For
Bel Olid
Mother, its me. Open your eyes,
please. There are so many things I want to tell you. Do you remember that
morning when we went together to the beach of Saint Pol? The day
we had a sand storm so strong as we had never seen before. Three or four other
walkers, lost like us, trying to avoid the waves... the sand that filled our
eyes, nose, mouth... and the child who seemed ready to fly!... Do you remember?
Today I went to see that beach again, Mother. I took with me your last book and
sat at a cafe, facing the sea. It was a nice day. Just a few people. Sunny. I
opened your book by the middle, as you taught me: "Read a passage, any
one, wherever you happen to open the book, and see if it speaks to you." Lola's name jumped off the page. Then I opened the book to the first page. "If the
passage in the middle of the page speaks to you, then go to the first page. And
if this page also speaks to you, if it makes you curious, then buy the
book," you used to say. I still remember... I still remember Lola: small
and always disheveled. I could never have imagined her young, very young. And now,
look at her, she comes up on the first page. The girl with the flame-red hair,
always with a book. Reserved and insignificant to others. With her
faded jeans and black T-shirts. Her intense eyes always hidden under bangs perpetually
too long. I spent all morning reading your book on
the beach of Saint Pol, Mother. I shuddered at the lovemaking
the two of you shared the first night you spent together. Your passion still
burns the page. I was moved by Lola's surprised silence when you--so determined,
so strong, so...so...so you!--told her that you had decided to have a child.
"You know what, Lola-Lolita, my love, my princess, my slave, my friend.
You know what, I will have the child with you, yes, with you, because you will
be the mother of my son. You and me, Lolita, we will have a son, and we will be
happy and live together forever, until the end of the world!" ...I got
angry at grandmother when she stopped talking to you. I laughed with you when
you saw me for the first time, so tiny, so blue, fresh out of your wonderful
womb. I relived your youth with you this morning, Mother ....
And you see, I arrived too late.
You
still have things to tell me, Mother. There are things I still want to hear.
Open your eyes, Mother. Tell me more about you. Open your eyes, please.
You can
always die tomorrow, Mother.
Translated by Lina Strenio
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Multumesc. Gràcies. Gracias. Thank you.