled at her.She laughed and quickly looked at her reflection in

the mirror. “You look different too, mom. You look sad,” Nai’lah said.

“Well, remember that I told you to come as soon as possible?” I asked.

“Yes, I remember,” she said, sensing that there was something wrong. “What is it, mom?” she urged me.

“It’s your father, Nai’lah. He’s very sick.” Nai’lah lowered her head and did not say anything

for a while. Then she asked, “Is he in the hospital?” “No. He’s in bed, darling,” I said. She came closer to me and hugged me tightly,

tears falling down her cheeks. “I feel so ashamed mother. How could he ever forgive me? He won’t even look at me,” she said, crying nonstop.

“I think you should go and see him. Let him know that you’re here, Nai’lah.”

She looked at me almost asking for permission to enter our room. I nodded and Nai’lah went in. Fakhir was lying

in bed and all you could hear was his uneven breathing. The room was almost dark and Nai’lah knelt down and sat next to her father. She said shyly, “Dad? Can you hear me? It’s me, Nai’lah.”

Fakhir slowly opened his eyes and barely smiled. He tried to move his hand but it seemed it was too heavy for him to move it on his own. He closed his eyes again. She raised her eyes and saw me at the door looking at both of them, crying. I nodded so that she knew she could take her father’s hand in hers. Fakhir opened his eyes one more time when he felt his daughter holding his hand. Fakhir tried to speak but he could not, so he lifted his hand away from Nai’lah’s and pointed to the old closet in our room. Nai’lah looked at the closet and then at her father, but did not know what to do. She just held his hands and said, “Forgive me, dad. Please, forgive me.” Fakhir looked at Nai’lah, smiled and closed his eyes one last time.

After the funeral, I took Nai’lah’s box from the closet in my room and gave it to her.

She went through her stuff and said, “What’s this?” holding up a yellowish envelope with her name on it.

I said, “I don’t know. I’ve never seen it before.” Nai’lah opened it and there was a letter inside. The letter was from Fakhir:

Dear Nai’lah,A man’s heart is sometimes too small to

store the many things he most worships and cherishes. You are one of them. When you left you took a piece of my heart with you and I wondered so many times why you made that decision.

With time I came to understand that you must have had your reasons for leaving, as I’m sure you understood my reasons for not going after you. I also realized how different things are nowadays compared to the way they were when I was your age in this country. It’s very hard for a man like me to view life from your perspective, my dear Nai’lah, but that did not stop me from loving you and praying for you to find happiness in this world. I cannot tell you how hard it is to divide one’s heart into two pieces, although I think you might know what I mean. When you left I knew that you were looking for something that you were not going to find here, but that did not mean that you stopped loving us. I finally understood that you just did what you had to do. I hope you have found what you were looking for, Nai’lah, and remember that I will never stop thinking about you.

Love,

Your father.

THE BEST DREAM

María del Rosario De Munno

María del Rosario De Munno was born in Mendoza, on August 23rd, 1988. From a very young age she became interested in the English Language and has been studying it for more than ten years. In addition to her passion for dancing -she is a Spanish dance teacher- she loves reading, especially epic novels. In this short story, which is her first attempt to write creatively, she has dealt with the delicate issue of choosing between life and death. She found inspiration in her strong conviction to defend life.

The air was extremely cold and the sky was already dark. Winter was close. Today it seemed it was actually here. She walked into the house, sad and heartbroken. Without greeting anyone, she went to her bedroom. Her room was so tiny; it felt suffocating. It was cold yet she plodded to open the window. Then, as if the freezing air gave her strength, she slowly went to bed, she covered herself with a warm blanket and gasped for air. Only a week ago, Eliza was the sweet and charming girl she had always been. Now, she seemed someone different. As she was lying in bed, the cool air brought memories of her meetings with friends. On one occasion, she and her friends had gone to the park and Lucia, one of her friends had asked her if she was happy and she had shouted that she was extremely happy because she was in love. They all laughed, especially herself who always had a smile on her face.

“What will you be when you grow up?” her mother had once asked her when she was still a little girl.

“I will be a doctor, mom,” she had answered. She had certainly maintained her idea. She loved to help other people and especially, if they were ill children. Yes, she would really like to become a pediatrician.

These plans seemed so far away now. Her nostalgia and disillusionment could probably explain the lump she felt in her throat.

Eliza had just come from the doctor who had confirmed she was pregnant. She decided to have some tests made because lately, she had felt odd. She did not want to tell anyone at home so they would not worry. That is why a very close friend had accompanied her. When she got the news, the world seemed to change direction in a minute. Now, she was going to have a baby. She was in love and the father was a good boy, but she had just met him a month ago. A baby changed everything.

“What am I going to do now?” she told her friend sadly. Her friend wrote a phone number on a small piece of paper almost as a reflex. After that, Eliza told her that she wanted to be alone and, now in her bedroom, she began to cry desperately. She looked at herself in the mirror and she noticed that she had a despairing and unfocused look. “A baby, a baby, a baby, I will not be able to go on living,” she could not stop whispering. She looked pale and her eyes clearly reflected her sorrow.

Eliza knew that her mother was terribly worried about her, her mother probably knew, as she always knew,

that something was wrong. Her mother knocked at the door.

“Are you ok, Eli?”

Eliza said, “Yes, mom, just tired. I’ll sleep now, thank you,” and her mother went away.

Eliza had not yet plucked up the courage to tell her the truth. She could not stop thinking about this baby and all her dreams and projects. How much would she have to give up? The world, which used to be enormous, seemed very small now. She was afraid of so many things; she was afraid of the father and her parents’ reactions, of people’s opinions, of her friend’s disappointment, of her own performance as a mother. And she was also afraid of giving up her dreams.

“No”, she said. “I can’t have this baby.”

With her hands and legs trembling with fear, she dialed the number and she made an appointment with a doctor. That night, she cried almost through the night. It was almost daylight when she fell asleep.

She dreamed and dreamed. It was spring. There were flowers everywhere and the green leaves were starting to appear. It was a perfect sunny day and there, inside a cradle was a baby girl. Next to it was Eliza. She picked up the baby, who smiled as she cuddled her in her arms. It was a perfect moment; her baby in her arms. The sound of the little girl’s heart made her own heart flutter. Eliza held the baby tight. She could feel how innocent and defenseless it was in her arms. She

cuddled her close. She was crying. The baby’s eyes met hers; she loved that girl more than her own life.

She woke up with a pounding heart, sweating all over. Her lip quivered and then her eyes brimmed with tears. She had been able to see the baby perfectly; her sweet smile, her luminous eyes, her stubby nose and her golden hair. She felt the joy of holding the baby. She could feel again, the power of the moment she had had with the baby girl. However, while she was thinking about her dream, a disquieting thought abruptly struck her. She had had a wonderful and vivid dream; however, she would not be able to have this baby. She would not be capable of raising it. She could not be a mother. She had so many dreams and they would be impossible to attain with a child. She began to get dressed. She was going to carry out the abortion.

“Eliza, will you have breakfast?” her mother asked her when she was about to leave.

“No, mom, I am leaving,” she answered in a low voice.

Eliza wanted to hide her tearful, distraught look and her lean body from her mother. Eliza knew how devoted her mother was. She knew her flawlessly as every mother knows her child. A strong bond existed between them.

As she walked through the kitchen, she greeted her mother and left.

***

As she walked, she noticed winter was near, yet it was still a brilliant autumn day. The streets were full of yellow

leaves that rustled as she walked on them. A light breeze was blowing and the weak sun made the air a little warmer. On the way to the clinic, Eliza was walking as if her feet weighted a ton. She was passing by a square where she stopped walking to see a young woman playing with her little girl on the swings. They both were laughing. The happiness of their faces was the same that the contentment she had experienced during the dream she had had the previous night. It was also the same pleasure that she had always felt when she spent hours chatting with her own mother, sharing interests, planning activities and many other things. That image was perfect; if love could be represented in a visible way, that woman playing with her daughter and the smiles on their faces, was the image of love.

Almost unaware, she found herself at the door where she would finish with the life of her baby. Of course, she was afraid of what could happen to her but she was also afraid of making a ghastly mistake. She opened the door slowly as she was trembling again. She walked slowly into the waiting room. It was cold and depressing and there was an appalling smell. There were some young girls just like her sitting there. She looked at them one by one, their eyes were soulful and lifeless. Seeing all those girls, Eliza experienced the strangest feeling she had ever had. Images began to appear. What she wanted to be, what she was now and what she would do. Once again, she started to cry. The dream she had had, the woman with her girl in the square, the memories of the moments lived with her own mother made her see that she was going to be a mother. Something so simple had been so difficult for her to understand. She was going through the most wonderful moment she would live in her life: she had life inside her

and she was already a mother. What she had in her belly was a baby and now she knew that she loved it more than herself. She was not losing anything; God was giving her the most special and valuable gift she could ever ask for. Now, her eyes were shining with happiness. The strong pain she had been feeling in her heart had disappeared; it was fluttering again, but now, in perfect happiness.

She felt relaxed and extremely happy, living the most important and beautiful moment of her life. She walked jauntily and smiled radiantly. Love was its own reward and she felt that her best dream was coming true.

THE CALL

Sofía Gallardo

Sofía Gallardo, best known as Sophie, was born in Mendoza in 1990. She decided she wanted to become an English Teacher in her last year at high-school. In order to fulfill her dream she entered College in 2008 where she got in contact with some of the most renowned works of English Literature and developed the habit of writing. A positive and optimistic young woman, Sophie loves listening to music and going out with friends. She lives according to her personal outlook on life: at the age of 20, she emphasizes the importance of considering every single day as the last one, since “you never know what may happen tomorrow”. “The Call”, her first short story, explores a father-daughter relationship, showing how unpredictable life can sometimes be.

There are some events which can dramatically change people’s lives. Some events, particularly those we can call tragic, can affect a person so deeply that they will radically transform their lives. This was what happened to Francis Griffith, manager of a successful publishing company, a grey, showery morning in July.

It was half past six in the morning, and Francis was already awake. He was still recumbent on his double-bed, wearing his blue striped pajamas, watching the news on his LCD screen. His pale blue eyes, particularly that morning, were close-set. Next to him, there was his treasured notebook, which was on –in fact it was never off-, and his other half, his cell-phone. He also had lots of advertising magazines spread not only around him

but also all over the bedroom. At 7 am, he decided it was time to get up and have breakfast.

Downstairs, he could hear, coming from the kitchen, a soothing voice singing. It was Caroline’s voice. She had already set the table and was preparing breakfast. The moment Francis entered the kitchen Caroline stopped singing and said,

“Good morning, daddy. How did you sleep?”“Just fine,” it was all he said as he sat at the table.

While he was preparing his bread and butter and pouring sugar into his black as night coffee, he placed his computer in front of him and started checking some e-mail.

“It seems you’re having a busy day,” his daughter said.

“Yes, yes, as always,” Francis answered without his eyes meeting hers, only watching his computer.

Fifteen silent minutes passed by. Francis was still at the table, finishing his coffee, and Caroline was sitting quietly in front of him, when she finally spoke.

“I was just wondering if, maybe, you could, if today, we could have lunch together or I don’t know, maybe do something. What do you say?,” Caroline softly asked.

There was no answer.

Francis, hypnotized by whatever he was reading on his computer, picked up his cell-phone and began making

some calls and talking urgently to some of his clients. Ten minutes later, he stood abruptly up from his chair, picked up his navy-blue overcoat and an umbrella and left without even saying good bye.

It took Francis an hour to get to the office, almost thirty minutes more than usual. Rain had been pouring incessantly, a fierce wind was blowing and the branches of a tree had aggressively fallen on the concrete. The roads were overcrowded and slippery, which made it difficult to circulate. When he entered the office, he was swamped by an avalanche of letters, phone calls and people waiting for him. He ignored everything and went straight to his desk. There, he slowly accommodated himself on his black leather arm-chair and turned his computer on. He had received, in an hour, around sixty e-mails, which did not surprise him –he was used to receiving hundreds of e-mails per day. Among all those e-mails, there was one which particularly called his attention.

“An e-mail from Slaven. Odd. I’ll read it later,” he said to himself aloud.

While he was drinking a cup of sour coffee, his secretary entered his office abruptly.

“Sorry Mr. Griffith, but you have a call,” she said impatiently.

“I told you not to bother me, no meetings, no phone-calls, not this morning, Right?” Francis said in a harsh voice, his eyes still on the computer’s screen.

“Yes, I know, but this is an important call. It’s something about your daughter, Caroline,” she explained.

“Caroline? What is it now? I’ll take this one, but no more calls, got it?” Francis crossly responded.

The very moment he hung up the phone, Francis desperately left the building, forgetting his cell-phone and his overcoat. He didn’t seem to care about it either. The people on the elevator tried not to look at him, his face looked frightened and haggard. Francis left, tears rolling down his face. He had not stopped working all morning or done anything that was not related to work.

“Tell me she is not my –it cannot be her-,” Francis said, movingly.

“Sorry sir, I wish I could say that, but yes –it is your daughter. There was nothing people could do to help her. That car was going too fast and ended up running over her,” the police officer said.

The rain was still falling, but with more intensity now. The sky was grey and furious, as if it were plotting against him. “Why?” was all he could scream while he held his young daughter’s dead body in the middle of the lonely street and drops of sour rain met his face. Still lying on the street, his clothes all soaked and with a shrill cry that could be heard from a long distance, he could not think of anything.

At 8 in the morning, the day after Caroline’s funeral, Francis was in his office as usual. He was sitting in his leather arm-chair in front of the computer, answering e-mails, with his cell-phone in one hand, calling some clients, and with a cup of sweet coffee this time, in the other, having breakfast. That day, at noon, he had meetings where he presented new ads and had to talk personally to his customers. That day, and the ones that

followed, Francis arrived at the office before the sun had risen and left only when the lights in the street were on and the moon was the only thing he could see in the sky.

That first weekend at home, he stayed in bed. The first thing he did as he woke up was to turn on his computer and then his television. Apart from voices that could be heard from the television, the house was in deadly silence. He spent that and the weekends that followed all alone.

A few weekends later, on a late warm afternoon, while Francis was still sleeping, his cell-phone began to ring.

“Hello,” he answered in a sleepy voice.“Hi daddy. Are you ok? Your voice doesn’t sound

good,” Slaven said in a worried voice.“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I was just sleeping…,” he

said, expecting to be told the reason of the call.“Great, then. I wanted to invite you to Oregon. It

would be wonderful if you could stay the whole weekend with us so that—”

“Oh, I’m afraid I can’t. I have some urgent speeches to prepare for next week. Maybe on another opportunity,” Francis said as he interrupted his son.

“Are you sure? Amanda really wants to see you, and me…” Slaven said.

“I am sure that is so. Sorry, and send my love to little Amanda and to Emma,” Francis curtly answered.

It was while he was saying that he had some urgent speeches to prepare that he vividly remembered a conversation he had had with his daughter. He remembered the sweetness of her voice as it echoed in

his mind, seeing her standing at his bedroom’s door, soothingly saying,

“Daddy! I’ve prepared your favorite meal to celebrate your birthday.”

“Oh honey, thank you, but we’ll have to wait till I finish preparing a speech for tomorrow’s board meeting. It’s very important that I finish now. Let’s say an hour, ok?”

“Fine,” his daughter answered in a sad tone. “You haven’t opened the present yet,” she continued.

“I’ll open it when I’m done with what I’m doing. Don’t worry,” Francis said.

“Hope you like it,” his daughter said. Francis saw she was looking at him with watery eyes.

A week after his son’s call, Francis was walking leisurely down the street. The soft breeze fanned on his cheeks, and the incandescent sun made him take his sweater off. As he approached the bus station, he saw a lot of people, families hugging each other, which produced a feeling of guilt but at the same time of redemption inside.

“Good morning. How can I help you?” the man behind the counter gently asked.

“Hi, I would like a ticket to Oregon, please,” Francis responded with bright eyes and a smile on his face.

A SIMPLE QUESTION

Noelia Alejandra Gioia

Noelia Alejandra Gioia was born in Mendoza City. She loves listening to music in her free time. Since her adolescence, Noelia has been interested in learning and speaking different languages and getting to know about different cultures. This led her to study English at Teacher Training College, UNCuyo, to become a professional teacher. She is also planning to travel to an English speaking country next winter. Through her short story “A Simple Question,” Noelia would like to invite readers to reflect upon a universal emotion: jealousy. With her work, she wishes to encourage young people to leave competitiveness aside and make an effort to build up a better future for all.

A long busy motorway partially covered by fresh red blood was the scene of the accident she could see on the TV screen. Poor young woman! She had many years ahead! was Mariah’s logical conclusion.

***Mariah was in her modest rented house on Pablo Vargas Street. She was listening to the news about the eighteen year old woman who tragically died after being hit by a car. Mariah was eighteen, too. Her goal was to study at university and start a successful career the following year. Mariah wanted to become a professional psychologist. Mariah was so worried… She thought: Will it be hard? Will I pass the entrance examination? Well, at least I will have the time to study… But Mariah still had to finish her French course this summer. She was

also worried because she had to do her pregnancy test. A week later, Mariah decided to call her friend Helen.

“It was positive, Helen.”“The man you met in the summer came back to Texas…, mmmm? I don’t know what to say to you right now. And what about your ambitious plan to study psychology next year?”

***

It was Monday evening. Mariah was sitting at the back of the French class in La Alianza Francesa. Mariah heard two people approaching.

“Excusez- moi. Son nom est Victoria Edwards, une nouvelle elève,” 1 the Director of Studies introduced the new classmate to the rest.

The class used to have dinner together once a month after class. So when the class was over that day, Victoria was invited to go with them. Victoria, open minded, accepted. They went to Ph Bar on Arístides St this time.

“How come you’re studying French? What do you do?” Mariah asked Victoria.

“I study Medicine at the university, I’m in fourth. I’m leaving for the States soon, on a scholarship,” Victoria answered.

When they all finished eating, Mariah saw, from her table, a red sport car slowing down in front of the entrance of the bar.1 “Excuse me. Her name is Victoria Edwards, a new student.”

“Oh! It’s Mark!” shouted Victoria. And Victoria left rapidly.

It was Monday again and Mariah was in class. She was thinking of Victoria. She was free to study at university. Mariah would not. Mariah thought: the decision not to go to university next year was so quick, just as things with the American man happened… No university next year then. Going to French class now intimidated her.

Mariah looked for an empty desk, preferably in the back of the classroom, alone. Victoria turned around with her radiant smile and whispered hello to Mariah. Mariah, detached, waved to her and with a wry smile greeted Victoria. The lesson that evening was based on emplois et professions2. The students were supposed to work in pairs and one student had to ask the other what their job was. Victoria invited Mariah to work together.

“Let’s do this together and we may have a chance to talk a bit!” Victoria said to Mariah.Mariah thought: Victoria must spend all her time studying to keep up her grades! But I’m sure she does not work and, in any case, she drives that new red car...

“I want to do my work with Nathalie, like always,” she said.

Mariah’s response arose from her envy. She did not feel like working with her.

“Nathalie is not here, but it’s all right Mariah, I’ll work with somebody else. Don’t worry.”

2 Jobs and Professions

Mariah could hardly control the resentment she felt; she could not work with Victoria.

Back home, in her bedroom, the thought of Victoria haunted her. Does Victoria think she is better off? Well, my intention was to study… like her. But I’m pregnant. Mariah had a headache. She could not stop going over and over the conversation with Victoria at the bar… She would not be able to go to college the following year because she had to raise the baby as a single mother. She would not have the time to start studying at university. The thought that others had the chance to start a career at university made her angry. All her life was full of what she could not have as she had planned. Others could be free to study. Mariah was starting to feel different from those people. So now, she did not feel like going to French classes anymore. Why couldn’t she be just happy instead of reacting angrily towards kind and generous people? She thought: Am I being too childish? What shall I do? If she behaved aggressively, she would lose the opportunity to make good friends…

Mariah was listening to the news report on TV. She heard that a woman had been another victim of a car accident in an intercity motorway. The news reminded her of the young woman who passed away a year before, who was apparently walking when a driver hit her with his vehicle while she was crossing the long busy motorway near the English Institute.

Mariah was still alive...

***

It was Wednesday evening and the French teacher asked the students to form two groups to do vocabulary work: sentiments et emotions3 this time.

“Allons-nous travailler ensemble?”4 Mariah asked Victoria with a smile.

Mariah’s French was improving.

3 Feelings and emotions4 “Shall we work together?”

THE GRADUATION TRIP

Tzu Ying Lee

Tzu Ying Lee was born in 1990 in Taiwan. At the age of 4, she arrived in Argentina with her family where they decided to settle. Tzu Ying is a very optimistic young woman, whose love of languages motivated her to study English at Universidad Nacional de Cuyo. In her short story “The Graduation Trip” she tries to show the importance of parents and friends in a teenager’s life. She reflects on the significance of strengthening these bonds since, after all, life will not last forever.

She turned off her MP4 player, took off her earphones and looked out of the window with her big soulful eyes. The sky was cloudless blue and the sun was shining. For two seconds, she had to close her eyes to get used to it. In a few minutes, they would arrive at one of the most attractive beaches in Kenting, a place that she had always wanted to visit. On the right side of the road, at a lower level, she could see white beach chairs and multicolored parasols, and beyond the golden sand, was the deep marine blue sea. There were a few people surfing. She opened the window and breathed in deeply. There was a comfortable smell of salty water in the air. Looking at the attractive coastal landscape, Alice recalled the day she had left Chicago and started this journey. She had been at the airport with her friends, Kimberley and Rose, waiting to check in. She listened to her friends’ mothers reminding her friends to be cautious, not to talk to strangers… Alice walked away quietly. She did not want to listen to them because it brought back painful memories. Pacing back and forth

near the doorway, Alice waited for her father until the last moment. She knew that he would not come to see her off as her friends’ parents did. “Illusion will never change into something real,” she murmured when she stepped into the Boeing 747. Alice pulled down the blind and turned her head to the left. She looked at her two friends who were cheerfully planning what they were going to do as soon as they reached the beach and again, her thoughts flew away. She remembered the first day they met.

It had been almost three years ago, on the first day of her high school life. Weirdly, her father had accompanied her to school that day. She was delightedly uneasy and when they were in front of the school, she hesitated for a few seconds and quickly entered the big stone building, alone, without saying goodbye to him. The school was very crowded. She kept tugging at her long black hair and her small fragile body was tense. She did not know what to do there, alone, without company. Glancing at the girls who were talking to their parents, she was impressed by their excited faces and high pitched laughter. She wondered why they were not nervous like her. The bell rang. She knew she should go into one of those classrooms but she did not know which. Biting her nails, she looked, with puzzled eyes, at the girls, teachers and parents who were going in and out of the classrooms. Suddenly, she felt that someone was touching her hair and turned back carefully. It was a beautiful blonde girl. There was a sweet smile on her face and she winked at Alice. A small red headed girl was standing next to her and she was smiling too. They stared at Alice for a few seconds and nobody said anything. The bell rang again.

“We should get into the classroom,” the red headed girl said.

“Yes, I know,” the blonde one answered. “Let’s go together,” she said, looking at Alice. Alice smiled timidly and said nothing.

“Oh, sorry! We forgot to introduce ourselves. I’m Kimberley and this is Rose,” and tugging at her blonde hair, Kimberly added, “I love your long straight black hair. I think we can become good friends,” and she laughed.

“I’m Alice. Nice to meet you!” Alice said shyly. Since then, they had spent almost all their time together.

The bus stopped at the hotel. Alice gathered her thoughts and went out quickly with her friends. Twenty minutes later, they were sitting under one of the multicolored parasols drinking coconut juice.

“We’re here at last!” Kimberly said elatedly. “You have been waiting for so long, haven’t you, Alice?”

Alice looked at her and answered softly, “Yeah, coming to Kenting has always been my dream. You know, this is my mother’s hometown.”

“Are you OK, Alice? You don’t seem to be very happy. Rose seems to be more excited than you are.”

“Of course I’m happy. I’ve always wanted to visit this place though my mum will never know I’ve come. I’m just… thinking about what I’m going to do once our graduation trip ends.”

“Come on, Alice, we have just arrived at this beautiful place. You shouldn’t be worrying about that! Besides, all of us know that you’ll go to college. Your dad won’t let you have any other plans,” Alice said while she ate sugar cane.

Kimberly looked at Alice and said, “Well, Alice, we can go to Paris together! I’ll study fashion design, you know, and you will be far away from your cold empty house. We’ll meet our Mr. Right there and life will be so wonderful, you see. What do you think?”

“Kim, it would be very nice, but… you know, Paris is not the kind of place for me… I think I need to stay close to my dad. I don’t know…” Alice said, as she kept staring at the horizon.

“Alright, Alice. Leave all your worries behind and let’s go for the wet suits and the surfboards!” Rose said after drinking the last drop of her coconut juice.

Unwillingly, Alice left the white beach chair and joined her friends. She raised her head and looked at the sky. It was no longer as clear as it had been a few hours ago. A strange sense of trepidation grew inside her. Alice shook her head and said nothing.

It was 4 pm and Alice was near the water now. After an hour of practice, Alice and Rose still found surfing very difficult. They could not keep their balance for more than ten seconds. Finally, Alice gave up and told Kimberly that she would stay under the parasol with Rose while she enjoyed surfing. Alice stared at Kimberly as she walked towards the water. At first, Kimberly did well. She was able to ride two small waves. Alice smiled and looked at her friend, who was waving at her while she managed to ride a bigger wave.

This is Kimberly, always so lively and sparkling, Alice thought.

“Alice, did you bring your camera? I think Kimberly would like to have a photo,” Rose said.

Alice nodded. She took out the camera and grinning, she pressed the button. But when the screen showed the photo, she did not see Kimberly in it. She looked at the sea and called Rose in desperation. “Go and look for help! I’m going into the sea,” she told Rose and ran towards the sea.

***

Three days later, Alice woke up and found herself in an unfamiliar room. The walls were all snow white and a pungent smell of iodine hit her. A woman dressed in white was putting her on a drip. Her mind went blank for a few seconds until she felt a sharp pain in her left arm. She remembered the graduation trip, and… Kimberly! She looked around the room anxiously and she saw a black figure lying on a sofa bed in the right-hand corner. Alice was about to cry out her friend’s name when she realized that it was not Kimberly. It was a middle aged man. It was… her father! He wore a deep grey suit and a pair of shining black shoes. Alice stared at him with watery eyes. She could not believe that he had left his company and had come to this far away island to look after her. She closed her eyes and a crystalline tear rolled down her pale oval face. For a few seconds, she forgot about Kimberly and her thoughts flew away.

It was her 16th birthday. She had never celebrated any birthday before. This would be the first one, but she had not invited anybody for the occasion. Her father was the only guest. He was the only person she welcomed for this special day. She had called him that morning and told him that she would wait for him for dinner and he had promised he would be at home at 8 o’clock. It was

7.45 pm and Alice sat at the big dinner table, waiting anxiously for her father. She kept looking at the second hand of the clock as time went by. Tic toc, tic toc, tic toc, tic toc… Eight. Ten past eight. Twenty past eight. Twenty to nine. Nine. Tic toc, tic toc, tic toc, tic toc... Suddenly, the phone rang and broke the rhythmical sound. Mechanically, Alice walked towards the phone, picked it up and about a minute later, she hung up. It was her father’s secretary. She said her father would not be going back home because he had to meet a client. Alice knew that it was not true. She knew where her father was going. As every July 14th, he would go to the graveyard. Alice sat on the sofa near the table and closed her weary eyes. She had always felt sorry for her father. She wished she had never been born, she wished her mother had not died during labor, she wished her father was not a workaholic. She believed she was the unlucky person that had brought misfortune, the one that had caused her mother’s death. Since her childhood, she had kept a distant relationship with her father. She had not found the courage to face him and his sad blue eyes. Her father had been trying to avoid her too. He had always been working, and never at home. It was alright; she understood her father; she actually did. But this time, she could not forgive him. He had promised to dine with her. How could he break his own promise? It was her 16th birthday!

Alice heard a faint sound and opened her eyes. Her father had woken up and was now trying to sit up. His eyes met Alice’s and for a second, there was a sign of relief and elation, but before Alice could understand what it meant, it vanished rapidly.

“How do you feel?” he asked, and then said, “You were almost drowned in the sea.”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry,” Alice answered without looking at him.

A few seconds later, she remembered her friend and asked her father anxiously, “Where is Kimberly?”

“She’s gone,” he said quietly, looking steadily at his daughter.

Suddenly, Alice’s eyes widened and they were now deep inky black. She helplessly burst into tears. She remembered her friend’s beautiful face and lively laughter and she could not believe that she had left her. She thought about their last conversation on the beach. She remembered Kimberly asking her about going to Paris, telling her about what she was going to study and the boys she was going to meet. A deep sense of loneliness took over her. Her mother had left her eighteen years ago… and now, her best friend had left her too. She was alone in this cold cruel world.

“No, no, you still have your father…” A tiny voice inside Alice reminded her that she was not alone.

“But he is so unkind and cold. He always leaves you alone. He does not love you!” Alice heard another voice.

“No! This is not true! He’s always wanted the best for you and he does love you,” the first voice said. Alice closed her eyes and tears were streaming down her face. She tried to calm down and wiped her tears hastily. Yes, her father was the only one who was now there for her. She should do something. She did not want to lose the only person she had left in this world. Her father walked towards her. She looked up and stared into his deep blue eyes.

“Life’s like this, isn’t it?” she asked, showing no emotion.

“Yes, my dear. Life is like this. It won’t last forever,” her father answered with a weak smile. “I’m sorry you are forced to face this at this age.”

“No, dad. This is not the first time I face the loss of a beloved one. Mum left us, didn’t she? And you are always away from home…” Alice said sadly.

“Dear, I’ve always been with you. At least, I’ve tried to…”

“Have you? You’ve always been working! That’s the truth!” Alice said miserably.

“Please Alice, listen to me. I’ve been away from home because I thought you wanted that and that it was the best for you. I know you blame me for your mum’s death. That’s why you look at me with hatred every time you see me, isn’t it? I’m sorry for not being a good father. I just want you to be happy.”

Alice was stunned. She did not know that her father thought this way. She looked at him fixedly, her eyes showing disbelief.

“But you hardly ever come home…” Alice heard her own voice.

“That’s because I thought you did not want to see me. You look happier when you spend time with your friends.”

“Yes, that’s right! But it’s because you’re never home! You never pay attention to me or to what I do! I’m nothing to you!” Her voice was breaking and tears were pooling in her inky black eyes again. Leaning towards Alice, her father raised his right hand and wiped the

tears slipping down her cheek with his thumb, saying nothing. Alice closed her eyes.

“When you were a child, I hardly ever went back home because it reminded me of your mother… Do you remember when your nanny left you? I think you were 16 by that time. Before leaving, she told me that you were the most unhappy child she’d ever seen.” He paused for a few seconds and then went on, “it was then that I realized that it had been very irresponsible of me to have left you alone all those years. So I started to go back home more frequently. But then, I found that you always looked at me with hatred. I thought you were angry with me because I couldn’t give you a perfect family. I feel so sorry about all this. I know you blame me for your mum’s death, I really do. I also know that you need a mother, need love and company, need a warm family… But I didn’t know what to do. So I escaped; I couldn’t face you,” her father said.

Alice could not believe her ears. She opened her eyes and looked into his father’s blue eyes. And she broke down in tears. “Daddy… sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry… I don’t blame you. I’m the one to be blamed for all this. Mummy died because of me. If I had never come to this world… everything… would have been different… Sorry daddy!” Alice said.

He hugged her tightly and said, “dear, you should never think that way. You’re God’s gift to me… Sorry, Alice. We’ve wasted a long time because of misunderstandings.”

***

Two days later, Alice went back with her father to the beach where the tragedy had happened. They were

sitting on the white beach chairs, under a colorful parasol. Alice looked at her father. He was on the phone, talking to the business manager of his company. He saw her looking at him. He winked at her, smiled, and gave a sigh telling her to wait for him. Alice smiled back and nodded, but she left the chair as soon as her father looked away. She walked straight towards the sea. It was pale green now and the sunshine made it look brilliant and dreamlike. Alice went into the sea and walked, without pausing, until she was completely immersed in the warm water. Slowly, she closed her eyes and smiled peacefully.

THE PORTRAIT

Josefina Marcó

Josefina Marcó is a young committed student of English who was born in Mendoza. She is easy to like and a friendly person; those close to her describe her as a kind-hearted and loyal friend. A passion for singing and playing the guitar is another personal trait of Josefina’s, which lets us identify the work here presented as hers. In the following story she reveals a soft spot for writing about people’s inner processes of maturation and self-discovery. Josefina has previously written other stories, which lets us see how much she likes writing. Enjoy her work as much as she enjoyed writing it.

She was trying to stay awake as she stood in line waiting to check in for her flight. She’d rather have taken a later flight, but she was too eager to see her new niece. Her sister lived in Buenos Aires, quite far from Mendoza, and it had become even further away since her niece was born.

It hadn’t even dawned yet. She looked at her ticket once again to check the departure time as she rubbed her eyes and tried not to yawn again; but it was useless. The woman behind her threw a piercing glance at her from head to toe as she shifted her weight and pushed the guitar strapped to Nina’s shoulder slightly. “Sorry,” Nina said in a low voice, still hoarse from the lack of sleep. The heavy woman frowned and looked away. Guess waking up early gets everyone in a grumpy mood, Nina thought, annoyed.

She had planned everything to perfection, but still she always had the strange feeling that she had forgotten something or she had messed up the schedules or something like that. She had been dying to see her sister’s baby girl since the day she’d been born; but hadn’t been able to make it to Buenos Aires sooner. Between band practice and college and her boyfriend - well not her boyfriend anymore- she didn’t really have time for anything else. Now she was only hours away from the moment when she would finally get to hold her baby niece in her arms and love her forever. Her own goddaughter... She was supposed to be some sort of guide for her, as her sister had explained. But how could she be responsible for someone else’s spiritual life when she didn’t even have hers figured out? As she wondered about this, she heard the irritated woman behind her stamp her feet on the marble floor impatiently. “Your turn, young lady.” She was right. The woman behind the counter was staring at her, urging her to come up front. Nina hurried towards her, handed her the ticket and checked in her luggage, except for her guitar. That she would keep close to her inside the plane. It was too precious a possession to leave in the uncaring hands of people who knew nothing about it.

Once in the boarding area, she was about to sit down and put away her luggage tab, when she suddenly felt as if a rug had been swept from under her feet. She lost her balance and almost fell down, barely able to stand as she clung to a man standing next to her. Once the movement was over, she looked around and realized the rest of the people had felt it too. There was a murmur all over the room and a baby was crying. After a few minutes, however, everything was back to normal again. It had been a small tremor. People seemed used

to them, those who lived in Mendoza. She looked at the man who’d saved her from falling flat on the ground in order to apologize (she had made him drop his backpack as she desperately tried to stay away from the floor) and realized he was young, maybe her age. Rather good looking, too. He had black hair and very deep gray eyes, which struck her as if she had somehow seen them before. She started to stutter an apology, but before anything came out of her mouth, the man was bending down to pick up his backpack and the several papers that had spilled from it and were on the floor with her own belongings; a bunch of papers, her keys, her cell phone and the small notebook she carried around in case she found unexpected inspiration for a new song, as she had been hoping to for so long now. She clumsily tried to help him gather his belongings and talk to him, but when he looked up at her, he seemed suddenly shocked at the sight of her face. He stared at her for a moment that felt like ages and then uttered something that sounded like “no problem” and was off to the front of the line to get on the plane. Nina stood there, confused, but was suddenly hurried by a shrill voice coming from the speakers urging the passengers to get in line. She nervously gathered everything and joined the line.

Somehow, she felt strangely anxious now. That man had made her feel uneasy; just by looking at her he had guessed something about her, a deep secret that no one knew. She wondered why he had stared at her like that, why he had fled in such haste. Actually, it was not so unusual if one thought of it. It seemed that lately, men had the irritating habit of running away from her. She thought about her last boyfriend and how she had actually driven him away in fear that he would smother

her; how she had taken him for granted and neglected him; how she had then realized she needed him more than she knew and how he had said it was too late. How she hadn’t been able to get her life together ever since and had not even been capable of writing songs, which was the only way in which she could express herself. Her parents had always told her that she should pursue a more respectable career than being a musician, it was too unstable an industry, but she had always trusted her songs would take her far. And now she had lost the comfort of knowing that. She was helpless. As she thought about this, she felt her throat close and her eyes about to water, but she made a real effort not to cry, not in front of strangers, not in a public place.

She got on the plane and took her seat by the window, as she had chosen. She always did, actually. She just loved to look at the desert like land and then the city as they got further and further away from it. She always found inspiration there. However, this time she only felt as if she didn’t belong in this world, looking at all those tiny houses that now looked like the toys she used to play with in her childhood. The fields almost entirely covered with the rich browns and deep greens of the vineyards seemed so far away from her, so unreachable. The sun was just rising, pouring its yellow and orange light into the fields as if it were liquid gold. It was an exquisite sight, really. Then, how come it didn’t move her at all? How come it didn’t stir up her senses and make her imagination fly as it had so many times before? Annoyed, Nina shut the window screen down and turned her head over to drift into sleep. Two hours later, she was woken up by the soft, impersonal voice of the flight attendant telling her to please wake up and straighten her seat. They were about to land.

She got off the plane and went straight to claim her luggage. The faster she did this, the faster she would get to her sister’s and to her niece and she would feel real happiness for a change. While she waited, she looked around the room a few times, pretending to be searching for something, to see if the mysterious man with gray eyes was there. Useless. Nowhere to be seen. Maybe she had imagined him. Maybe she was just confused from the tremor, or perhaps she had imagined the startled look on his face and was brooding about something that hadn’t even happened. It was something she would do actually, quite frequently. Her mind was like a complicated, ever working maze, and she always took things, turned them upside down and inside out in ways that could drive her crazy at times. She decided not to do that this time. She was in Buenos Aires to meet her niece and have fun and stop thinking about her issues so much; she definitely should not worry about a strange person before setting foot in the city. Besides, it looked like she had something else to worry about. Almost everyone in the room had already gotten their bags and left, and there were only three pieces of luggage moving around and around on the conveyor band. None of them was hers. She glanced around to see if anyone had taken her suitcase by mistake and left it there. Nothing. She felt a knot in her stomach. Her hands broke into a cold sweat. Where was it? What was she supposed to do now? She waited a little longer, her foot tapping on the concrete floor impatiently. Maybe it was still on the plane. But a few minutes later, the few people left in the room had gone away and there she was, waiting for her bag in an empty room, looking at the one suitcase left there swiveling round, making her dizzy. Impulsively, she finally joisted it over her shoulder

and went straight to the Security Officer standing at the entrance of the airport.

“There’s a problem,” she said in haste, and then realized she was being quite rude. “I mean, good morning sir, I have a problem here. See, this is not my bag, and it is the only one left over there. It’s not mine, and mine is not there. What should I do?”

The officer, a small, bold, tired-looking man, didn’t look like the kind of person who would go through any trouble to help her. But when he lifted his eyes to talk to her, he probably saw her helpless expression. He must have felt sorry for this girl in old jeans and a worn out shirt.

“Hello, there,” he said, trying to seem interested. “So, we have quite an issue here, don’t we? Well, there is only one way to clear this up, I’m sure we can clear it up. Let me see your luggage tab, miss.”

Nina felt a sudden pain in her stomach. Where had she put the tab? Had she actually put it away? She then remembered the tremor in Mendoza and the incident with the mysterious man. Oh no… she thought, her fear becoming greater. She began rummaging desperately through her purse, looking for the ticket. Her fingers touched a small piece of paper and she took it out, feeling relieved. She handed it to the officer, as if this would instantly solve her problem. The short man frowned. He squinted at the ticket in his hand. Then at the one attached to the bag. He repeated the motion twice.

“Very well, miss,” he said, as if feeling self-contempt. “There is no problem really. This is, in fact, your suitcase.”

Nina looked at him as if he were kidding her. She was so annoyed by his silly, proud face that she could have easily exploded right there and sent the man to hell. Instead, she took a deep breath, and counted to ten; she was not sure she could solve the problem all by herself.

“I’m sorry,” she said, in the most polite manner she could manage. “But this is really, really not my bag. There must be a mistake. This bag is not mine.”

“Yes, it is. Your ticket and the ticket on the bag match. It has to be your bag. There is no other way around this, miss.”

He looked a little bit confused at first, but now that he had explained to her that he had a real reason, a fact, to support his point, he seemed proud of himself once again.

“Now, hurry away, come on. I have to work, young lady. Good-bye, you can thank me later.”

And with this, he was off to somewhere else and Nina was left standing alone once again, puzzled as ever.

She didn’t know what to do. How had this happened? How come she had someone else’s ticket and not hers? Had the person with her ticket taken her bag home? But, why? All these ideas stormed her mind. She felt overwhelmed and puzzled, shaken by an earthquake…

wait, that was it! The tremor at the airport in Mendoza, the incident with the stranger, the papers on the floor. That was it. She must have taken the stranger’s ticket without noticing, and he must have taken hers and her suitcase too. But, why her suitcase? She looked at the bag lying next to hers once again. It was an old, worn-out black leather suitcase. It looked as if it had been travelling the planet for at least thirty years. She felt suddenly intrigued by it and tried to have a peek inside. Impossible. It had a padlock, of course, and a very old one indeed: an antique. There was something else: a small rectangular yellowish piece of paper attached to its back. It had something written on it in black ink. An address. It read “Defensa, 5412. San Telmo.” Maybe the owner’s house? Nina was more intrigued by the suitcase with every minute that passed. She was actually intrigued by its owner. What if it actually was the gray eyed stranger? It must have been him, who else if not? There was something she could do: take the suitcase to the airline counter and demand that her own be returned to her. However, there was another, more tempting solution. She could always go to San Telmo herself, find the address and the owner and get to the bottom of things. Yes. That was what she’d do. She needed to find her suitcase, and she needed to return the one she had to its owner. Plus, the airline would surely take days and days to solve the problem. But what about her sister? She wanted to see her niece more than anything. Yet, somehow, she felt she had to go to San Telmo herself. Maybe it had to do with the fact that she had not had anything to really care about for the past few months. She had been so hurt by the whole situation with her boyfriend that she had stopped taking care of herself. It was as if she had been suspended in time for a while. She hadn’t felt attracted to anything lately, and now this

stranger stepped into her life with his dark hair and his spelling eyes... She looked for her cell phone and made the call.

"Hey Anna, yes, yes I’m fine. How are you? Great. Look, there’s been a little delay at the airport, so I’ll be getting there this evening. No, I don ‘t know the reason. I know... It’s a bummer. Don ‘t worry. I ‘ll take a cab. See you tonight. Give Lilly a kiss for me, ok? Bye."

She went straight outside the airport, took a taxicab to the subway station, onto Constitución. Then walked twenty blocks up to San Telmo. The weight of the black suitcase and the guitar on her back made it difficult for her to walk fast, but she was determined to get there no matter what, and she actually didn’t have that much money with her, so she was forced to walk. By the time she reached San Telmo, she was extremely hot. She stopped at a corner to catch her breath and saw herself reflected on the glass window of a shop: the long braid on her back was almost undone and most of her brown wavy hair hung loosely and messily around her tired face. She straightened her clothes and arranged her hair the best she could and entered the district. She had never been there before. Not on any of her trips to Buenos Aires, though she had always wanted to. It was such a beautiful place, and it took her by surprise when she turned a corner. So much that she suddenly forgot about her hurry to get to where she was going. She noticed the narrow and crooked streets, its paving stones shinning here and there under the summer sun. Nina moved through the small crowds of people, many of them tourists. She could hear several different languages being spoken as she walked the streets. She could hear music playing everywhere, especially the

traditional tango. Walking past an alley, she caught a glimpse of a small band playing a mellow bossa nova. Nina was enthralled by all of this. Everything had a touch of melancholy; even the air had a romantic feel. She breathed all of this in, and walked around gazing at the people, the buildings, the objects, listening to the music, smelling the archaic scents. There was something that had changed inside her. It was as if, as with the suitcase, she was finally interested in something. She felt the need to see everything this place had to offer. She wanted to find out everything about it. It was as if she were waking up from a long coma that had begun with the breakup.

Then she reached Defensa Street. She saw the sign on the corner of the street and instantly remembered what she was there for. She had been so hypnotized under the spell of that mysterious place. She had forgotten all about the suitcase. She froze. Now she was suddenly scared. All kinds of doubts came to her mind and she started thinking that maybe she shouldn’t have gone there. What if there was no such place? What if the address on the suitcase was just an old scribbling and not the owner’s home address? What if the owner was a dangerous man and had planned everything to make her go there with who knows what intentions? She thought about this as she stood still on the corner of Defensa Street, not able to move yet. She shouldn’t have been so impulsive. She should have let the airline take care of everything, and she would be already holding her niece in her arms by now. But no. She just had to be impulsive and thoughtless and crazy. It was just that the urge to get to the bottom of things had been so strong. It had woken something inside her, something that had been long asleep. Well, she was there now;

she might as well get to the place at once. She walked along Defensa Street, looking at the old faded signs with the houses` numbering, until she reached number 5412. There it was. The place itself. It was a colonial building, just as every other one on the block. She saw the great, wooden door with a large sign on top of it: “Begnini e Hijos, Antiguedades”. There was a golden, rusted bell on the door, waiting to be rang. Nina stood there, hesitating for a while. She raised her arm a few times to ring the bell, but backed off when she was about to reach it. Finally, she rang it. At the sound of it, Nina heard movement inside the Store. Someone getting up from a chair maybe, bumping into something hard; then the jangling of keys against the keyhole. Her muscles tightened with every sound. The door opened slowly. Nina held her breath as she waited for the person behind it to come out. Her heart beat faster and faster against her chest as she got closer to finally meeting the owner of the suitcase.

The person behind the door disclosed himself. It wasn’t him; it wasn’t the handsome young man with hair like coal and deep gray eyes. Instead, it was a small old man, bald except for some white hair growing above his ears, wearing thick glasses. His skin so wrinkled it reminded her of crumpled brown-paper. He reminded Nina of one of dwarfs from Snow White’s fairytale. She sighed and dropped the suitcase heavily on the ground. She couldn’t hide the expression of frustration from her face. The tiny man greeted her with a smile and asked her in. She managed to mutter a weak "Hello" and went into the store.

Inside, she was all eyes. The entire place was literally covered, from wall to wall, with objects of all kinds,

mostly furniture and paintings. Some were toys, clothes and even necklaces and earrings. Everything was antique, of course. She was about to start talking about the suitcase and how she didn’t really know if it was his, when the old man raised a wrinkled hand in front of him and told her to wait a moment please, he had to go get something.

Caught by surprise, Nina just stood there. So many strange unexpected things had happened to her in one day, that she was not about to start guessing what was to come next.

“Hello,” a low, male voice said, and Nina almost jumped to the ceiling. She turned around to find her mysterious man standing in front of her, looking at her with those piercing gray eyes, smiling a small smile. She stood there not knowing what to say, staring at him as if she had seen a ghost.

“I am Pedro Begnini,” he said, stretching his hand in salutation. Nina shook his hand and noticed that hers was trembling.

“Hi, I think I have something that belongs to you…” she said, pointing at the old black suitcase. “I think we bumped into each other at the airport, I guess our tickets got mixed up or something… sorry about that, by the way. I suppose I took your suitcase by mistake, and you…” She suddenly stopped. She had noticed something about Pedro’s face when she mentioned the word mistake. He had changed his expression, as if he had been about to say something, maybe to correct her.

“Look,” he said, in a serious tone. “I don’t want you to worry or think I’m crazy or anything… It’s just that… when I saw your face at the airport… I need to know your name,” he said and stopped talking.

Nina felt uncomfortable under his stare. She didn’t understand what the man was talking about. She stood there staring into his eyes, searching for an answer there. She felt their strong magnetism and she couldn‘t explain it. It was the same feeling she had experienced when entering this neighborhood: being woken up, shaken up. Before she could stop them, the words came out of her mouth with a will of their own.

“My name is Nina…” she said, surprised at herself.

“Then, it was you. It was you all along,” he said almost in a whisper, never letting his eyes look away from her. “I knew it when I saw you at the airport, but I didn’t know how to tell you, see, I had never actually seen you.” He was getting closer now and Nina was starting to become really frightened. She winced with fear, but he remained calm, his voice reassuring. “I think you should sit down to hear this.”

He drew an old chair closer to her and she sat down on the edge, her legs tensed up, as if ready to run at the slightest indication of danger. Pedro started to talk again.

“Look, I have been having the same dream for weeks and weeks. I dream about… a name; I don’t really see anything else or hear anything else. Only a name. It’s like I feel it in my dreams. Just a name.”

Nina was already guessing what the name was, and she felt equally disturbed and fascinated by the whole idea.

“Well, of course, the name is Nina. But there is something else. I’m an artist, you see, a painter. And I have been looking for inspiration for months and haven’t found anything that moves me. All I can think about is the dream, and it won’t go away. I can’t paint, I can’t explain it either.”

Nina nodded. She knew all about lack of inspiration. She had been so obsessed with losing her boyfriend that she hadn’t been able to write in months. She hadn’t even been able to sing either, really. She had proved her parents right. The music industry was too unstable, and she should pursue a more "serious" career. But from the moment she had found the suitcase, she had been feeling differently. She had felt there is mystery in life, that there are questions yet to be answered. She had to find the answers, and she would do it through her music. She drew her hand close to her guitar still strapped to her back and felt relieved to have it there with her.

“So, one day, last week, I took this obsession of mine, and painted it. And then I saw you, and realized... Look, I thought I didn‘t believe in destiny, until today... It is inside that suitcase. I think we should open it now.” Pedro stared at her, waiting for an answer.

Nina was sitting very still on her chair, and nodded quietly. Pedro opened a drawer and took a golden key, lifted the black suitcase and put it on the table. The key went smoothly into the padlock and opened it. As he lifted the lid, she could see a strikingly beautiful oil painting of a woman, her wavy long brown hair floating

lightly, her big light brown eyes looking down, her long lashes protecting them, smiling with her full lips and a small brown mole on her chin. Pedro, who was standing very close to Nina, looked at her with wide eyes. She was bending over the picture, so close she could almost touch it; her wide brown eyes very open, her long brown hair hanging over her shoulders, her mouth half open, her left hand finger touching the little mole on her chin.

IN HEAVEN

Marisol Massó

Marisol Massó is a new young writer who enjoys reading and writing. Inspired by her desire to know what the lyrics of the songs of her favourite bands said and by the influence of one of her childhood English teachers, she has dreamed of becoming an EFL teacher since she was thirteen years old. Ever since, she has done her best in order to accomplish her goal. Despite the fact that she had never studied English before entering college, she has made her way through her studies without difficulties, proving how determined and committed to her vocation she is. When she is not busy with college, she relaxes by meeting her friends and practising yoga. She has recently written her first short story, in which she presents a woman who is facing the loss of her mother and learns an important lesson from an unexpected person.

It was 11 am and Claire was still in bed. Her puffy eyes were fixed on the portrait of her mother, on the right-hand side night table beside her bed. She contemplated the photo in silence with an expression of fear in her face, fear of ever forgetting her mother’s face. A couple of months before, her mother had died after a bitter battle against cancer. Claire felt an aching emptiness in her heart when she thought of everything she would not be able to share with her mother, both her achievements and her failures. And of course, she missed her dreadfully; she needed her love and affection more than ever.

Claire closed her dark-ringed eyes and pulled the blankets over her head. She remained under the blankets like a wounded animal in its cave. For a while, she did not move a muscle. Her arms and her legs were attached to the rest of her petrified body, making a lifeless human shape. Her chest did not heave as she breathed slowly in and out. A mummy she was, wrapped in white soft cloths, silently complaining about what could have been a happy life with her mother.

The sound of the doorbell ringing broke the endless stillness of her body and forced her to face the nightmare her life was. With a tremendous effort, she pulled the blankets off her, stood up and got out of her bedroom to get the door. She ached all over as she shuffled across the living-room in her pajamas. She opened the door, and found Kate. Claire had forgotten that Kate had previously asked her to babysit her six-year-old daughter, Polly. At first, Claire had not been willing to accept this responsibility. Lately, she could not even take care of herself. But she felt she could not refuse to help her friend, though Claire knew Kate was doing all this to give her some work to do and some money since, after her mother’s death, Claire was supposed to work and support herself. When Claire saw Kate on the threshold, her half-closed eyes suddenly widened with surprise and embarrassment. She invited her friend to come in and sit down, though there was actually no place to sit down. Kate looked in horror at the piles of clothes and boxes on the sofa and on the kitchen chairs, the small kitchen table that was covered with books, magazines, plastic bags and dirty utensils, and the huge pile of dirty plates, cups, forks, spoons... in the sink. As Kate came in, she could feel the rustle of

the bread and biscuit crumbs that were scattered all over the floor on the sole of her shoes.

“Hi, Claire... I guess you forgot I was coming, didn’t you?”

“Oh, yes, I totally forgot,” Claire said with a sheepish smile. She cleaned up the sofa briskly and they both took a sit.

“I see things have not changed much these days,” Kate commented bitterly.

“Well, I still can’t find a job, you know, and I don’t have the strength to take my books and start studying again.”

“I know it is not easy. Nothing has been easy for the last six months. I don’t want to sound bossy, Claire, but you know that sleeping the whole morning and waiting for time to pass quickly is not a solution.”

Claire took a deep breath as she drew her fingers through her untidy hair.

“My life is such a mess – you are right. Everything you say is true. But I’m not sure I’m strong enough to get over this. I’m sick of feeling this way. But I can’t help it,” she said, and her weary eyes filled with sudden tears.

“I know, that’s why I asked you to watch over Polly for a couple of hours. I’m pretty sure you two will have a good time together. Polly really likes you, you know.”

Kate went to look for Polly, who was outside in the car. As Kate and Polly came into the house, Polly came running to kiss Claire.

“Aunt Claire!” the little girl shouted in delight.

After Kate left, Claire put a jumpsuit on and Polly made herself at home, playing with her pet, a milky white rabbit. Polly played in the living-room beside a low-slung sofa with pyramids of old-fashioned clothes and opened boxes filled with yellowish family photos. She squatted down in front of the dumb animal, the victim of her every whim.

“This is aunt Claire’s house. We are going to play here, but you have to behave yourself,” the little girl explained to the poor animal, pointing a warning finger at it, “or else aunt Claire will get angry and mom too and I’ll have to punish you for being disobedient.”

Claire was in the kitchen, getting ready to do the dishes. She had already put an apron on.

“It’s OK, Polly. I don’t think he can untidy anything. The room is already a mess,” Claire jokingly remarked, smiling widely for the first time in days, in months.

Claire wearily plodded across the living room to clean up the mess of clothes on the sofa so Polly could sit down there. In so doing, she crouched down beside Polly, stretched her right arm down to touch the rabbit, and with her skinny pale fingers, she caressed the back of his stiff neck.

“What’s his name?” Claire asked Polly, unable to shift her eyes from his glossy hair.

“He’s Hairy!” the girl said cheerfully as she sat down on the carpeted floor, “He’s my best friend! He came home yesterday. Mom bringed him because

Snowball disappeared and didn’t come back again.” Her radiant face looked grave now.

“Who is Snowball, sweetheart?”“He was a rabbit like this one. Mom says Snowball

died. An angel came at night and took him. Now, Snowball is on the moon, in the sky. The moon is his house now and he lives there with other rabbits that died too. The moon is full of white rabbits.” Her face lit up with an angelic smile. “That’s why the moon is so white and bright!” she said enthusiastically.

Amused by the logic of the child’s argument, Claire smiled and laughed under her breath. Her eyes were fixed on the girl’s sweet face for a moment. Deep down, Claire secretly envied the child, her blissful ignorance of death. Claire wished she could be a child again, and forget, and escape from the unbearable emptiness of her life. Claire nodded, listening attentively to the child imparting her wisdom on the subject.

“My granny died too. But she is in heaven. Mom says that the same angel came and took her to heaven. There, she lives with God and other grannies. Did you know about that?”

Claire lowered her eyes. An unutterable sadness came over her. She wondered whether it was true that there was a place called heaven somewhere in the universe, and whether there was a God. She struggled to silence the voice in her head, but she couldn’t. Does God really exist? Why has this God, who is said to be love, stolen my mother from me? Why her? Why now? Why?

“Yes, of course I did,” Claire sighed.

“Mom says that in heaven you can play whenever you want to. You can eat all kinds of candy, you can have ice-cream whenever you want to... ’cos it’s always summer in heaven.”

Claire had a lump on her throat. She was stupefied by the girl’s conviction.

“Your mom is right,” Claire said softly as she placed her hands around her face, shifting the weight of her head to her hands. Suddenly, it downed on her that maybe it was true. Maybe there was a heaven where people lived an even better life than the one here on earth. Probably there was a God up there too, taking care of both the living and the dead. She felt a comforting feeling. Maybe this life is the hell we all fear. My sorrow, my hell. Her features started to soften and her mournful expression changed to resignation. A single tear rolled slowly down her cheek, paving the way for a flood of tears.

“No! You can’t cry!” the girl shouted with worry. “If my granny sees you crying, she will be sad too. She can see everything from heaven. Do you want her to see you crying?”

“You are right,” she said, and this time Claire really meant it.

Polly dried Claire’s tears with her little fingers. Polly hugged her tightly, as her mother used to.

“You have to promise that you won’t cry again,” Polly said softly. Claire smiled. The painful truth of death had been just revealed through the eyes of the purest creature on earth.

Claire stood up firmly, determined to clean up the entire house. She started with the kitchen, by washing the dishes. She vigorously rubbed the surface of each plate with a scourer, using water and washing-up liquid while Polly waited for the plate to dry it up with a clean white towel.

Claire knew that something would always be missing, the love and the support of her mother, and that the anguish she felt would not be easy to wash away. But now she knew that she could not let this pain grow and devour her. She discovered she was the owner of her suffering and her happiness.

ON THE MERRY-GO-ROUND

Soledad Mercado

Soledad Mercado was born and raised in Mendoza. She is currently pursuing her university studies, having chosen the English-teaching career. In her spare time, she enjoys listening to music, taking walks, reading and writing. Even though she is reflexive and quiet, she has plenty of things to say in her story. She became actively involved in the adventure of writing a very deep short story which, in an extremely appealing way, presents the story of a young medical student whose sister died when he was only five. Nick had struggled to hide his pain throughout his life, but when he learned of a little girl who reminded him of his dead sister, he was forced to confront his sorrowful past and his overprotective parents.

“Why do you study medicine?” a girl asked spontaneously as she sat in front of him in the school cafeteria. This was the hardest question for Nick to answer. He wanted to say: I’d like to treat people, to make them feel better. But the words that came out of his mouth were: “Well, you know doctors are very popular among women.”

The girl replied with a nervous giggle. Uh huh, the typical reaction to my clever remarks, Nick thought. He was looking at the girl now—examining her, rather. At first, she had appeared attractive to him. She had a narrow waist and large blue eyes, but beyond that she was an ordinary girl. It was obvious that she didn’t take care of herself: not a drop of make up on her face and

she needed to pluck her bushy eyebrows urgently! He kept playing with his meatballs. He had served himself only two when most of his friends had three or four meatballs floating in their soups. Not that he was putting on weight, but he had to be careful with that white coat he had bought especially to combine with the medical school uniform. It was white and white made him look kind of fatty. He paid attention to the conversation going on now. His friends, most of them women - generally he got on better with girls as men were sort of distant toward him, they were probably jealous that he got more attention. Was it his fault to be blond and have penetrating green eyes? - were talking about the following week, in which they would start their medical residency. Coincidentally, Nick had been assigned to the same hospital where his father worked. Nick couldn’t wait for it either. He was anxious to have patients he could help. He pictured himself at the intensive care unit giving an injection to a thin pale little girl, curiously similar to Sophie, his little sister who had died when she was three years old. Nick barely remembered her actually. He had been only five the day his father had finally given consent for the doctors to perform the unsuccessful operation. It had been a useless surgery anyway; his parents had waited too long and the leukaemia had grown too acute. Nick knew that it would have been better to have done it before, but his parents were afraid of something he couldn’t recall. Why had his father, being a specialist himself, decided to wait? Even now, after all those years, whenever Nick tried to ask anything about Sophie his parents would avoid the subject. His mother would stop doing whatever she was doing and pick up the phone and call her friends with some silly excuse or go out shopping for some new expensive clothes or jewellery. And his father…Well,

Nick hadn’t really tried to talk about this with him. The only time he had attempted to bring up the subject, his father had given him a dreadful look, put on his extremely white coat and left for the hospital.

It was unusual that he had thought of Sophie. It had been years since the last time he had spent more than a minute thinking of her. Long before, Nick had given up on the idea of reconstructing Sophie’s face or voice, or laughter, or crying. There were no tracks of Sophie’s existence in Nick’s house, no pictures, no drawings, no clothes, no toys, no memories…The only image that remained on Nick’s mind was that of the last time he had seen her at hospital. She was lying on a white cold bed, too big for her small fragile body. Nick had only been able to catch a glimpse of her from the door before her mother took him away from the room. A pale small face with shut eyes under blonde curls was the only memory Nick had of his sister. He had not been at her funeral either. “Children don’t go to funerals,” his parents had said. Shortly after the ceremony, his mother had redecorated the entire house and turned Sophie’s room into a huge dressing room. His father decided to get a job in a different hospital and he stopped performing operations on children. They had started a new life and Sophie was never mentioned again at the Richards’ house.

“What a handsome young man we have here to accompany us for lunch, Rita!” exclaimed a very old nurse with thick blue eyeliner, violet eye shadow and bright red lipstick that went beyond the edges of her mouth. Nick almost lost his appetite at her sight, but he was polite and remained seated while the two women struggled to place their broad hips on the narrow chairs.

“Are you one of the new boys?” the one called Rita asked, grinning widely.

“Yes, I’m starting my residency today,” Nick answered in a serious tone. Sometimes, only sometimes, he wished he would not call women’s attention so much. He could not even walk in front of a secondary school without annoying teens following him each time he wore his sport black sleeveless T-shirt. Luckily, the security guys at the gym did not let anyone without a membership card enter the building. Yet, he could not really blame those girls. After all, there was only one, unique, tremendously sexy Nick Richards in the world, as he often told himself.

“Have you seen that little girl that has just been transferred, the one with leukaemia?” asked the nurse with the thick blue eyeliner. “It’s such a pity, she’s so little. I hope she can make it, poor thing.”

“No, not really. She must be somebody else’s patient,” Nick answered, trying to sound detached.

“Poor girl, I feel so sorry for her. It’s not the first girl with leukaemia I see, but I think it’s been a long time since the last time I saw someone so pale and so lifeless! She’s so thin. The parents are from a very small village and they didn’t know her daughter was sick with cancer. They waited too long to bring her here.”

Nick wished they would talk about something else. The idea of a pale sick little girl reminded him of Sophie and this was a happy day and he did not want his happiness to be spoiled. He had never wanted, as a matter of fact. He finished his lunch quickly, said good bye politely to the old nurses and continued working and meeting new patients.

However, his happiness would not last long. That same night he dreamt about Sophie. He was five years old again. He could tell because he felt too short and his big manly hands had become small and chubby. He was seeing a merry-go-round in front of him when Sophie took him by the hand and led him towards it. It was the same one to which his father used to take him before Sophie died, although she had never had a chance to accompany them. Sophie looked gorgeous. She was wearing a white dress with a pink ribbon around the waist and her blonde curly hair made her look like a little angel. She tried to climb onto a horse but Nick stopped her because it was too tall for her. Instead, he sat her on a small elegant couch. She did not say anything, but looked at him with a broad smile while he sat on a horse in front of the couch. Suddenly, the mesmerizing music stopped, and so did the merry-go-round. Nick fell from the horse and hit his head badly against the platform of the machine. Then, he touched his forehead and discovered that he was bleeding. When he raised his head, there was Sophie. He heard her say in a high sweet voice “Does it hurt? It’s alright. You can cry. I won’t tell anyone that you fell.” After he heard her say that, Nick woke up in the middle of the night and cried and cried and cried until it was daylight. That day Nick did not drive to the hospital; he stayed in bed pretending he was sick. After all, he would not need to be paid much attention as he could treat himself. In the afternoon he felt better; he washed his face and watched some TV. Later, he called his friends and arranged to party that night. He decided that he had cried enough. However, what was supposed to be a regular Friday night turned out to be a real mess. Determined to cheer himself up, Nick had drunk too much beer and his friends had had to drive him home.

Luckily, his father did not notice that he had come home with a torn shirt and that he had spent a hundred dollars on alcohol.

By Monday, everything was over. Nick had spent all Saturday sleeping and all Sunday on the beach with some friends. He went to the hospital and he thought he would have a normal day helping other surgeons and studying cases. He had managed to keep Sophie out of his mind until lunch time, when the old nurses met him again. This time the news they brought was even worse than before. The only chance the little child with lymphocytic leukaemia had to survive was a bone marrow transplant. She had been put first in the national list of organ transplantation. When Nick heard the news, he felt the urgent need to see the girl. He was about to get up, with a weight on his chest choking him, when the nurses looked at him and asked him what he thought. He could only say that he was very sorry and that he hoped the girl had some relative who could be a suitable donor. After that, they started talking about their sons and daughters and ex-husbands. Nick deliberately took part in their conversation and gradually his chest felt released. However, later, when he was looking for a doctor, he entered a mistaken room. It was the little sick girl’s room. The sight of the small defenseless child in a huge white bed with lots of catheters coming out of her thin pale body broke Nick’s heart. “Sophie,” he whispered slowly. Then he closed his eyes tightly and fought warm tears back. He swallowed the lump in his throat, looked down and silently left the room. All the way back home, he thought of Sophie lying on the white bed, the blonde curls on top of her eyes, the extremely pale skin. More memories came to his mind: his parents arguing the day after the operation; the sound of his

father’s crying; his mother dressed in black and leaving him with an aunt while she left for Sophie’s funeral and him running after her... He felt too full and heavy as if he were a lead statue drowning slowly on a deep black sea of sorrow.

When he got back home, his mother was watching TV in the living room. Nick decided he should insist on talking about his little sister. Sophie’s words echoed in his head incessantly now: “Does it hurt? It’s alright. You can cry. I won’t tell anyone that you fell.” He sat on the couch next to his mother and said: “Mom, do you have a minute? There’s something I need to talk to you about”. Suddenly, it seemed to him that this was the first time in his life that he sounded serious when he talked to his mother.

“Hi, honey! How are you? I didn’t hear you get home. The maid told me that you’ve been ill, I’m so sorry I was away! Do you feel better now? Do you want me to tell Theresa to make some hot tea? You look terrible darling. You must be worn out!”

“No, mom. It’s alright, that was last week. I feel much better now. Listen, I need to...”

“Are you sure? I don’t want my little boy to get ill again.”

“Mom,” Nick said, lowering his voice and searching for his mother’s eyes. “I …I need to …I need to talk about Sophie.”

His mother’s eyes were wide open in surprise. She seemed speechless for a short moment. Then she turned away her face to look at the clock and said as lively as she could, “What time is it? Oh, it is pretty late

now. I’m sorry darling, but I’ve just remembered I have to get up early tomorrow so I can’t talk now.”

“Mother, this is very important to me,” Nick told her while he searched for his mother’s hand. She had a worried look on her face and she could not take her eyes off her diamond ring. The ring she had bought just after Sophie’s death.

“I need to know. Please stop avoiding the subject,” Nick pleaded. “I’ve been thinking about Sophie a lot lately. Something is telling me that all this has to stop. We have to talk about it. There’re things I need to be told, explained. Please. If you really love me, tell me the whys. Why don’t we ever mention her? Why did you and dad take all of Sophie’s pictures? Why did dad change to another hospital and stopped operating on children?” Nick’s voice was turning into a desperate sob now. “And why didn’t dad tell them to operate on her earlier?”

Nick buried his face in his mother’s bosom and wept openly for Sophie’s death for the first time in his life. His mother remained silent and hugged him very tightly with both of her arms. After a short moment, Nick raised his head to look at her in the eye. She finally said, in tears, “I’m so sorry, Nick. We hoped you would forget everything. We didn’t want you to suffer as much as we did. You were so little …and we were left with just one child. We just wanted to protect you.” As soon as she had uttered those words, Nick took his mother’s arms away from his body, stood up and shrieked with a deep furrow between his eyebrows: “To protect me? To protect me from what? From mourning my sister’s death? From feeling naturally sad about it!”

“Nick, please try to understand. It devastated us. We didn’t know how to deal with it. It would’ve been

even worse for you!” his mother answered weeping while she tried to grab her son’s hands. But Nick pulled his hands free and growled: “Leave me alone. I’m not your baby anymore! I hate you. You hear me? I hate you!” Then, he ran up the stairs and slammed his bedroom door while his mother still sobbed uncontrollably: “I’m so very sorry. We did know you remembered things so well, Nick, Nick…”

Once he was alone in the darkness of his room, Nick flew into a rage. He picked up his swivel chair and hurled it into the wall. Then, he kicked his bedside table repeatedly until his foot was sore. After that, he slid slowly along the only dimly lit wall of the bedroom, his face buried in his hands. It was a quiet moonlit night and the only sound to be heard was Nick’s soft whimper. The window was open and a faint song reached his ears:

Hush now baby, baby, don't you cryMomma's gonna check out all your girlfriends for you

Momma won't let anyone dirty get throughMomma's gonna wait up until you get in

Momma will always find out where you've beenMomma's gonna keep Baby healthy and clean

Oooo BabeOooo Babe

Ooo Babe, you'll always be Baby to meMother, did it need to be so high?5

As he heard the song more tears streamed down his cheeks. Could he blame only his mother and father for being overprotective or had he had some responsibility as well?5 Pink Floyd. “Mother”. Dark Side Of The Moon.

The following day, Nick went to the hospital. His eyes were still swollen and reddish. The first thing he did was to try to contact his father in order to raise the matter with him now. However, he was told that Dr. Richards was in a very important meeting that would last several hours. But Nick could not wait for his father: he had his own patients to attend now. Later, as usual, Nick had lunch in the hospital’s cafeteria with the old nurses. While they had their large meals, he asked about the little girl with leukaemia. They told him that Dr. Richards had refused to operate on the child himself. Even though he was a consultant and researcher, he had been asked to do so because, suddenly, a bone marrow donor had appeared and both of the surgeons in charge were on sick leave. They had called two substitute doctors but they would arrive within two days. According to the nurses, if the little girl waited that long she might die; it was better to do the transplant as soon as possible. Nick knew this too. He got up from the table abruptly and headed towards his father’s office. He did not even knock on the door; he just stomped in.

Dr. Richards looked at his son with a startled expression on his face and asked: “What are you doing here, Nick?”

“I’m gonna ask the questions,” said Nick, his voice rough with indignation. “Why don’t you operate on that little girl? She’ll die soon if you don’t!”

“Calm down Nick,” Dr. Richards replied coldly. “You don’t understand how things work yet. Sometimes we come across cases like this; it’s heart breaking at first, but we are doctors and we don’t let our emotions interfere. It could lead us to make mistakes.”

“I don’t care at all. There is a donor. What do the parents say?”

“They agree, of course. But there are no doctors to perform the surgery.”

“You can do it. They asked you to. Why don’t you do it, damn it?!” Nick shouted in exasperation.

“Don't take that tone with me, young man! You’d better calm down or else I’ll call security!” Nick’s father shrieked, shooting his son a severe look and getting up of his chair.

“That won’t work dad. I’m not a child anymore”. Nick’s voice dropped suddenly now.

Dr. Richards stared at his son for a moment and seeing that Nick fixed him with a defiant glare, he understood that his son had grown up.

“So? I’m still waiting for your answer. You must know the child has very few chances of surviving until the substitutes come,” Nick added.

“I’m very sorry for that little girl, but I cannot operate on her myself,” Dr. Richards answered quietly as he sat down again. “It’s been years since the last time I performed a surgery on a child.”

“And what is your suggestion then? Waiting and letting her die as it happened to Sophie?” Nick said, in a sarcastic voice.

“What! What are you talking about? How dare you talk to me like that! Dr. Richards said, deeply shocked.

“Stop it! Stop pretending she never lived. Mom told me you were trying to protect me and that that’s why we never mention her, but I do remember her. I remember everything now!” said Nick angrily.

“You say you remember it,” his father told him, trying to sound cold. “What do you remember? You

don’t know what it was like. It was too much for us. We decided to bear it ourselves and keep you away from that hell. It was for your own sake that we did what we did.”

“Oh, really? Well, thank you then. But I’ve been living in a private hell of my life. I’ve got this terrible wound in my heart that you and mom never let heal!” Nick screamed, pounding his chest.

“You have a wound that never healed?” Dr. Richards cried out. “Let me tell you about my pain too.” He left his desk and taking Nick by the shoulders said: “You don’t get it! I was one of the consultants, I had decided to wait. It was my own daughter I let die!” Dr Richards broke down in tears and fell to the floor.

Nick was aghast at his father’s unexpected behaviour. He swallowed the lump on his throat, composed himself and tried to reassure his father.

“Dad? Listen. It wasn’t your fault. I’m sure you did your very best,” said Nick quietly. He then placed his right hand on his father’s shoulder as smoothly as he could. Seeing that he did not push him aside, Nick lowered himself to the floor and hugged his father.

After a while, his father mumbled that Nick had been the donor to Sophie, but the probability of success had been too low, only fifty per cent. Sophie’s blood was a rare type and it had seemed pointless to risk Nick’s wellbeing. They had hoped that a more suitable donor would appear soon, but by the time a donor appeared Sophie was too weak to endure the surgery.

“Fifty per cent is not zero per cent. It could have been enough, Nick,” Dr. Richards sobbed.

“I dreamt about Sophie the other night,” Nick said, with a dreamy gaze into space. “She was beautiful and happy like a cherub in heaven…There’s nothing we can do for her now, dad. But we can still help this other child. Let’s do it, please. I’ll help you. After all, I’m a surgeon too.”

“What?” Dr. Richards answered, wiping his face with the cuff of his coat. “I don’t know. Things may not work. It’s been such a long time. And you have very little experience.”

“Those things you don’t forget, dad. Your talent is still there. I’m sure. Besides, do you want to make the same mistake again?”

“No. Of course not. Alright, let’s put on our gowns,” said Dr. Richards as Nick helped him stand up.

After they had had some water and washed their faces, they headed for the little girl’s room together. The nurses and other doctors were astonished to hear Dr. Richards’ order to send the girl to the operating theatre. Once they finished, Nick and his father shook hands with broad smiles on their faces. This was the first time Nick saw his father smile with genuine happiness.

That night, after the Richards family had had dinner together and seen old pictures of Sophie and remembered the things she did and said, Nick dreamt about his little sister again. He was on the merry-go-round’s platform once more, with an injury to his forehead. Sophie bent down and kissed him near the damaged skin. The bleeding stopped and she said, her face lighting up, “You’ve healed. You don’t bleed anymore!”

WHEN THE CURRENTS FLOW

María Alejandrina Petra

Cheerful and lively, María Alejandrina Petra has always been fond of sports and outdoor activities. Even though as a child she never felt attracted by the world of literature, she now admits to have been captivated by the beauty and power of the written word as a means both to speak her mind and to discover herself. At the age of 21, she is for the first time going through the wonderful experience of writing her own piece of literature. Inspired by moving personal experiences, in “When the Currents Flow” she attempts to show how modern busy life is leading many people to be trapped in their own worlds and prevents them from enjoying beautiful little things that give real sense to our lives.

It is true what people say about how time can erode our memories like a rock is eventually turned into sand. But even when they get eroded, these pieces of memory are always present somewhere inside us. So present that in the most unexpected moments, they are stirred up by daily experiences that have the power to revive part of our past and open up our eyes in times of darkness. I understood how true this was not long ago, when many things I had forgotten came flooding back to my mind and I realized how wrong I had been.

After my father died when I was seven, it was my grandpa who took up his role in my life. Every day, he picked me up at school and then took me for a walk around the park where we spent hours playing together,

not aware of how strong the emotional bond that we were forging was.

One of those days I will never forget. I had already left school and was trying to find him in the crowd of parents who were waiting for their children, when I spotted Grandpa standing by his car smiling at me. With my eyes set on his, I ran towards him and jumped into his arms, clinging to his neck with childlike enthusiasm.

That Friday afternoon after school, Grandpa and I went for a walk in the park. It was an autumn day. Some beams of sunlight filtered dustily through the clouds that were still covering the sky, gleaming on the crystal-clear waters of the river that flowed alongside us. From the distance I got sight of two rocks placed at the side of the riverbed where mothers used to sit and talk for hours while their children played in the water, shrieking with laughter and splashing around. But this time there was nobody in there. So I broke into a run cheerfully, heading for that place so that I reached it before anybody could occupy it. When I was there, I jumped onto the rock and standing on top of it, looked at Grandpa agitating my arms in the air.

“Here I am Grandpa!” I enthused. He was coming in my direction trying to speed up his slow pace. His eyes were full of life and his radiant face beamed with pleasure. He’d always been the kind of person who finds delight in little things. Listening to me calling him Grandpa or looking at a smile on somebody’s face were the kind of things that made him happy.

“Don’t hurry! I’ll wait for you here!” I yelled.

And as I waited for him to reach the place where I was, I sat down on the rock and observed the treacherous currents flowing steadily along the river, tumbling over some rocks, swirling around in eddies, and then following the current and continuing downstream. I was almost hypnotized admiring the patterns that the water drew in the river when I heard dry leaves cracking behind me as somebody stepped onto them. I turned my head around to see who it was and I squealed with fear and surprise when I got Grandpa with his hands almost on my back, pretending he was about to push me into the water. Then, we looked into each other’s eyes with an amused expression on our faces and fell about; not even knowing what was so fun about all that. Shrieking with laughter, Grandpa held onto my shoulder to support himself and lowered to sit down next to me. He breathed deeply to recover his strength and then took a piece of paper out of his pocket and started to play with it, folding it once and again.

“What are you doing Grandpa?” I asked, enthralled by the slight quick movements of his old but steady hands.

“It’s a magic trick I learnt to do a long time ago when I was your age Daniel,” he answered, his eyes dancing with amusement. “You’ll see how I can make a boat from this little sheet of paper now”

And while he was concentrated on his task, I stared at his hands expertly running over each crease and admiring how each fold shaped the piece of paper into new forms. For a couple of seconds I saw Grandpa folding it endlessly and then, all of a sudden, as if by magic, he had made a beautiful little boat. To see how it floated, we squatted down by the riverbed and gently

placed the boat in the moving waters, letting it be carried away from us. The little ship was pushed forward by the strength of the current, tumbling and tossing all about and finally sinking into the depths of the river. After having lost sight of it, I stood up quickly and eagerly looked for another sheet of paper so that we tried with another boat. Aware of the fact that this time the boat would also sink, Grandpa said with a gentle voice,

“If you want we can try Daniel, but most probably the boat will sink again. The current is very strong today, dear.”

“Let’s try again!” I said with childlike insistence. “If we make a bigger one now, it won’t sink Grandpa!” My innocent comment made him chuckle. Looking at my eyes almost begging him, Grandpa took another sheet of paper to try again. But he was right. As we placed the second paper boat in the waters of the river, it was swept away by the strong current. Following the ship with my eyes, I said with disappointment,

“We should come one day when the waters are calm Grandpa!” but he didn’t answer. Then, I raised my eyes and saw him fix his gaze on the river, staring at it with a reflexive look.

“You know what? Sometimes when we grow up, we are like paper ships which are pushed forward and swept away by the current,” he said, almost murmuring to himself, without even noticing that he was putting his thoughts into words. Not really knowing what he meant with this last comment, I extended one hand to help him get into his feet and excitedly ran towards the swings as he followed me with slow steps.

For many years I thought I would never be able to live without him because more than my Grandpa, he was my father figure, my mentor, my bulwark, the single most influential person in my life.

But at that moment I didn’t know how the effect of time sometimes is stronger than the deep emotions one can feel towards a person.

Years passed and, at the age of nineteen, I started studying Architecture at college and entered a completely new world, the world of adulthood, Grandpa would say. I remember how excited I was with my new life. Although days were long and more tiring now, I enjoyed getting up very early in the morning, while my mom was still asleep, and get ready to go to work. After work, I devoted my evenings to attending subjects. I used to arrive home at night, when mom was already in bed, and stay up late, drawing up plans and studying for exams. In my free time, I played tennis with one of the few friends my hurried life allowed me to have. Although at the beginning I just played for fun, tennis eventually became somewhat of an addiction. I started to train hard and play in tournaments as I studied and worked simultaneously. As I was so busy with my activities and responsibilities, my visits to grandpa dwindled down and little by little my interest in him faded away.

But Grandpa was always trying to rekindle the close relationship we used to have in my childhood. I remember one day he paid me a visit after a long time without seeing each other. I was in my room, listening to music and working with a scale model I had to present for one of the subjects at College. Then, I heard Grandpa’s voice echoing in the living room talking to my

mom. They had just arrived home and were shattering the peace I was so delightedly enjoying in solitude. When I heard from a distance my grandpa asking about me, I turned off the music and closed the door to my room. I hid there, waiting for him to leave while I kept on working on my building model. I was inside my room, trying to make as little noise as possible, when I heard somebody knocking at the door.

“Who is it?”“Daniel?” he asked as he opened the door gingerly

and peered inside. He kept on calling me as if I were the child he used to play with fifteen years ago. Then, he slid into my room and noticing that I didn’t answer, he continued “as you don’t have time now to pay a visit to me, then I decided it was me who should come to see you.”

I raised my eyes, and greeted him with disdain, trying to fake a smile.

“Hi grandpa, what has brought you here?” I asked halfheartedly as I looked away from him and set my eyes back on my model, keeping my attention on what I was doing.

“I was going for a stroll around the park,” he said with his usual patient tone of voice. “I was wondering if you… if you wanted to come along.” I remained in silence for a while. The truth was that I couldn’t stand the idea of going for a walk with Grandpa. Now that his pace had become sluggish and unsteady I had to wait for him every three steps I took because he always dropped behind. While I was trying to work out how to reject his invitation so as not to sound so tough, I kept on working in my desk unwilling to meet his eyes. But as

I tried to avoid looking at him, I saw him reflected on the glass cover of my desk. He was standing next to me, dull, impassive, observant, wearing his usual pale pink t-shirt rolled up to his elbows and a pair of old faded gray pants. His eyes were looking straight at me as if they were penetrating my nape.

 “I think I have a lot to do grandpa. Why don’t you ask mom if she wants to go with you?” I said, rubbing my temple, trying not to show the anxiety that his sluggishness had begun to cause in me.

“But if you need to stay home to finish that, maybe I can stay too and help you with the scale model.”

I wondered why he always wanted to lend a hand when nobody had asked him for any help. I knew that when people got old and started to feel useless, they began to stick their noses in other people’s business, but never imagined it would bother me so much. I gave him a couple of cardboards to cut into squares, thinking that maybe that would stop him from talking incessantly as he used to do. But I was wrong. As soon as he started doing the task I’d asked him to do, he began recalling moments of his youth.

“When I was your age, things were not the same as nowadays. Life has changed so much…” I knew he was talking, but I couldn’t listen to him anymore. When an hour had passed I asked, “Grandpa, it’s getting late. Shouldn’t you be leaving?”

“I think you are right,” he answered, noticing that his presence had already started to make me nervous.

Then, I walked him to the door and said good bye to him. When I closed the door, I leaned against it and

breathed deeply trying to relax after all the anxiety Grandpa’s visit had produced in me. With my eyes set on the ceiling, I lowered down, sat on to the floor and murmured to myself not even aware of what I was saying, “At least he’s already gone.”

Not that I didn’t love my grandpa as before, but sometimes life itself forced me to speed up to be able to keep up with it. As years went by, some of what had made our relationship special seemed lost and I feared that it was not only the fact that my Grandpa was getting older but that I too was changing.

Things were getting worse not only with Grandpa but also with mom. Quarrels with her had become more and more frequent in the last months. Some weeks after grandpa’s visit, we had an awful fight. That day, I was in my bedroom lying sprawled down in front of the television when I heard my mom calling me from the other side of the house.

“Daniel! Please, come now. Supper is ready.”“I won’t have supper,” I answered offhandedly.

I heard her heavy steps reverberating along the corridor as she walked towards my room. When I turned my head to my door, she was already there, leaning against the doorframe, frowning at me.

“Why Daniel? You should have something before going to bed…”

“Mom please, don’t start with the sermon about what I should do and shouldn’t do. You know I don’t have time for long after-dinner conversations as you like to have. Please, this is the only time I have for myself, let me enjoy it!” I said to her as I kept on channel-hopping.

“I really don’t know what’s happening with you Daniel. You don’t give a damn about anyone except for yourself. What about your family? What about your friends? You don’t even receive your grandpa’s phone calls anymore! You cannot be so absorbed in your own world!” she shouted scowling at me.

“Stop saying I’m absorbed in my own world, mom! Don’t you see that everything I’m doing now is to be somebody in the world? Some day you will die, grandpa will die too and I’ll have to find my own way to survive. My priority is my future, and therefore my job and studies come first. Now, could you please leave me in peace?”

“Don’t dare to speak to me like that again!” she shouted. Fighting back her tears, she stormed out of my room slamming the door as she left.

After that I didn’t talk to her for months. Although I tried to seem nonchalant, at times I felt I was dying inside for how I’d been with her. But those feelings of guilt faded away when I returned to my routine and got trapped in my world again.

In my fourth year of college, I felt really fulfilled. I was about to finish my major, and by the end of the year, I was already enlisted to participate in one of the best-known tennis tournament. However, while some things seemed to be going perfectly, others started to worsen. After three years of hard work and study, the busy life I led brought its consequences. A chain of physical problems started to affect my health. I began to feel a persistent sharp pain in one of my eyes which made its vision blurred. This seemed to have begun to affect my reflexes too. When I played tennis I found it more difficult to coordinate my movements. I also felt weaker

now. My muscles had lost their strength and moved slower than they used to a couple of months before. I had constant headaches and every day that passed it required more effort to concentrate either while studying or doing sport. There was no pill that could calm the pain I had started to feel. After three long months of medical examinations for three long months, I went to see the doctor to get the results. I was sitting outside the office in the spacious ill-lit entrance hall when I heard the voice of the doctor echoing through a door calling my surname.

“Mr. Johnson,” the doctor called me from the door of his office. I got up and walked towards where he was standing, feeling nervous. I entered his office and in an instant I was sitting in front of the doctor on the other side of his desk.

“Well Mr. Johnson,” he said in a matter-of-fact way, pushing his glasses up and rubbing the bridge of his nose. He slid the medical files out of a folder and continued, “I’ve been looking at the results of your analyses and things are not as good as we expected. Your studies reveal a number of complications that will affect directly the life that you’ve been leading until now. Your nervous system has been damaged and as a consequence your body will stop responding to some signals sent by your nerve cells. So you’ll start to find it difficult to do some activities that require good reflexes or steady movements such us making scale models or doing sport …”

As I listened to him, I started to feel sick in my stomach. My heart began to beat fast and my hands began to quiver. In my mind, images of my life were reproduced in the form of a film as I tried to figure out what would

become of me from now on. I had lost track of what he was saying when I heard him telling me, “your entire life will be altered. You just need to face it.”

It was then that I felt that my whole world was collapsing. It was as if everything that I had devoted my life to, everything that I’d achieved until that moment had tumbled down with the news of my illness.

When the appointment was over, we shook hands. I stepped out of the office and headed towards the exit door of the clinic. On my way home, I felt a strong force pressing my breast that didn’t allow me to breathe. All at once, my whole life seemed to be losing its meaning as I died inside. Lost in my thoughts, I walked through the bustling streets of the city. I observed the faces of crowds of rushing people coming and going from different directions, looking burdened and lifeless. With images of my past messed up in my mind, I kept on walking until I reached the park where once I had spent an afternoon with Grandpa playing with the paper boat.

When I saw the river where he and I had tried our paper boat; memories of my childhood came flooding back to my mind. Those waters reminded me of my Grandpa, of the long hours we used to spend together when I was a child. I remembered the afternoons I sat in the security of his lap listening to his made-up stories of cowboys and heroes, about the nights I spent in his house when I came into his bedroom in fear after a nightmare and curled up next to him in the warmth of his arms. I pictured him teaching me how to tie a necktie, how to shave myself, how to work hard and fight for what I wanted. Overwhelmed by these memories, I felt a sudden need to find my grandfather and talk to him and

let him hug me in his arms as he did when I was a child. But it was too late. He’d died of a heart attack the year before while I had been trapped in my own world thinking of my needs only. I hadn’t felt his death so strongly until this day when I felt my own death so near. I walked towards the rocks alongside the riverbed and kneeling there; I closed my eyes and tried to shut out my world for a while. I began to think of the strong and treacherous current that flowed along the river that day. And I thought of how quickly it flowed and how the paper boat had been swept away and finally got lost in the unforgiving waters. In the silence of my loneliness I remembered that it was there where grandpa had once taught me a lesson I hadn’t understood until that very moment when I heard a voice in my mind saying “Sometimes when we grow up, we are like paper ships which are pushed forward and swept away by the current.” With his words in my mind, I saw now what Grandpa had wanted to tell me. Maybe he had wanted to teach me that life is like a river and we like little paper boats because it's easy for us to get caught up in the day-to-day craziness of life and let ourselves get carried away by the current. And when the river is swirling swiftly and the current is strong, we may forget to stop every now and then on top of a rock to admire our surroundings and enjoy the beauty of the journey, the little things that life offers to us.

After a while, I opened my eyes again, the dazzling golden sun blinding me for some seconds. Then, I looked at the river flowing in front of me and saw that this time it wasn’t hurried. The waters flowed calmly, caressing the rocks like a summer breeze. And sitting next to the river, all alone, I slid my hand into my pocket and found a piece of crumpled paper. I took it out and

straightened it with my fingers. Then I started to fold it expertly, just as Grandpa used to do when I was a child. With slight quick movements I shaped the piece of paper into the paper boat he had once taught me to make. I knelt by the riverbed, and placed it in the waters letting it flow along the river. And this time it did not sink. It floated gently on the water flow. Looking at how it disappeared in the distance, I got up quietly and slowly walked towards my house, where mom was surely waiting for me.

A VALUABLE FRIEND

Ana Paula Riveros

Paula Riveros has always wanted to be a teacher and still recalls how much she enjoyed playing to be one when she was a little girl. When she was fifteen, she decided to combine her passion to teach with her love for English. “It was as if everything clicked,” she says. Something similar seems to happen to the character in her first short story, “A Valuable Friend”. It is a touching story in which she explores the value of friendship in the context of difficult childhood experiences.

It was a summertime Monday morning, the hot sun could already be felt but a cool summer breeze had come up creating an ideal atmosphere for five fourteen-year-old teenagers to meet up in a park and play the usual Sunday-morning football match. Of course, there was the normal tension that comes in football games. But with Walter in the team, that tension was much higher.

“Hey Paul, what are you doing? If you’re gonna play like that, you better not play. You definitely are a bad player,” said Walter shouting. “You Paul go to the goal and you Martin play in his position,” he bullied.

After several similar interruptions with Walter bellowing here and there and after several brief scuffles between them, one of the boys tried to deliver a long ball to the central striker, Martin, but he failed. The ball soared through the bright blue sky until it fell to the ground. Perfect! That’s all I needed. I better pick it up myself in

case one of the boys loses it, he said to himself haughtily. The ball had landed in the front yard of a big red-bricked house which had just been occupied by its new owners. As he shambled along the green grass and across the street towards the house, the boys continued playing. From outside the house, he heard what seemed to be a crowd of people. He was just able to hear them laughing and chattering. He pictured them seated at a rectangular wooden table sharing a family potluck lunch. On the table, he pictured different kinds of delicious dishes. He also imagined kids scampering around the house, occasionally attracting their mothers’ attention to say phrases like “Mum, look what I’m doing” or “Mum, the mean boy hit me in the head”. Their mothers paid just half attention to their children as they were also trying to listen to the conversation among the grown-ups. Grandfathers talked about their past experiences with a touch of nostalgia and a great deal of enthusiasm while he imagined grandmothers sharing their best dessert recipes with a joyful and gratifying expression. A timid blush spread over their faces as they received the compliment they desired. Walter could not help getting closer to spy through the window. He was not at all mistaken. Sunlight streamed through the windows illuminating their smiling faces. The family was large and they were sharing a meal. What he had not anticipated was, that sitting in the corner of the table, was a teenager boy in a wheelchair. He was wearing a green T-shirt which matched his bright green eyes. There was a beam of satisfaction in his face, and those who were seated next to him, looked at him attentively and laughed as he told something that seemed to be appealing but still inaudible to Walter. Walter´s big round eyes were fixed on the boy in the wheelchair for a long time. He kept looking at the way he was dressed, his

relaxed and friendly manner but most importantly, his smile. He had a sudden urge to stand up, enter the house and tell stories to the people who were lending an ear to the boy in the wheelchair. But he took a deep breath, turned around and returned to the park.

When his friends saw him approaching, they stopped and waited for him to join them to start again. The game continued normally but, after some minutes, the boy in the wheelchair slowly drew near them and watched them play. He must have been there for about five minutes until Walter noticed his awkward presence. He tried to concentrate on the game but his eyes were riveted on the boy. He wondered what he was doing there. He kept on playing but after two missed goals and a twisted ankle he gave a grimace of disgust and limped towards the boy. The rest followed him as an ant troop heading to do the foraging.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” he said still puffing from the last run.

“I’m Sebastian. I’m new around here. We just moved in. Just wanted to see what you guys were doing. You know, meet new friends. Can I stay and watch you play?”

“We do not need new friends. We are enough. Even less a guy like you,” he snarled as he looked him up and down. “Let’s go guys.”

The rest of the boys just followed him but only Walter turned around to meet Sebastian’s eyes. His eyes reflected maturity and patience and he did not seem resentful for what had just happened. Before turning his eyes to the front again, Walter had an eerie sensation. As eerie as it was, he could not figure it out. But it left

him a heart-breaking feeling hard to put into words. Anyway, he just purged himself of all unknown feeling and continued to walk behind his friends who were already ahead of him. He and his friends went on playing football until sunset. Then each headed home.

As he reached the front steps of the apartment where he lived with his young mother, he came across several cockroaches crawling out from their hidden place in the dirt. Disgusted as he always felt by the sight, he climbed the stairs to the first floor. As soon as he entered the small living-room, he felt the gloomy, muggy atmosphere. He looked at the curtains of the only window of the living-room and, as he expected, they were drawn. As he made his way to the shelter of his bedroom, he looked at the greyish, unpainted walls that he was forced to see every day as he entered his room, which was not in better shape but he tried hard to keep clean. He also noticed his mother, who was cooking dinner, and greeted her with affection. His mother said dinner would be ready in a few minutes.

After dinner, he walked into his small room. He lay on his back staring into space for a while. A disquieting thought crossed his mind. He remembered when as a child, he would eat alone with his mother in their grubby kitchen, wondering why they were alone. He had felt so unprotected like recently-born cubs left alone in the wild by their mother. Sunk in his thoughts, he fell asleep.

The following day he got up early as usual ready to go and meet his friends. He looked out of the open window and saw that the sky was not clear yet so he hurled himself on the bed again staring up at the peeling ceiling. A heavy scent of damp air wafted in by the hot

summer breeze hit his nose, so he stood up to close the window. He looked down and saw a man walking down the sidewalk holding hands with his son. It was then than the same thoughts that had crossed his mind the night before popped into his head. But this time he felt something that perhaps he had never felt. He realized he had been trying for a long time, or rather, forcing himself for a long time to put memories behind. He cried and cried until he almost fell asleep again. A distant sound suddenly interrupted his thoughts. It was his mother knocking at the door and opening it afterwards.

“Darling, why haven´t you come down for breakfast?” she asked. “Then you can go and hang out with your friends outside.”

“I miss dad,” he said blankly. “Why did he have to leave me, us?

Standing in the doorway, his mother winced. She slowly turned around and banged the door shut behind her. Puzzled by his mother´s reaction, he stayed in his bed while he heard his mother bumbling around in the kitchen. A few minutes later, he heard her return to his bedroom. He was still lying in bed when his mother entered his room.

“Son, I think it’s about time you knew the truth. Your daddy did not abandon you. He would have never done such a thing. He loved you and.... your brother.” she said sobbing.

“My what? My brother?” he jerked out.“Yes, Nick. You had a brother; he was eight years

older than you. Your dad and your brother would always go fishing together. It was always very early in the morning when they got ready to go,” she said sniffing as

she spoke. “That morning was different. As they rode along the road a car with four drunk teenagers crashed into the front of the car. Your dad and brother died immediately. Sorry I did not tell you. I did not want you to suffer.”

“I was three months pregnant when they died.” she added forlornly after a few seconds

Walter´s eyes kept looking at her. Tears where coming down his cheeks and he did not move. At first he could not say a word. He felt unable to speak, to open his mouth and say something to her. Then he felt like running away, but he was unable to move his feet and legs. He just stayed there, staring incredulously at his mother. But he knew it was time to deal with his feelings.

“You didn’t’ want me to suffer?” he said sharply and startled as he heard himself confront his mother. “Not telling me the truth?” What were you thinking? Are you out of your mind?” he said as he stood up and walked quickly towards the door. Just before coming through it, he added “just for you to know I’m suffering more than ever.”

In the street, his legs were shaky and his hands sweaty. The gray, cloudy day did not help. He could not believe what he had just heard; he could not believe that the only close person he counted on had lied to him. He walked and walked without paying attention to the people that walked past him. He was furious with his mother for not telling him the truth. All my life thinking he had left me, he said to himself. In the distance, he saw his friends were talking to Sebastian. They were all seated in a circle throwing the ball at each other. Walter

let out a heavy whine which quickly turned into a cry of anger and fury.

“What is he doing here? I told you I didn’t want you guys talking and playing with him. Go away,” he heard himself say.

“What’s the matter with you? Don’t you see he’s harmless? You better let him stay with us. We all want him to be here,” Paul, the youngest, snapped.

“Or what will you do? I don’t care if he’s a good boy or not. I don’t want him to be here. Get it?”

“Ok if he goes, we’ll all go too.” he said as he stood up and looked at the rest, yet none of them dared to stand up. “Guys?” he repeated, defiantly.

Paul waited for a few seconds and started walking away. Still not sure, the boys stared at each other and, then, one by one stood up and followed him. Sebastian told them to go ahead that he would join them shortly after. Walter, in the meantime, had pulled a wry face but he did not do anything to stop them. He knew his acts and words were wrong but it was hard for him to leave his pride behind.

“Do you mind if I stay here for a little while?” asked Sebastian but Walter did not answer. So Sebastian finally firmly said “What’s wrong with you? Tell me.”

“Nothing. Leave alone,” he shouted“You don’t want me here just because I´m in a

wheelchair. Let me tell you I’m perfectly normal, just like you. I know I can’t run or do many things you do but let me feel like one of you at least. What’s wrong with you?” he said as he looked up at his eyes which were puffy from crying.

“Nothing. Go away. Don’t make me repeat it,” he said looking down, avoiding his look, trying to stifle his weeping.

Just as Sebastian was starting to manoeuvre his wheelchair to join the rest of the boys, Walter cried out, letting out a cry “My life sucks. Just hate my mum. That’s all. I wish I had a family like yours.”

“Hmm my family? I guess you have a lovely family too. It´s just that you don’t see it. What´s wrong with your family?” he said, soft-spoken, as usual.

Walter, who was beginning to loosen up, sat down on the grass. He noticed his friends were standing with their backs to them in one of the corners of the park. They seemed to be waiting for them to talk. Sebastian carefully turned the wheels of his chair so that he faced Walter.

“I live with my mum and she’s a liar. No father, no brother, all dead. I’m all alone now.”

“That seems really bad but I’m sure your mum loves you. You have to be grateful for what you have, of the good things of life.” said Sebastian confidently but Walter did not react for a while.

“Why are you in a wheel chair?” he finally asked“I had a car accident. My dad was driving me to

school when a car appeared out of nowhere and hit my side of the car. Luckily nobody died”

“Luckily? and what about you? I mean look at you. You can’t walk.”

“I can’t walk but I´m alive and trying to have a normal life. I would love to walk again but I can´t so I just go ahead.”

Walter was quiet for a while pondering over his own selfish behaviour as memories of a lonely childhood flashed through his mind. After a brief silence he came to understand.

“I’m, I’m sorry” said Walter patting Sebastian gently on the back. Sebastian smiled with forgiveness, understanding him.

GILAD

Anita Voloschin

Anita Voloschin was born and raised in Mendoza. Among many other hobbies, Anita enjoys painting and reading literature. At a very young age, she discovered her passion for the English language, which she decided to combine with teaching. That is why she is currently studying to become an English teacher at Universidad Nacional de Cuyo. Last summer, she visited Israel and she was impressed by the stories that her friends told her there. Inspired by her experiences in Israel and attracted to short story writing, she wrote this marvelous story which reveals the experience of a young soldier, Gilad, as he joins the Israel Defense Forces.

To my beloved fiends and brave members of the Israel Defense Forces (ראל יש] בא ההגנה ל] Ilai, Alon, Rodrigo and (צ]

Alejandro, who fight to defend my Israel.

Gilad had waited for this day to come for many years; his mother, his father and his great-grandparents had been in the army as well. When he was a little child he loved to hear his father telling him tales about his grandpa Itzjak during the War of Independence. He had grown up knowing that when he turned eighteen he would have to become a soldier, and he was proud of it, as most of his friends were. He was proud because he knew he was going to defend his country, he was going to fight for his Israel as many others had done for many years. He had been notified that he was going to be a member of the Ground Forces, of the Armored Corps. He was going to drive a tank, the tanks which lead the ground Forces at the front, the ones that become the deciding factor on the battle-field. When he thought

about this he felt small, he felt insignificant but at the same time, he shared a connection to the earth on which he was going to fight, that every Israeli shared, fighting for their home.

He opened his eyes and looked around his room, his uniform was hanging on his door- knob, his mother had washed and ironed it very carefully the day before. Gilad was lying there unable to move a muscle of his body. After some minutes, he got up and looked out the window; the city of Tel Aviv was bright and the sky was so clear that he could almost see as far as Yafo. He reached for his green metal box and took out his talit and his tefilims. He finished his morning prayers and put the box inside his backpack. He took a shower and suddenly he was confronted with the uniform, this green piece of cloth which, from that day on, would turn into his skin, his shield. It was cool and it hung on his shoulders lightly; he turned around and faced the mirror. He saw his own big black eyes shining, looking back at him. For a moment he thought that the person reflected in the mirror was not him, that person seemed much older than him; he was a stranger.

It was 6:30 am and he had to be at the bus station at 8 am. He walked down the stairs and went into the kitchen. His parents were standing there, waiting for him to have breakfast together. There was a strange silence suspended in the air, his mother’s eyes were full of tears and his father’s mouth was curved in an encouraging smile. He knew that his mother was worried; they had seen so many injured and even dead soldiers. He was certain that his mother did not want to see him go away from her. He could sense how his parents’ feelings were a mixture of pride and sadness. He could feel that his

own heart was divided, one side of it wanted to get on the bus that would take him to the military base where he would spend most of his days for the following three years, the other side just wanted to stay home, to wake up in his own bed, to see his friends every day. They arrived at the bus station just in time. Gilad embraced his mother and father for what seemed to be an eternity and all of the sudden he was sitting on the bus being driven away from Tel Aviv, driven away from home, and found himself next to a boy he did not know. He examined the bus, the people on the bus, the boy next to him and he was amazed. They were all so young, even the commanders and the officials were young, maybe two or three years older than him. He was bewildered. They were so young and they were going to a military base, they would have to abandon their youth to become adults. He stared through the window; they were already outside Tel Aviv. He saw the houses passing by, then the trees and bushes and finally, after a couple of hours, they were in the desert and he could only see sand passing by.

It had been a long day and Gilad felt extremely tired so he placed his head gently on the window and closed his eyes. He had an uneasy feeling he could not fully understand and for a split second he was not even sure if he was awake or in a dream. This puzzlement was abruptly interrupted by a yell; Gilad’s commander was standing next to him, bawling at him.

“Hey boy, where do you think you are? Going on vacation? You are in the army, kid, so wake up!”

He was shaken by the scream but not surprised, he knew that the first eight months in the army would be

tough, after all he was going to be trained to be a soldier, trained to resist and to fight.

As hours passed, Gilad started to remember his grandfather. He had been in Auschwitz and had arrived at the land of Israel in 1946, when it was still called Palestine. He had reached Israel holding a sack with a few clothes and a little money, his whole family had been murdered in concentration camps. Gilad could still hear and see his grandfather telling him about how he had worked with the other Jews that had come from Europe to build a country out of a desert, to build up a new life in the Promised Land. But what he recalled the most was when his grandfather fought in the War of Independence. He was only 16 years old when the war started in 1948, and even though he was exhausted and shattered for having suffered so much, he enlisted in the army determined to fight for his ideals, to defend Israel and to achieve peace. Gilad had the same ideal, he wanted to protect his country and his people and he felt proud of being a soldier. He looked outside the window and saw the clear sky and the huge sun blazing upon the desert. He smiled and he was sure that he wanted to protect this piece of the world, his piece of the world. It was not just sand for him. Each grain of sand seemed a good reason to fight against the hatred of the world he was a part of.

They finally arrived to the military base which was located outside the city of Eilat in the South West of the country in the Neguev desert. Gilad and all the kids were led to the barracks where they were going to live. The place was extremely tidy and clean, with several bunk beds lined against the walls. Gilad had chatted with the boy who was sitting next to him in the bus. His

name was Amir and he was from Ashdod. They decided to share a bunk bed and they left their backpacks on them. Gilad observed the place and saw that everything was green, the uniforms, the bed covers, everything. This was the first day of an eight month training course that would prepare Gilad and the other boys to be soldiers. At first it was extremely hard, they had to exercise, to run under the scorching sun of the desert, they were yelled at; the exercise was harsh because they had to be tough, they had to be prepared to resist in the extreme circumstances of a battle. A few days after he arrived, Gilad had to wear his fatigues. It was heavy, not light like the one he had put on several days before when he left his house. This uniform weighed around 20 kg. He had to carry the helmet, boots, an M16 rifle, bullets, grenades, a bulletproof vest, night-vision goggles, binoculars, maps, first aid kit, and two bottles of water. He wondered how he was supposed to run and even to move with all those things on. Amir told him that they would get used to it, that they were going to get used to everything in the army.

The training period ended and Gilad was promoted to commander because of his excellent performance. He was thrilled; he could not believe that he was going to be a commander; he was going to be in charge of a tank, he would be the one to give orders. A new period began for him. He had been inside tanks during the training course, but now it was different, now it was real and he was the boss, the authority. There were four people in the tank: the commander, the driver, the shooter and the one who reloads the machine gun. Gilad was happy because Amir had been placed in the tank he was going to command. He was glad because, even though he was going to be the one in charge, he

was still going to be among friends and he felt comfortable.

They were called in for a mission in Gaza; a missile had exploded in an Israeli field and the soldiers at the check point had been ambushed. There were two people dead, an Israeli soldier and a Palestine. This was the first time Gilad was confronted with a real life situation and he was scared. They were inside the tank and he felt the air was heavy. He looked around him, he looked at Amir and he noticed that his hands were shaking; the rifle seemed to be too big for him. He started to feel dizzy, his mind was floating around the tank and he felt anxious and confused. When they were reaching Gaza he realized that he was responsible both for the lives of the three boys who were with him in the tank, and for the lives of the people in Gaza. Were they all terrorists? He did not know, he did not think so. He felt sick, he felt heavy, he was burning inside the uniform and he could feel his heart beating fast inside his chest, he felt that he needed air, he needed to breathe. They got to Gaza and he saw the destruction. Everything was dull and sad, there were people running and screaming all over the place, there was chaos everywhere. From the inside of the tank he saw the corpse of the soldier lying on the dirt, the cadaver of the Palestinian was next to it. Gilad was petrified, his eyes fixed on the terrible scene. He felt that he was imprisoned inside that huge, green, metal, beast of a tank and he wanted to get out, to hold those bodies, but he could not. He leaped from the tank and when he hit the ground, he took a deep breath and felt the smell of blood, gun powder, and death permeate his lungs.

He was the commander and he was the one in charge, the boys inside the tank were waiting for him to react. He came to his senses and crawled back inside the tank. He wiped his eyes, cleared his mind and he strained to remember all he had learned, all the training. There was someone shooting a machine gun from a building. He had to decide what to do, he thought for a second and finally, he did what he had to do, what he was taught to do. He ordered Amir, the shooter, to open fire against the building. There was a shower of bullets and the sound seemed to crash Gilad’s head, and suddenly everything was silent, as if the world had gone mute. They saw a body falling from the building window. It was over, the man was dead and he had killed him.

They arrived at the base late at night and Gilad was exhausted. He felt as if he were drunk, he could not understand what had just happened. Had he killed a man? This man was shooting at him, he or his friends could be dead now, and there was a dead soldier. He closed his eyes and tears started to run down his cheeks. He was perplexed. He undressed, looking longingly at the button his mother had sewn on to his shirt that was coming loose again after having survived until today, holding on by the last thread. Cool, after having undressed, he went to bed. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down, he had done what he had to do, he was being attacked and he had to defend his fellow soldiers. He remembered the desert and the sun, how he loved the water of the Red Sea. He fell asleep thinking that next weekend he was going to be on leave and that he was going to go to Eilat with some friends. For a weekend he would return to the youth that he had lost the second those men shooting at him stole his innocence.

***

It was a Sunday afternoon and he was smoking a narguila with friends at the bank of the Red Sea when he saw her standing motionless against the red mountains, her perfect figure reflected on the clear water. He had seen so much darkness in Gaza that now he felt blinded by so much brightness. When he saw her, two images came to his mind. First, he remembered the stones from Petra with its thousand colors melted in one huge and perfect piece of art, extremely delicate and strong at the same time. Then he thought of Tuscany, he had never been there, but it was the place he had always dreamed of going to when his time in the army was over. He imagined Tuscany to be a kind of paradise, quiet and serene, just the way this girl looked.

She was still standing and he was still admiring her. Her hair was long and soft, the color of the chestnuts he loved to buy in the shuck of Jerusalem. She was braiding her hair with such a gentle touch that her hands seemed to be moving in slow motion. After some minutes, she turned and her eyes looked at something he could not see, but he was able to witness for the first time the incredible beauty of those eyes. They were as blue as the water of the sea and as clear and infinite as the sky of the desert. She started to walk into the water; his eyes followed her, his body seemed to be unable to move. She truly looked like an angel, or a nymph, he could not make up his mind. She was floating on the water with such peacefulness that he felt he needed to rush to her to be able to get some of it to take with him, a piece of her to carry within his heavy uniform. He impulsively reacted and walked behind her. He got into

the water clumsily and stood next to her. She turned and faced him, looked at him straight in the eyes and smiled.

“Shalom!” she said, “isn’t the water perfect?”

He was staring at her, he knew that he must have looked funny; he opened his mouth and mumbled what seemed to be a greeting.

“I’m sorry, Shalom!” Gilad said laughingly. She smiled back at him.

She told him her name was Liat and she was from London. She was vacationing in Israel with friends. She asked him what he was doing in Eilat.

“I’m a jaial, a soldier, I’m on leave for the weekend.”

She became very still, her big eyes fixed on him; she seemed to be scanning him.

“That’s interesting, I’ve never talked to a, a, a soldier before. I’d like to ask you some questions!”

He could not believe it.

“Let’s go have a drink then.”

They walked through the beach and sat on a small bar table on the sand.

“What’s that scar on your arm?” Liat asked.

Gilad looked at his wrist and was all of the sudden, again back in Gaza. He was, one more time, surrounded by shadows.

“It’s from…”

Gilad paused, disturbed by the memories crashing on the shores of his heart like the waves of the sea on a hot summer day.

“It’s a wound… Last week we, we had a mission and we went to Gaza… I scratched myself with the side of the tank when I jumped down from it.”

Liat’s eyes grew wider, surprised by what Gilad was telling her. He stopped abruptly, raising his gaze to meet hers, trying to lose himself in the serenity of her beauty. They talked for hours, she was inquisitive and extremely curious, and she asked him about the life in the army. It was the first time he spoke about this issue with someone who was neither an Israeli nor a soldier. He asked her why she had a Hebrew name. She smiled again:

“I’m Jewish, that’s why!”

When the sun had hidden and the moon was shinning bright and immense above them, Liat’s eyes became sad and serious. She looked at him somberly.

“So…. can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, you have asked so many already!” Gilad said smiling at her.

“Have you killed people?”

He was astonished, he felt that the moon had fallen on top of him and that he was choking because of its weight. He did not know what to say. He was paralyzed.

“I’ve killed terrorists, murderers.” He felt he could not breath; he wanted to shout, to cry.

“Well… they are people…” Her eyes set on his.

His eyes filled with tears and his throat closed. He looked at her incredibly blue eyes and tried to find comfort in them one more time. She could sense his sadness; she knew he was feeling miserable. He closed his eyes, he opened them up and looked at her.

“I know they are… yes, I have killed people, but I have to think they were terrorists… it’s the only way I can keep on being a soldier. Actually, it’s the only way in which I can keep on living.”

Liat held his hand and she noticed that he was shaking. She stood up and hugged him. He was sobbing and he held her close to him as if he were holding to life itself. She held his head inside her hands.

“Yesterday I went to the Wall of Lamentations. Do you know what I prayed for? I asked God to protect all the Israeli soldiers, to give them strength to be able to fight against everything to protect our beautiful Israel. I’m so proud of all of you! And do you know what? I’m not afraid of anything; I don’t fear that someone or something is going to destroy Israel, because I know

that all the soldiers are out there fighting to defend our State and above all, to defend all of us.”

He blinked several times to clear his sight. He had found peace in her words, in her gentle touch.

“I wish I could take you with me tomorrow.”

He knew he was not going to see her again, he had to go back to the base and he would have to be there for two full weeks.

“I know, I would like it as well… I’m going back to London this week… but I’m coming back next summer, I’m going to live here, you know…”

***

He was sitting on the highest part of the tank surrounded by people, screams and sand. He was holding his green metal box; everything in the army seems to have a green shade: pale green, dark green. He was sitting covered by his talit, protected underneath it, and he was putting his tefilims on. His father had given him that little metal box some days before he left his house to join the army. He remembered how young he was at that time, only 18 years old; he had been a soldier for two years now. That night, two long years ago, his father told him that in that box he should carry bits and pieces of his life in order to never feel alone. Inside the box he had packed his talit, his tefilims, a small prayers book and some pictures. He had closed the box, he had thought for a moment, he had opened the box again; there was something missing in it. He added two more things, a key and a toothbrush.

The key was his house key. When he was packing his belongings he had packed the key without thinking about it. He was so used to carrying it in his pocket that it would feel empty and bare without its weight. Many times he had grabbed that key as if he were holding his mother’s hand, his father’s arms, but this sunny morning he needed them more than ever. He was sitting on the highest part of the tank and he felt homesick, he felt the sky was hanging heavily over him, the sun blinded his eyes and the sand seemed to laugh at him, showing him how far away he was from home. He held the key tightly in tired and dirty hands. He looked inside the metal box and searched for the toothbrush. When his hand found it, his eyes filled with tears and his mouth curved into a sad smile. He closed his eyes and he was suddenly in Liat’s apartment again and he could clearly see her sleeping peacefully, waking up and yawning, brushing her teeth, being as beautiful as ever before. That morning he had laughed at her because of the toothbrush since it was bright pink and had pictures of the Disney’s princesses. He remembered how happy they were, how she had laughed, how she had given it to him with a smile and a kiss, he heard her voice inside his head.

“Take this with you, in that way you’ll be able to come back to this very moment anytime you want to.”

He opened his eyes and looked around him, the dream was over and he was sitting in the highest part of the tank. He folded the talit and put off the tefilim. He put away the key and the toothbrush and he wondered about how such simple objects were so important for him. He climbed down the tank and looked for his

backpack; he placed the metal box safely inside it and took a deep breath. He felt as if his life were now a blend of plastic and metal, a toothbrush and a key.

Gilad remembered the day when he met Liat and what she had told him. He always recalled her words when he felt lost in an ocean of sand. After two years of being in the army he had understood, he knew that many times he would have to do things he did not want to do, he knew he had to obey orders, but above all he knew what he was fighting for, and he was never going to stop fighting to defend his Israel, Liat’s Israel.

Gilad jumped down from the tank and loaded his rifle. They had been attacked a few hours earlier and the place was a mess. Doctors were running around and he could still hear screams inside his head. He walked around looking for Amir, but he could not find him. He was heading towards the infirmary when the alarm went off. There was a huge blast and everything turned black. There was silence. Gilad opened his eyes and saw the immense blue sky. Tears started to stream down his face and he heard Amir yelling at him, he heard his voice fading and the sky drifting away.

Amir found Gilad’s metal box a few meters away from where the explosion had been. He opened it up and took the talit and the tefilim that had to be buried together with Gilad, in a coffin sheltered by the Israeli flag.

THE ENTERTAINER

Valentín Cappadona

Valentín Capaddona is a young creative artist. This twenty-year-old devotes most of his time to developing his innate artistic talent. In his spare time, not only does he take dance and drama classes, but also teaches hip-hop. On weekdays, he attends the EFL Teacher Training College at UNCuyo, where he has also developed his artistic creativity and his language skills to the fullest through the writing of two lyric poems. In his autobiographical poem “To Whom It May Concern”, Valentín gives us a vivid account of his personal life as a young adult, while in his poem entitled “The Entertainer”, he presents an optimistic view of himself in his role as an artist.

I am a blessed unfortunate souland a magician of tricks as effective as old;

a clown that serves his most desired drink with cold trembling hands,

a child whose reflection in the mirror cannot withstand;a shadow that will soon fade away into the mist

as if tired now to resist,and it desists.

And I’ll jump out of a gable,I’ll finally abandon this old cradle,

leaving a scream echoing in the ears of time,so loud that it will surpass the sublime.

I’ll finally make my own way,hoping you could understand me some day

not asking me to stay.

I’ll jump, run, dance, be free,smiling back to the happy faces I’ll see.

In my life it’ll be a whole new page,when I’m performing on a big stage.

I’ll take a bow at the end,and I know the minute I bend

will be the best I’ll have ever spent.

Right before the curtains fall,many memories I will recall.

All those folks I’ll have left behind,will never be off my mind.

I hope the dance steps I’ll takeremove from their souls all aches,those that make their hearts break.

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN

I was asked to write a poem,and there’s so much I’d like to say.

It is so knotty a problemthat with words I’m gonna play.

Now to see him I’m not able,sweet man, poet of my life.

My father, my guardian Angel,now I’m guardian of his wife.

At least I can hug and kiss my little birdmy niece, the one my sister gave me,

she makes my eyes get blurred,when she smiles, she can enslave me.

My siblings, my friends dear,they are always in my mind.

they make me lose all my fears,they’re the best treasure I’ll ever find.

When bright colours fill the panoramaof costumes and music that sounds better,

with a little bit of dancing and another bit of drama,that’s the perfect atmosphere in my own special shelter.

Papers, OPs and collegedeserve a whole new stanza,

thanks to stress I gained some knowledge,and some weight like Sancho Panza.

Other things I’d like to mentionshould be packed in just two verses,grandma’s food and her imagination,

my job and all my newly coined curses.

It’s so hard to recall everyone and everything I knowthat my brain is about to burn,so these lines I’m gonna showto whom it really may concern.

THE LESSON

María Mercedes Crayon

A lover of nature and animals, Mercedes Crayon is a current student of English at Universidad Nacional de Cuyo. She describes herself as a very lively and happy person. She has lots of energy and plans for her future; among other things, she would like to be an interpreter and a college teacher. As all good poets do, Mercedes releases her emotions through writing. In “The Lesson”, Mercedes advises her readers to follow her motto of living life with intensity and never stop learning. Her other poem “He Was and He Is” – a very touching one - is dedicated to her father, who passed away when she was still in secondary school.

Learn that love and hateare two sides of the same coin.

War goes with calm hate,and peace goes with killing love.

Learn that helpful and harmful peopleare always there around the world.

Respect and admire the helpful,and to the harmful do not say a word.

Remember that crying and laughingare real expressions of your heart.

Laugh till your cheeks hurtand never cause somebody harm.

Learn to think and then talk,train yourself as a sport.

Talk only to construct

never do it without thought.

Take risks and try new adventuresthat will enrich your soul.

Don’t forget to learn from mistakesthat will keep you on the correct route.

Remember to live life fullyto enjoy each unique day.Be cheerful and grateful,

No regrets, no complaints.

HE WAS AND HE IS

Different life was, when I was younger.

He Was the tender sunset in the morning the warm Sun at noon,the sweet soft breeze in the evening,the wonderful dawn in the afternoon.

He Wasthe lovely birds singing on a cloudy day,the calmness of a lake in a marvelous landscape,the sparkling light reflected on my face,the cozy welcoming shelter on a rainy day.

Different life was, when I was younger.

Now, He Is the yellowish falling

leaves from the sky,the cool and fresh air

that always stays,the delicate perfumed roses in summer time,the amazing colors of beaches that are not

fake.

He Isthe lively white butterfly

of each day, the breathtaking star

that never fades,the powerful memory

with first and last name,the daunting challenge: a proof of my faith

He Was,He Is,

And He Will Always Be,in my heart

My Loving and Devoted Father.

OH GRAVE INJUSTICE!

Brenda Guardatti

Brenda Guardatti is an English student at Universidad Nacional de Cuyo. She discovered the pleasure of reading in English at a very young age, when she was attending English classes at A.M.I.C.A.N.A. Since she has always found in poetry a way to express her feelings, at the age of ten, she started writing poems just for pleasure. At high school, she won the second place in a poetry contest. As a university student, Brenda writes about the injustice people encounter daily in “Oh Grave Injustice!” and about falling in love for the first time in “My Beloved Man”, inviting the reader to reflect upon these two appealing themes.

You, dreadful sister of the blind justiceYou are the enemy of fair people

You are always injuring people’s soulsYou take advantage of the spirit

Of those who are ambitiousYou flirt shamelessly with them

And capture them like birdsWhich are later placed in a cage

Oh sorrowful misery! Don’t you have dignity!

Why is it that you cover the truth with your shadows?You are the reason why people kill each other

You are a disgusting seductressThat poisons your victims with your needle-shaped nails

Your gory lips show the disgrace of the worldYour eyes are traps that have a devilish look

Your hair is like a spider web that traps the feeble people

Oh sorrowful misery! Don’t you have dignity!

You don’t care to perform actusreus6

You are an adept seductress who knows what you are doing

Your cacophonous voice is a magic spell for the fragile ones

Who don’t dare to intervene in your ragesThis is the secret of your immortality

That takes away the generosity and kindness of people’s souls

And replaces these good intentions with misery and tormented feelings.

6Actusreus is a term of art in criminal law. Literally the Latin phrase means bad act.

MY BELOVED MAN

How splendid you were that night when we first metYour eyes were as shining as the starts in the immense

skyYour lips as red as apples, a delicious temptation for

mine,demanded to be kissed

Your hands like a warm breeze on a summer nightTouched sweetly my silky face and caressed my soul

Your heart was an open door to paradiseThat hypnotized my heart

Your soul was an invisible power That held me close to the secrets of your eyes

Oh! Please, never close your shining eyesIf you do it, my life will be immerse in darkness

You are the only shining sun in my lifeYou are my life, my religion, my hopeYou are my heart, my beloved man.

EARTHQUAKE

Samanta Heras

Samanta Heras was born in Mendoza and is now taking the English Training course at UNCuyo. She likes dancing, traveling and enjoying the simple things of life. She has experimented with poetry for the first time. In these poems the reader will find a door to Samanta’s sensitive heart.

An unexpected earthquakeThe moment when it all starts breaking up

ShakingThe entire world upside down

And next to mineYour eyes are far away

Impossible to reachLike mermaids in an ocean that don’t even exist

The earth has broken up between usAnd under my feet

The only thing to seeIs a terrifying emptinessDevouring with its claw

My lungs,My kidneys,

My heart,My blood is running fastThe world is now all red

And I cannot escape this momentThe anguish in my veins, my throat, my chest

And yetAll earthquakes will pass in the end

As nothing lasts foreverNot even earthquakes

Or pain.

A BOY

From the grimy windowOf a public bus

In the deepest darknessOf a voracious night

I seeA boy

Tired hands, soiled clothes, lonely eyes, famished soulSelling cards no one wants

He is just oneThere are so many more

That had been left outOf the grace of the world

With a bare stomachHe will go to bed

On a pile of rubbishHe will try to rest

People will avoid him on their wayAs it’s inconvenient to see him there

Like a stone in your shoeLike a fly in your soup

Like misty clouds over your headOn a sunny sandy day

Too uncomfortable to bear.A boy

Screaming through his eyesAbandoned under the vast solitude of the sky.

SWIVEL

Graciana Lupari

Graciana Lupari was born in Mendoza in 1989. At the age of thirteen, wishing to learn English, she enrolled at a language school. As time passed by, she discovered she really loved teaching and decided to become an EFL Teacher. In her spare time she enjoys listening to music and meeting friends. She believes that creating poetry gives you the chance to write more freely and it is a good means of transmitting your emotions and worries about life. She has recently written her first two poems in which she explores universal themes.

Someone took me out of the cradle,when down I was, I crawled aroundand left the place safe and sound.

I walked on all fours,and my palms and kneesgot hurt with little stones.

I came across a stepand grinned as I stood up

knowing as I toddled, how pleasant walking was.I then did a jaunty walk

but stumbled and fell on the floormy shoelaces had come untied

which annoyed me and made me cry.

I didn’t know which path to take,and on the sidewalk I remained.

I stood up and went back and forthtill I thought I should move on.

Though where should I go?

Here or there?I’m a teen! It’s not fair!

A way, a road, a path, a streetThere should be one!

Not manyLike these!

Then briskly I walkedsuitcase in hand, walking the land

of the dogged and strong,deep in thought.

Finally I hadsome sense in my life

some courage to move ondetermination in my soul

I wanted to share all!but I was all alone,just kids passing by

I was definitely on my own.

I set off walking again,this time slowly as my walking stick wouldn’t help,

and soon I found outwhat the journey had all been about.

The crawling, the toddling, the walkingmincing and slow

couldn’t compare to the joy in my soul.A cradle I found and was able to see

how a cute little baby was gazing at me,I touched his little hand and he gently smiled back,

then took him out of the cradlewhich he then left behind.

ALIVE THE WAY NO ONE COULD BE

Since the mists of time she’s done her job,immersed in pain, tired of so much work.

Night and dayAre all the sameNo matter what

For eternity she’s awake.

As she works, she’s able to findnot one but many people

not yet ready to leave everything behind.

She is said to be the worst when she works,though no witnesses are there to say so.

Man, woman,Naive or boldChild, elder

Defenseless or strong

She is said to be the worst when she works,though no witnesses are there to say so.

The more she works,the fewer lives there are,

all human beings seem to realize.

Her touch couldcease your heart beats,

inhale your breath,release your soul,soothe your pain,

though no one could say after that it is the same.

ONLY YOU

Celeste Martini

Celeste Martini was born and raised in Mendoza. She had her first encounter with poem writing at the age of 22 when she was studying English to become a teacher at Universidad Nacional de Cuyo. She describes her writing as “very fancy, romantic, expressing gratitude to life,” and she considers poetry one of her best ways to transmit what she goes through in her life. In the following poems, “Only you” and “What is life?”, she hopes readers will share her view of life and reflect on how much we can be thankful for and, mostly, how important it is to have a positive view on life in every difficult situation we may find ourselves in.

Lying under a tree I feelThe sweetness in your hands stroking my skin.

The voice in your ears has reminded meThat in no better place I could ever be.

The sun is concealing behind the blue skyBut you’re still here next to my side.

A whole silence pervades my soul. But I hear youI feel you, I think of you.

Because even in my solitude I feel you’re with meLike a guide to a person who cannot see.The glitter in your eyes has confirmed me

That your tender-hearted presence is a haven for me.

WHAT IS LIFE?

Life is a baby smiling with joyAnd a very young girl crying for a boy.

Life is a mother cuddling his sonAnd two people bickering but not conversing at all.

Life is a sunset in the middle of a stormAnd a tree crying for being sawed.

Life is an earthquake we always lamentAnd a beautiful forest blossoming again.

Life is a moment we sometimes regretAnd a man forgiving his very old friend.

Life is grinning, sobbing and grinning again,Accomplishing, enduring and accomplishing once again.

Life can have misery, it can have sorrow,But we always will have a tomorrow.

THE HUMBLE QUEEN

Mariana Obredor

Mariana Obredor was born in Godoy Cruz, Mendoza, in 1988. She discovered her passion for the English language at a very early age when she started taking classes at an Institute where her mother took her to study. Mariana likes reading and staying indoors while enjoying the company of her family and friends. Mariana’s poems effectively transport the reader to a world full of beauty and intimacy.

A humble Queen,pure as a white flower,a lady, a maiden she is,

a perfect creature.

She wears a crownbeautifully decked with jewels,

twelve stars that shineare the adornment of her head.

Her clothes are freshand her willing handsare together in prayer.

Her face is calm,her smile is gentle,her eyes are kind,her heart is tender.

There is nothing in the worldthat could corrupt her:

full of ineffable love

her chaste heart is.

She endured pain,the Lady of Sorrows,

Seven Swords hurt her heartbut full of joy she is

since the reward for her obedienceshe received.

She fell asleep,

And was takento the place where slowly

and smoothlyher soul had to go to.

Dressed in white,their faces forever happy and dazzled,

their hearts shrouded in love,blessed beings welcomed her and

escorted her to the throneof the King.

The three lovable Personswere expecting her to arrive.

Her modest heart full of love,finally found quietness,

indescribable joy and happiness.

She was crowned.Three everlasting couplets

she received.

Daughter, Mother and Spouse,the humble Queen.

HIDDEN

Waiting and hidden(sleeping to the heedless eye)

colour, smell and life.

LIES, CRY, GOODBYE

Andrea Politino

Andrea Politino was born in Mendoza. She is currently studying to become an EFL teacher at UNCuyo. She likes reading and, particulary, writing, so much so that she is planning to carry on with it in the future. In her poem “Three Fish on my Desk”, she compares her busy life with the life of three fish she actually keeps on her desk, which just swim in the fishbowl free of all cares. In her poem “Lies, Cry and Goodbye”, she takes the reader along the path we may walk through when someone is deceived.

I was the girl who believed in your lies,How fool of me! You didn’t fall from the sky.

Your deceptive words made me blind,And what was light became night.

You don’t deserve my silent cry,And to forget you I’m obliged.

Maybe perfection lived in my mindHow naïve! Just like a child!

Now vanished the butterfliesThe truth I’m able to realize,

This deception made me wise;Once bitten, twice shy.Memories left behind

And dreams together aside,One day I’ll be ready to face life,

And finally, and forever say goodbye.

THREE FISH ON MY DESK

Three fish

I have on my desk. I

like to watch them, when I am upset.

Two are orange and one is gold, they stare

at me when I am bored. Fake lively plants, sway

peacefully at the bottom of the tank. In a never-ending

dream, faded rocks lay which once belonged to the

sea. Thousands of bubbles come out laughing

all together loud, soothing my worries

and cheering me up. The three

fish swim free in thefresh water

I’d like to feel. If Iwere a fish and in the fish tank

I could swim, I’d have problems

no more, but instead of

three, we would

be four.

LITTLE WARRIOR

Alejandra Palleres

Alejandra Palleres was born in Mendoza, Argentina, and is now taking the English Teacher Training course at Universidad Nacional de Cuyo. She loves children—a feeling that can be seen in her poem “Little Warrior”. She also likes dancing tango and writing poetry. In her poems we find themes that are of utmost importance to Alejandra´s life, such as love, fidelity and childhood. By sharing personal experiences with readers, Alejandra allows us to delve into her sensitive soul.

From the other side of the worldShe appears nonchalantlychallenging the sadness

that for years invaded my soul.

She seems to be the warriorI can not yet become

Although I am kind of oldAnd she’s just been born.

God has sent her to meAs if she were the sword

that I will wieldTill I am called by our Lord.

So overjoyed I am, so overjoyed I will beForever let her be, Oh God,

the vanquisher that has defeatedthe blues that a for long time invaded my soul

MISTER, MISTER

Mister, misterPlease don’t whisper

Those words that make me fly away`Cause they may be for her as well

Mister, misterKeep a distance, if you don’t

I will run awayfrom all those lies, those lies

that make me feel so well

Mister, mister,master of manipulation,Spare me a bit of time!

so I can get all those words that keep spinning around my mind!