Wandering Words & raquo; Archive DENDROLOGY - Wrong Words

Wandering Words & raquo; Archive DENDROLOGY - Wrong Words

Wandering Words & raquo; Archive DENDROLOGY - Wrong Words

By Arturo Vallejo. Translated by Jessica Sequeira.

The woman was seated on a bench taking photos of the trees with her smart phone. She wanted to identify all the species in the city. She had an apple in her hand, but had neglected it, so that the fruit was turning to nauseating coffee color she had already come across.

It's like this.

The woman was

My father, he ate it.

The woman stood up and moved closer.

Repeat what you just sang, the woman ordered.

And she started walking there.

When she arrived she saw that there was indeed a big bush, which she identified as Juniperus communis. The surrounding earth had been turned up.

She rang the bell and a family came out to greet her. She confirmed that, just as the bird had said, there was a girl there with her Mum and Dad. They all received her very politely, very united. The woman introduced herself. They invited her to come and help her stay for supper.

They ate meat and drank wine, black coffee and liquor to help digestion. Everything was delicious, and the conversation was pleasant. The woman's heart skipped to beat with happiness. She felt that time had come to a stop, and in fact she had done just that: they stayed there forever, cups nearing their mouths, smiles behind them.

The weather was temperate, and in that part of the world there was no snow. Nor would there ever be.

This woman was sitting on the bench in a park taking pictures of trees with her smartphone. He wanted to identify all the species that inhabited that city. He had an apple in his hand, but he had it left, so the fruit was turning into that disgusting brown color he had run into before.

This woman was in the process of taking a bite when I heard a bird singing:

Imagen titulada Select a Pet Parrot Step 2
Wandering Words & raquo; Archive DENDROLOGY - Wrong Words

My mother killed me.

My father ate me.

Repeat, this woman ordered you, that you just sang. / p>

The bird looked at it for a long time, until finally it answered: ok, but only if you give me something in return.

That, the bird answered, better give me money.

Well, she answered, and began to check his pockets. He took a ticket from the subway and offered it to him.

In exchange for this, I will not sing to you, explained the bird, but I can give you the synopsis: I was a normal little boy, neither more nor less mischievous than others. In spite of that, I was terrified all the time. My mother beat me, pushed me, bound me. When my father arrived, she treated me very well and made me fondle, but when she was leaving everything was the same again. One day he became so angry with me that he took my eyes off me, then cut off my head, and to hide his crime he tied it up again with a rag. Then he cut me into pieces and cooked me for my father to eat me. When he finished eating, my mother had my sister take my bones and bury them under a juniper outside our house.

That's what the bird said. not well, said the woman, it is not known that there are juniper in this region.

And he went walking there.

When he arrived he saw that there was indeed a big bush and he identified it as a Juniperus communis . The surrounding earth was removed. There were garbage bags next to the garage and he found baby clothes stained with blood.

He rang the doorbell and a family came out. He saw that, as the bird had said, there was a little girl with her father and mother. They were all very kind, very united. This woman introduced herself. They invited her to come in and asked her to stay for supper.

They ate meat and drank wine, black coffee and liqueur to make the digestion. All delicious, the conversation pleasant. The heart of this woman gave a thrill of happiness. He felt that the time stopped and the truth is that it was: they stayed forever with the glasses approaching the mouth and a smile behind them.

Arturo Vallejo is the author of the novel I do not have time (Alfaguara, 2009) and the children's book Animals that are no longer (El Arca, 2012). In 2008 he was awarded the Prize Chase Prize for the National Autonomous University of Mexico (UNAM), and in 2007 he received the Miguel Covarrubias Prize for museography. In 2011 he was awarded an artistic residency at the Banff Center for the Arts, Alberta, Canada. He is currently preparing his next book.

Jessica Sequeira is a writer and journalist currently living in Buenos Aires. She holds BA from Harvard University and MPhil in Political Thought and Intellectual History from the University of Cambridge. Her writing has been published in the Boston Review, Los Angeles Review of Books, Time Out, and other publications, and she is an English editor of the London-based publication * Latin Window *.

Related news