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Hispanic literature

Rama de palosanto (ESP, SLO, ENG)

A tale by Roy Vega Jácome

Rama de palosanto

Roy Vega Jácome

Lo amarraron al grueso tronco que antaño había sido su refugio frente a las palizas maternas.

Los dos hombres previamente lo golpearon y escupieron.

Era de madrugada.

La hoguera dijo que llovería, pero no fue así: un manojo de nubes pesadas era la única respuesta del cielo.

Los hombres, luego de amarrarlo, se alejaron unos pasos y lo contemplaron.

Pudo ver sus cabezas puntiagudas recortando el paisaje: la niebla y la oscuridad de la selva impenetrable.

El primero le dijo al segundo que el juez de paz lo absolvería. Que no sabía la verdad de las cosas. Que el tipejo en cuestión podría fugarse. Que los espíritus no perdonaban tales ofensas. Que ambos sabían que era culpable.

Atropelladamente pudo escuchar aquella conversación. Apenas reconocía su choza a varios metros de distancia, agazapada en la oscuridad.

Trató de armar un rompecabezas en su mente. Trató de recordar qué había hecho aquella tarde en la que esos hombres decían que lo sorprendieron con un cuero cabelludo en una mano y un machete en la otra. Y un cuerpo de mujer tendido en el suelo, deforme y ensangrentado.

Trataba, pero solo se le aparecía la majestuosidad de la hoguera que, la noche anterior, había encendido en su choza, y que no se apagaba hasta aquel momento.

Abrió más los ojos y reconoció algunos destellos amarillos. El fuego intentaba susurrarle algo apenas perceptible. Se aferró al último sueño que lo había alertado. Su memoria estaba opaca como las nubes gruesas y endurecidas.

El primer hombre le dijo al segundo que ya era hora. Que si dejaban pasar más tiempo alguien los podría ver. Que los espíritus los iban a proteger únicamente durante la madrugada. Que de una buena vez le hicieran pagar caro a aquel asesino.

Sentía que sus ojos se volvían dos pelotas de agua. Respiraba con dificultad. Un terrible olor a sangre –su propia sangre– le causó repulsión. Deseó gritar. O que de repente la hoguera que alumbraba su choza –hoguera sabia, inmortal– se expandiera como un dios furioso y calcinara a aquellos dos individuos. Apretó los dientes y dejó caer su cabeza.

El segundo hombre, entonces, se dirigió a paso ligero hacia unos arbustos detrás del árbol. Al cabo de un rato, volvió con una gruesa rama asida con ambas manos.

–¡Ponlo rápido, ponlo rápido, Rúrush! –susurró alarmado el primero. Y tras colocarla a escasos centímetro del hombre, echaron a correr.

La rama de palosanto comenzó a vibrar, aguijoneada por algún espíritu mitológico. Y de sus nudos comenzaron a emerger cientos y cientos de hormigas grandes, rojas, hambrientas tras su sueño de mil años.

En la choza, la débil hoguera fue apagándose con lentitud, mientras que del árbol llegaba el vago crepitar de un cuerpo.


Veja Palo Santo

Roy Vega Jácome

Privezala sta ga za debel štor, ki je bil nekoč njegovo zatočišče pred materinimi udarci.

Dva moška sta ga pred tem pretepla in popljuvala.

Bilo je zgodnje jutro.

Kres je napovedoval dež, vendar pa se to ni zgodilo: kepa težkih oblakov je bil edini odgovor neba.

Moška sta, po tem, kos ta ga privezala, stopila nekaj korakov nazaj in ga pogledala.

Lahko si je ogledal njuni štrleči glavi, ki sta rezali pokrajino: meglo in temo nepremagane džungle.

Prvi je zatrdil drugemu, da ga bo pravica miru oprostila. Da ne ve resnice stvari. Da lahko moški, ki je predmet pogovora, zbeži. Da duhovi ne odpuščajo takšnih prekrškov. Da oba vesta, da je kriv.

Hiteč, je lahko slišal njihov pogovor. Čepeč nekaj korakov stran, je v temi komaj je prepoznal svojo kočo.

V mislih je skušal sestaviti sestavljenko. Poskušal se je spomniti, kaj je tisto popoldne počel, ko sta se ta dva moška odločila, da ga bosta presenetila s skalpelom v eni roki in mačeto v drugi. In ženskim telesom ležečim na tleh, deformiranim in krvavim.

Poskušal je, a prikazovalo se mu je le veličanstvo ognja, ki ga je tisto noč prižgal v svoji koči in ki ga do tistega trenutka ni pogasil.

Njegove oči so se razširile in prepoznal je nekaj rumenih bliskov. Ogenj je poskušal šepetati nekaj, kar je bilo komaj razločno. Oklepal se je zadnjih sanj, ki so ga prestrašile. Njegov spomin je bil prazen ko debeli, okameneli oblaki.

Prvi moški je povedal drugemu, da je čas. Da ju lahko nekdo vidi, če zapravita še več časa. Da ju bodo duhovi ščitili le med zgodnjim jutrom. Da bosta enkrat za vselej prisilia morilca, da drago plača.

Čutil je, kako so se njegove oči spremenile v dve kroglji vode. Težko je dihal. Obupen vonj po krvi-njegove lastne krvi, se mu je gabil. Želel je kričati. Ali da bi se nenadoma kres, ki je osvetljeval njegovo kočo-moder, nesmrten ogenj, razširil kot besen bog in sežgal tisti dve osebi. Stisnil je zobe in povesil glavo.

Drugi moški je nato odkorakal k nekemu grmovju za drevesom. Po nekem času se je vrnil z debelo vejo, ki jo je stiskal z obema dlanema.

“Hitro jo prižgi, hitro jo prižgi Rúrush!”, je prestrašeno zašepetal prvi. Po tem, ko jo je položil nekaj centimetrov stran od moškega, sta zbežala.

Veja Palo Santo je pričela vibrirati, podžgana z nekim mitološkim duhom. In iz njenih lukenj, je začelo na plan prihajati na stotine velikih, rdečih mravelj, lačnih po tisočletnem spancu.

V koči je blagi kres počasi zamrl, medtem, ko je medlo pokanje telesa prišlo od drevesa.


The Palo Santo Branch

Roy Vega Jácome

They tied him to the thick log that had once been his refuge from maternal beatings.

The two men previously beat him and spat.

It was early morning.

The bonfire said it would rain, but it didn’t: a bundle of heavy clouds was the only answer from heaven.

The men, after tying him up, took a few steps away and looked at him.

He could see their pointed heads cutting out the landscape: the mist and darkness of the impenetrable jungle.

The first told the second that the justice of the peace would acquit him. That he did not know the truth of things. That the guy in question could run away. That the spirits did not forgive such offenses. That they both knew he was guilty.

Rushing, he was able to hear that conversation. Several feet away and crunched in the dark he could barely recognize his hut.

In his mind, he tried to put together a puzzle. He tried to remember what he had been doing that afternoon when these men decided to surprise him with a scalp in one hand and a machete in the other. And a woman’s body lying on the ground, deformed and bloody.

He tried, but only the majesty of the fire that he had lit in his hut the night before appeared to him, and which had not been extinguished until that moment.

His eyes widened and he recognized some yellow flashes. The fire was trying to whisper something barely perceptible to him. He clung to the last dream that had alerted him. His memory was dull like thick, hardened clouds.

The first man told the second that it was time. That if they let more time pass someone could see them. That the spirits were going to protect them only during the early morning. That once and for all they made that murderer pay dearly.

He felt his eyes turn into two balls of water. He was breathing hard. A terrible smell of blood – his own blood – repulsed him. He wanted to scream. Or that suddenly the bonfire that illuminated his hut – a wise, immortal fire – would expand like an angry god and burn those two individuals. He gritted his teeth and dropped his head.

The second man then strode toward some bushes behind the tree. After a while, he came back with a thick branch clutched in both hands.

“Put it on fast, put it fast, Rúrush!” The first one whispered in alarm. And after placing it a few centimetres from the man, they ran.

The Palo Santo branch began to vibrate, prodded by some mythological spirit. And from its wood eyes began to emerge hundreds and hundreds of large, red ants, hungry after their thousand-year sleep.

In the hut, the faint bonfire slowly died down, while the vague crackle of a body came from the tree.

Foto del autor. Créditos: Renzo Chávez Lescano

Roy Alfonso Vega Jácome-Bachelor of Literature. His collection of poems Rumores de un arpa retorciéndose obtained an honorable mention at the VII José Watanabe Varas National Poetry Contest 2011. In 2015, he was awarded the Silver Copé Prize at the XVII Petroperú Poetry Biennial for his collection of poems Muestra de arte disecado. He has also been published in numerous literary magazines.

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