Project #5 Literary

Eréndira estaba bañando a la abuela cuando empezó el viento de su desgracia. La enorme mansión de argamasa lunar, extraviada en la soledad del desierto, se estremeció hasta los estribos con la primera embestida. Pero Eréndira y la abuela estaban hechas a los riesgos de aquella naturaleza desatinada, y apenas si notaron el calibre del viento en el baño adornado de pavorreales repetidos y mosaicos pueriles de termas romanas. 

La abuela, desnuda y grande, parecía una hermosa ballena blanca en la alberca de mármol. La nieta había cumplido apenas los catorce años, y era lánguida y de huesos tiernos, y demasiado mansa para su edad. Con una parsimonia que tenía algo de rigor sagrado le hacía abluciones a la abuela con un agua en la que había hervido plantas depurativas y hojas de buen olor, y éstas se quedaban pegadas en las espaldas suculentas, en los cabellos metálicos y sueltos, en el hombro potente tatuado sin piedad con un escarnio de marineros. 

-Anoche soñé que estaba esperando una carta -dijo la abuela. 

Eréndira, que nunca hablaba si no era por motivos ineludibles, preguntó: 

-¿Qué día era en el sueño? 

-jueves. 

-Entonces era una carta con malas noticias -dijo Eréndira- pero no llegará nunca. 

Cuando acabó de bañarla, llevó a la abuela a su dormitorio. Era tan gorda que sólo podía caminar apoyada en el hombro de la nieta, o con un báculo que parecía de obispo, pero aún en sus diligencias más difíciles se notaba el dominio de una grandeza anticuada. En la alcoba compuesta con un criterio excesivo y un poco demente, como toda la casa, Eréndira necesitó dos horas más para arreglar a la abuela. Le desenredó el cabello hebra por hebra, se lo perfumó y se lo peinó, le puso un vestido de flores ecuatoriales, le empolvó la cara con harina de talco, le pintó los labios con carmín, las mejillas con colorete, los párpados con almizcle y las uñas con esmalte de nácar, y cuando la tuvo emperifollado como una muñeca más grande que el tamaño humano la llevó a un jardín artificial de flores sofocantes como las del vestido, la sentó en una poltrona que tenía el fundamento y la alcurnia de un trono, y la dejó escuchando los discos fugaces del gramófono de bocina. 

Mientras la abuela navegaba por las ciénagas del pasado, Eréndira se ocupó de barrer la casa, que era oscura y abigarrada, con muebles frenéticos y estatuas de césares inventados, y arañas de lágrimas y ángeles de alabastro, y un piano con barniz de oro, y numerosos relojes de formas y medidas imprevisibles. Tenía en el patio una cisterna para almacenar durante muchos años el agua llevada a lomo de indio desde manantiales remotos, y en una argolla de la cisterna había un avestruz raquítico, el único animal de plumas que pudo sobrevivir al tormento de aquel clima malvado. Estaba lejos de todo, en el alma del desierto, junto a una ranchería de calles miserables y ardientes, donde los chivos se suicidaban de desolación cuando soplaba el viento de la desgracia. 

Eréndira was bathing her grandmother when the wind of her misfortune began to blow. The enormous mansion of lunar mortar, lost in the solitude of the desert, was shaken to the shuddered to its stirrups with the first onslaught. But Eréndira and her grandmother were made for the risks of that unwise nature, and hardly noticed the caliber of the wind in the bathroom adorned with repeated peacocks and puerile mosaics of Roman baths.

Grandma, naked and large, looked like a beautiful white whale in the marble pool. The granddaughter was barely fourteen years old, and she was languid and soft-boned and too meek for her age. With a parsimony that had something of sacred rigor, she performed ablutions for the grandmother with water in which she had boiled purifying plants in which she had boiled depurative plants and leaves of good odor, and these remained stuck on the succulent backs, on the metallic and loose hair, on the powerful shoulder tattooed mercilessly with a sailor's scorn.

 -Last night I dreamed I was waiting for a letter," said the grandmother.

 Eréndira, who never spoke except for inescapable reasons, asked:

 -What day was it in the dream?

 -Thursday.

 -Then it was a letter with bad news," said Eréndira, "but it will never arrive.

When she had finished bathing her, she took the grandmother to her bedroom. She was so fat that she could only walk leaning on her granddaughter's shoulder, or with a crozier that looked like a bishop's, but even in her most difficult errands, the dominance of an old-fashioned grandeur was noticeable. In the alcove composed with an excessive and a little demented judgment, like the whole house, Eréndira needed two more hours to arrange the grandmother. She untangled her hair strand by strand, perfumed and combed it, put on a dress of equatorial flowers, powdered her face with talcum powder, painted her lips with lipstick, her cheeks with rouge, her eyelids with musk, and her nails with mother-of-pearl polish, and when she had her dolled up like a doll larger than human size she took her to an artificial garden of suffocating flowers like those on her dress, seated her in an armchair that had the foundation and the pomp of a throne, and left her listening to the fleeting records of the horn gramophone.

While grandmother sailed through the swamps of the past, Eréndira busied herself sweeping the house, which was dark and motley, with frantic furniture and statues of invented Caesars, and tear-drop chandeliers and alabaster angels, and a piano with gold varnish, and numerous clocks of unpredictable shapes and measures. It had in the courtyard a cistern to store for many years the water carried on Indian back from remote springs, and in a ring of the cistern was a rickety ostrich, the only feathered animal that could survive the torment of that wicked climate. It was far from everything, in the soul of the desert, next to a ranchería of miserable and burning streets, where the goats committed suicide of desolation when the wind of misfortune blew.

Eréndira was bathing her grandmother when the wind of her misfortune began. The huge mansion of lunar mortar, lost in the loneliness of the desert, shook to its core with the first onslaught. But Eréndira and her grandmother were made for the risks of that wild nature, and they hardly noticed the caliber of the wind in the bathroom adorned with repeated peacocks and puerile mosaics of Roman baths.

Grandma, naked and big, looked like a beautiful white whale in the marble pool. The granddaughter had barely turned fourteen, and she was languid and tender-boned, and too meek for her age. With a parsimony that had some sacred rigor she made ablutions to the grandmother with a water in which she had boiled purifying plants and leaves of good smell, and these remained stuck on the succulent backs, on the metallic and loose hairs, on the powerful shoulder tattooed without mercy with a mockery of sailors.

"Last night I dreamed I was waiting for a letter," Grandma said. 

Eréndira, who never spoke except for unavoidable reasons, asked:

"What day was it in the dream?"

Thursday -

"Then it was a letter with bad news," Erendira said, "but it will never arrive."

When she had finished bathing her, she took the grandmother to his bedroom. She was so fat that she could only walk on her granddaughter's shoulder, or with a crozier that looked like a bishop, but even in her most difficult errands the mastery of an antiquated grandeur was noticeable. She untangled her hair strand by strand, perfumed it and combed it, put a dress of equatorial flowers on it, powdered her face with talcum flour, painted her lips with carmine, her cheeks with blusher, her eyelids with musk and her nails with mother-of-pearl enamel, and when she had her puffed up like a doll larger than human size, she took her to an artificial garden of suffocating flowers like those of the dress, seated her on an armchair that had the foundation and alkurnia of a throne, and left her listening to the fleeting discs of the horn gramophone. 

As the grandmother navigated the swamps of the past, Erendira took care of sweeping the house, which was dark and variegated, with frantic furniture and statues of invented Caesars, and chandeliers of tears and alabaster angels, and a piano with gold varnish, and numerous clocks of unpredictable shapes and measures. SHe had a cistern in the courtyard to store for many years the water carried on an Indian's back from remote springs, and in a ring of the cistern there was a rickety ostrich, the only feathered animal that could survive the torment of that evil climate. It was far from everything, in the soul of the desert, next to a rancheria of miserable and burning streets, where the goats committed suicide in desolation when the wind of misfortune blew.