I ARISE from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright. I arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feet Hath led me—who knows how? To thy chamber window, Sweet!
The wandering airs they faint On the dark, the silent stream And the champak's odours pine Like sweet thoughts in a dream; The nightingale's complaint, It dies upon her heart, As I must on thine, O belovèd as thou art!
O lift me from the grass! I die! I faint! I fail! Let thy love in kisses rain On my lips and eyelids pale. My cheek is cold and white, alas! My heart beats loud and fast: O press it to thine own again, Where it will break at last! .

P.B. Shelley

A continuación un cuento clásico escrito en 1989, cuando tenía 13 años; espero les guste.


The life of me


The being


My name is Bob Gograham. I am... human, or at least I feel that way. I had never before in my life doubted this and I began to do so only once it happened.
I´m a biologist, a specialist in cells. Well, my partner John Boogie and me started to do... experiments back in 1956. John was a good friend from high school who shared the same interests in science I had, so we always stuck together like... glue.
I guess it all started when I was walking to the lab, I had just had my hair cut so I was...



Why it had to be


I felt tired when I climbed those steps and I felt physically sleepy. I had no idea what life had in store for me. Nor did I want to know. If I had had a mirror that could tell the future I doubt I would have used it. I didn´t like mirrors, never did; they always showed the bad side of things.
Opening the door I discovered the lab was empty. Suddenly an uncontrollable desire to scream burst from my lungs and was only stopped when I saw John sitting right in front of me. He stood up slowly, majestically, and looked me right in the eye for a long time, longer than I can remember. Then slowly, without a word, he walked to the experimental test tube. He slowly opened his mouth to speak.
John was a formidable man, around forty and with a slight orangutan complexion. His eyes seemed to be sunken deep into his sockets and his yellow hair was not combed. His mouth was too small to be a mouth and looked more like a scar. He was tall and ethiopia-like thin.
"Did you read the news?". John turned around and I noticed he had a small test mouse between his hands, and he was squeezing it very hard. I tried not to look at the poor creature, so I looked at a small speck in the corner of the room, trying to move it by force of will, while I answered, "Yes. A man disappeared today while taking a bath and is missing, and a dog got run over by a car". John twitched slightly and a small squeak burst from the mouse. "No, I mean the big news".
I turned around from my present position and faced him obliquely. I felt how a flea slowly sucked my blood from my left armpit and answered, "No, what is it?" John gave one last squeeze and the mouse squeaked out of his hands and landed on the floor with a deafening splat, "I don´t know, that´s why I´m asking you". My first impression of this statement was that John was joking in an acid kind of way, but as I looked at the slightly squashed mouse on the floor, I realized I was wrong.
I picked up the mouse and caressed it with my grubby hands, while I opened my mouth to produce sounds, "I know not of any news in reference to your so called big news". John gritted his teeth and I heard them snap and crack violently, "Okay then let´s get to work. Today the department gave us: Effects of electrical and mechanical stimulation on breathing lifeforms". I nodded and put the mouse on jointed structure 3 and prepared the experimental death table. My partner and I washed our hands, put on our gloves and passed quickly through the routine movements before we were ready.
John grabbed the mouse he had squeezed earlier and as he slowly raised the experimental chainsaw, I was struck by a sudden sense of understanding of what we were doing. It all came to me so suddenly that I fell backwards, knocking myself out for a few seconds. As I stood up and regained my balance, I saw for the first time that John was an executioner, a butcher boy, a ham hog. I nearly belched with comprehension, and I shoved the chainsaw out of his hands and threw it out the window, crashing into the busy street. John stared at me in disbelief.
"What the hell do you think you´re doing, you fool?" I suddenly burst with laughter as I realized how the world worked, how the universe ticked. I felt tears running into my mouth when the entire human race, its function and reason, was revealed in my cerebral cortex like a book. I felt myself losing control of my bodily functions and tried to compose myself, but the full understanding of these things was like sitting naked on a frying pan with a banana in your mouth and feeling and smelling the fire on your gluteus. It was weird.
After a few minutes, I finally managed to compose myself and said, "Sorry John; I don´t know what came over me". John frowned and stroked his hair with a long upward sweep of his arm, "Why the hell did you do that?" He frowned again when he saw that his hand was full of dandruff and wiped it on the floor. I knew the answer to that one but I felt that his brain would not be able to comprehend in the least what I would say. Suddenly a picture formed in my head and I saw two brains talking to each other by means of wiring. I exploded with laughter at this thought and answered John´s question: "Because every cell comes from another preexistent".
My confused partner didn´t understand what I said and showed it by saying, "Listen Bob, do you feel Ok? Want me to get you to a doctor?" I smiled feverishly and collapsed to the floor, totally unconscious.
I was woken up quickly by two violent slaps on my face. I got up and smiled at John´s worried face. John stuck his hands in his pockets and I got up slowly. I talked quickly, "Listen John, what do you say if we call it quits today?" John nodded absently and left the room quite suddenly. I felt so alone.


What it had to be


I wrapped my arms around my body, seeking warmth were there was none. I was sitting on my sofa trying to look at the TV, trying to be normal, but it was impossible. I was... different; changed.
Suddenly my brain warped on me and the television flopped over and some sort of strange bubbling juice started flowing slowly from inside it. I tried to stand up and pick it up but my body didn´t seem to respond to the electrical waves generated in my brain. I was defenseless. The toaster started to throw burned pieces of bread through the room and the refrigerator door was opening and closing at will.
I smiled as I realized what was going on. It represented what I truly felt about the bottled up sub-world of society I lived in, represented and outlined in an intricate pattern of electrical apparatus. Suddenly the refrigerator door opened and a stream of milk flushed out of it and streamed into my dry body. I laughed hysterically as I jumped around the room from one sofa to another trying to get to the door. I tripped over an unplugged radio and I fell to the floor, getting a nasty bruise on my arm.
I swam across an ocean of milk and managed to open the door to reveal a huge, wolf-sized dog. The animal drooled as its fangs were dripping with some kind of slime, and I realized that it had just had its teeth brushed. I laughed at my ridiculous conclusion and stroked the dog wildly before getting up and running across the lawn, the barking dog behind me. I ran fast, but the dog caught up and bit my leg so hard that my shoelaces untied. I hit the ground and tried desperatly to throw the animal off. Turning from its drooling fangs, I kicked it in the ribs and threw its limp body into a nearby swimming pool. The animal fell in with a merry splash.
I suddenly understood that the animal was me, I represented society and the pool was misfortune. I pulled myself up and realized that I had moved and I hadn´t been able to before on the couch. I sat down and opened my suitcase and noted this on my diary, classifying it as strange.


Theories


Many events like these took place in my life during that period, and I began to think my mental functions had acquired some sort of disorder. I began to smoke and bite my nails, and greasy sweat was often present during the day. But let us continue with my story...
Well, it was the twenty-second day of the month of January when I opened the door to the conference room. I had been chosen as cellular biologist of the year and was expected to make a long and dreary speech. I entered the wide room slowly, contemplating its reason in the universe.
John was there, as well as two other men I had known: Lewer and Wesser, who were very basic creatures with no real cortexes. The room was wide and I realized it was some sort of theater with a wide stage and no curtains. I heard a dull sound break in my brain and sat down, close to my... friends.
Someone screamed and a huge monkey started to jump around the room, its hairy animated arms poking the air. The beast leaped in the air and suddenly bananas started flying through the air at unbelievable speed, and I realized that I had gone mad. Suddenly John stood, and his body slowly reformed into that of a retarted three year-old, and I heard the other people were screaming as more apes started to fill the room.
Suddenly I heard a huge cracking sound and saw that the ceiling had broken in half, revealing an apish tribe of primates that swung from the ceiling. The room erupted and an exotic jungle popped out of nowhere. The apes forced us to be their slaves.
I woke up later. Much later. But I am still sleeply.


The end

A continuación les regalo mi cuento publicado en la página www.lataberna.cl, ubicada en el quinto lugar de preferencias de los lectores, y gracias a la cual he sido amenzado de muerte por un amigo que llevaba el nombre del protagonista, quien se sintió ofendido por el relato; aquí va:

El alegato


El abogado señor Rozas subió lentamente las escaleras de aquella Corte, hasta las cumbres de sus imponentes pilares. Entonces, sintiendo tan sólo por un momento el peso de su embriaguez, entró por el portal en el cual le aguardaba su más próximo destino.
Pasando rápidamente por los pasillos, reconociendo rostros y voces de personas en un kaleidoscopio de dobleces, encontró la sala prefijada en el tiempo pretérito y repasó en su mente el expediente y las disposiciones legales de rutina, sorprendiéndose a sí mismo cuan hábil era y los límites a los cuales podía acceder su resistencia hepática y mental. El alegato era esencial en el resultado del pleito, pues en definitiva, constituía la instancia final en relación a la cual su representado, el señor Bob, podría revertir la sentencia de muerte por inyección letal de cianuro ratificada por el tribunal de apelación hace sólo unas semanas. La prensa, expectante, ya de alguna manera anticipaba un resultado favorable para el condenado desde que el señor Rozas había asumido la defensa, pues bien era reconocido en la región, y en el país entero, el prestigio de su destreza de litigación y precisos conocimientos de la ley.
El oficial de Corte, con el ademán característico, efectuó el anuncio esperado, respondiendo el señor Rozas con directos pasos hacía el interior de la sala de alegatos.
La sala era imponente, en espacios y presencia, la madera de miel oscura creando la atmósfera de misticismo que lo tenía acostumbrado a la ansiedad y expectación del veredicto justo; mientras en lo alto, aquellos asientos de pergaminos guardaban al triunvirato de ministros, que lo escrutaban bajo una mirada de respeto y admiración ocultas, y de una apariencia ficta de imparcialidad y sabia senilidad.
El señor Rozas tomó asiento en el banco de alegatos, frente a la mesa, el jarrón y el vaso de agua reglamentario, sin mover un músculo ni un papel documental fuera de lugar. La sala estaba atestada hasta los dientes de público y prensa expectante, bajo filmación en vivo y en cadena nacional e internacional. La fragancia de transpiración y desaseo, mezclada con el sentimiento de ira y tensión, impregnaba aquella habitación del orden, códigos y voluntades contrapuestas, entregadas a una metafísica lucha de intereses bajo un arbitro representado por tres ancianos con vestido y peluca, que sentenciarían un momento de la realidad, como creadores. El señor Rozas abrió su boca para hablar.
El señor Rozas eructó, su hálito etílico azotando con violencia los rostros de los ilustrísimos ministros. Luego, y con una orquestada subitez relámpago, el señor Rozas se paró, para luego caer de cara sobre la madera del suelo frente al estrado, ante la mirada atónita de los ministros y el público. Fue entonces cuando el señor Rozas, sin levantarse del suelo, comenzó a vomitar un repugnante caldo verde-amarillo con un penetrante olor a huevo podrido sobre el suelo, su rostro pegado a la madera, tal vez aspirando por sus narices su contenido, mientras el nauseabundo líquido se extendía por la sala con pausada reflexión. Una igualmente putrefacta flatulencia escapó de su recto, contaminado la sala con su atmosférica música, momento en el cual el señor Rozas perdió todo dominio sobre su jurisprudencial esfínter, liberando así las orinas y fecas acuosas por tanto tiempo privadas de libertad en su carcelaria vejiga, escapando sus cálidas aguas por entre el cierre de sus pantalones hasta la sedosidad de sus calcetas. Sobre este pintoresco charco, el señor Rozas comenzó a revolcarse con angustia y placer, mientras saladas lágrimas de su rostro se mezclaban con un confuso sentimiento de tristeza meditativa, euforia sexual, alegría infantil, y aburrimiento, y añadían un ingrediente adicional a su heteróclita sopa de libertad.
Los ministros rápidamente tocaron la campana frente al alboroto de los atónitos asistentes, el oficial de la policía acercándose para esposarlo, pero la resbaladiza fricción del charco creado por el señor Rozas provocó que aquél también cayera en ese pantano de vómito, orina, fecas y lágrimas, golpeando su rostro contra la madera sin poder evitar aspirar y beber aquel nauseabundo alimento, compartiendo así de algún modo, junto al señor Rozas, una cierta interpretación de su existencia, una clave, un poema en versos encriptados por un suspiro de edad e instantes, un libro de antiguo que se lee con una taza de café bajo la luz de un invierno. O tal vez una representación de un momento, una metáfora celeste, que ahora compartían un oficial y un abogado ebrio en un charco de magia y secreto.
Los jueces bajaron del estrado mientras el policía esposaba al señor Rozas contra el suelo, quien, bañado en orina y aguas infectas, continuaba vomitando en espasmos intermitentes; los insultos, los pensamientos verbales de los asistentes, y los destellos de las cámaras, enmarcaban el escenario del concurrido teatro del señor Rozas. El policía forzó al húmedo abogado a levantarse y lo conminó a caminar hacia la puerta de la sala, para la rutina de su detención.
Pero entonces el señor Rozas habló, en un susurro, de modo que tan sólo el policía actor pudiese escucharle, “Libérame y te haré un hombre libre”. Por un instante el policía dudó, “¿Perdón, me ha hablado señor?”. El señor Rozas volvió a hablarle: “Libérame. No te engañes. Conoces el secreto del charco”.
El policía entonces comprendió el significado, su vida había sido trastocada por las enseñanzas de este hombre, había logrado entender desde su corazón, el plan prefijado, participando en su desenvolvimiento como parte pensante y decidora. Luego, disparando su arma hacia lo alto, rescató al señor Rozas de aquel ilegítimo juicio humano a sus vidas, y juntos emprendieron la huida hacia un mundo distinto, pero más humano y tal vez, perteneciendo a él, revelador de un significado más permanente y real.


Valparaíso, 31 de agosto de 2005.