Inside Out

Our Short Stories and Poems

Compilacin de trabajos escritos por alumnos

de la carrera de Ingls FFyL - UNCUYO

CONTENTS
Short Stories
THE BROKEN GLASS
Mara Jos Aguilar
SOMETHING YOU SHOULD KNOW
Melisa Natalia Antnez
HER ROCKING CHAIR
Roco Bonad
LIKE A ROLLER COASTER
Gabriela Yasmn Bittar
MY GUARDIAN ANGEL
Luca Campo
MATTERS OF THE HEART
Ileana Cano
THE BEST DREAM
Mara del Rosario De Munno
THE CALL
Sofa Gallardo
A SIMPLE QUESTION
Noelia Alejandra Gioia
THE GRADUATION TRIP
Tzu Ying Lee
THE PORTRAIT
Josefina Marc
IN HEAVEN
Marisol Mass
ON THE MERRY-GO-ROUND
Soledad Mercado
WHEN THE CURRENTS FLOW

Mara Alejandrina Petra

THE MYSTERIOUS SMILE
Sabrina Prieto
A VALUABLE FRIEND
Ana Paula Riveros
GILAD
Anita Voloschin
Poems
THE ENTERTAINER
Valentn Cappadona
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN
Valentn Cappadona
HE WAS AND HE IS
Mara Mercedes Crayon
THE LESSON
Mara Mercedes Crayon
OH GRAVE INJUSTICE!
Brenda Guardatti
MY BELOVED MAN
Brenda Guardatti
EARTHQUAKE
Samanta Heras
A BOY
Samanta Heras
SWIVEL
Graciana Lupari
ALIVE THE WAY NO ONE COULD BE
Graciana Lupari
ONLY YOU
Celeste Martini
WHAT IS LIFE?
Celeste Martini
THE HUMBLE QUEEN

Mariana Obredor
HIDDEN
Mariana Obredor
LIES, CRY, GOODBYE
Andrea Politino
THREE FISH ON MY DESK
Andrea Politino
LITTLE WARRIOR
Alejandra Palleres
MISTER, MISTER
Alejandra Palleres

PREFACE
"You write in order to change the world, knowing perfectly well
that you probably can't, but also knowing that literature is
indispensable to the world....The world changes according to
the way people see it, and if you alter, even by a millimeter,
the way...people look at reality, then you can change it.
James Baldwin

Inside Out is an anthology that collects poems and short

stories written in 2010 by Language IV students, at EFL
Teacher Training College, UNCuyo.
All along this year, we have explored the wonderful
world of literature and adopted a critical attitude towards
the different elements of fiction the authors we read
used in their works. Not fully aware of it, all the reading
we did prepared us for the creation of our own stories
and poems. The time finally came. We were asked to
write our own stories and poems. We knew our writings
would not be as accomplished as those we had read.
Yet, the creative writing experience turned out to be so
positive that it soon inspired all of us. For most of us, it
was the first time we wrote our own fiction or poetry.
Little by little, our stories and poems became part of us
and writing turned out to be an enjoyable and gratifying
task, one in which we felt the enthusiasm of creating
characters, of orienting them, of creating new worlds.
We found inspiration in our family, our friends, in
everyday experiences and feelings that lead people to
live fully, in little problems or changes that we undergo
at some point in our lives and can transform our inner
self in some way or other.
In Inside Out, we reveal a little about each one of us as
we explore themes that have moved us: problematic

childhoods; the loss of a beloved person; death; the

power of love, sharing and caring; the limitations of
hatred, individualism and indifference; embracing the
opportunities of life; valuing differences. Each one of our
writings tells a story, explores feelings, shares
experiences and emotions, evokes memories, stirs up
the senses.
As we experimented with our writing, we discovered the
power of words, of creating life with their rhythmical
patterns, of creating cascades of emotions that echo our
own deepest needs and desires.
We would like to thank our teachers and teaching
assistants, who made the Anthology happen: Corina,
Cristina, Guillermina, Mara Laura and Victoria,
Alejandra, Carolina, Leandro, Paola, Sara and Tiziana.
They all kindly shared their ideas, which helped us in
one way or other.
Who knows how far our stories will travel? We wonder...
and invite you to share them with us. These are our
voices
The Authors

THE BROKEN GLASS

Mara Jos Aguilar
Born in Mendoza, Mara Jos Aguilar has a very
positive attitude towards life and values the simple
things around her. She loves writing short stories,
especially drama, to explore the processes of
maturation that people go through. Inspired by the good
relationship she has with her father, Maria Jos wrote
the wonderful story The Broken Glass. Taking
advantage of the simple things in life and overcoming
difficulties from the past are two key ideas that she
wishes to transmit in her work.
Calmly walking back from his job at the car factory,
dressed in his gray overall, and quietly smoking his last
and long-awaited cigarette, Gregory Turner was heading
home. The gentle evening breeze blew his short silky
brown hair. His contemplating emerald eyes were
hooded by large eyelids that made them look as if they
were closed. Some inertial force seemed to move his
body, but his mind was somewhere else. His thoughts
seemed to mix with the smoke of his cigarette and then,
together, thoughts and smoke seemed to vanish in the
evening air. Spring surrounded everything and almost
everyone. It was eight and the town in which he lived
seemed to be more alive than ever. The wind was high,
the lights were bright and people looked exhausted and
contented at the same time. Another day of hard work
was over. Gregory, however, knew his daily routine had
not ended yet. He would get home; he would say (as
lively as possible) Hi!; then he would carefully listen to
his wife while she told him what had happened at home

during his absence; absent-mindedly draw and color

some pictures with his six-year-old daughter; take a
shower; have supper and go to bed. To him, life was as
plain and simple as that.
While Gregory was not at work, he preferred spending
time alone at home to being anywhere else. He did not
like public places very much and besides that, he had
no friends, only a few acquaintances he would run into
by chance from time to time. So his wife Veronica would
take their daughter Emily to the park or for an ice cream,
since differently from Gregory, they loved being among
other people and they indeed had lots of friends to visit.
That was one of the reasons why Gregory and his
daughter were not as close as most fathers would be
with their only child. They did not have much in common
and for some reason it was difficult for them to bond.
They did not spend much time together; and when they
did Gregory felt awkward, uncomfortable, as if he were
performing a task he had never been made for. It was
the same uneasy feeling he got when he lacked the
necessary tools to effectively perform this task at the
factory where he worked. He could never tell with
absolute certainty what were the right things to say or to
do. If there only was a handbook that would tell me how
to do this, it seemed so easy for other people, he used
to think. How do you know for sure that the things you
do or say now will not hurt your child later? he always
asked himself. So Veronica was in charge of almost
everything related to the little girl, even playtime.
However, there was no doubt he loved her, did care for
her, and always made sure that she had all the things
she needed. Actually Gregory had decided to take
double shifts and work extra hard in order to save more
money and pay for the piano lessons Emily had been

craving for so long. But still, there was a wall between

them. It was a wall that had been up between them for
too long, even before Emily had been born, and by now
that wall had become stronger, more solid and more
difficult to overcome or demolish.
One morning a few weeks later, the phone rang at the
Turner house. It was Anne, Veronicas sister, asking her
to go to their mothers house for only a couple of days,
since their mother had pneumonia. Neither Veronica nor
her sister could afford a nurse to take care of their old
mother and besides that, they preferred to do it
themselves. So a decision had been made: Veronica
would spend the next two or three days away from
home. Gregory would have to take care of the child
while his wife was not at home because Veronica could
not and would not take Emily with her. Gregory agreed
to this plan. He appreciated and liked her wifes
commitment towards the people she loved the most.
Yet, he had to acknowledge that deep down inside, a
slight fear was slowly beginning to crawl. It was the
same tightness he felt when he had to spend time with
his daughter. He had nothing to offer to her, he did not
know how to act and react in the presence of this fragile
child. She did not need him at all, it seemed to him, and
besides, he always asked himself: what is the point of
this bond? Her childhood would soon be over and she
would certainly find some other things and people to be
interested in, and she would move on, away from him,
and he would end up the same way as he was then
except that the most painful heartache would be added.
He had the same feeling towards other people as well to
his life. What is the point of getting attached? That only
means getting too close to the dangerous weapon that
wounds.

That day progressed naturally. The only difference was

that Veronica was packing her belongings and Gregory
went to the factory to ask for a week off from work.
While he was returning home he tried to construct a
mental picture of what could happen during those days.
He could not picture what it would be like. His mind was
completely blocked. Now the time had come for him to
see whether he was father material or not. As he
traversed the street he could not help watching his
neighbors playing with their children. Lucky them, they
seem to be gracefully sliding over an invisible ice rink
while I am frantically trying not to drown in this sea of
uncertainty, he thought to himself. Two houses before
his, he watched his pretty wife take her suitcase and
some bags out to wait for the taxi that would take her to
the bus station. Emily was with her, telling her things
that Gregory could not hear and following her
everywhere she went. As he got closer, the conversation
became clearer and he stayed by their side listening.
Mommy... do you really have to go? Why cant
Auntie Anne take care of Granny by herself? asked the
child.
Oh, honey, I know it sounds unfair to you, but its
the right thing to do... You will understand this well when
you grow up, replied the mother.
I know Granny is sick... but I dont want you to go
away. You have never gone on a trip without me, mom,
Emily insisted.
I know that honey, and believe me; its hard for
me too. I dont like having to go away without you, but
youll be here with Daddy, okay? I know hell take good
care of you, said Veronica.

Okay... but please come back soon Mom. Ill miss

you, Emily said.
Me too babe, but I promise youre going to be
okay and you wont even notice that Im gone, Veronica
assured her.
Veronica and Emilys conversation seemed to rekindle
Gregorys bittersweet memories. Time stood still and he
was taken back to the moment when he was six years
old. He was the apple of his fathers eye. And Gregory
considered him his best and only friend as well. His
father seemed to know no such thing as sadness,
boredom or sorrow. They used to spend a lot of time
together, since his father looked after him while his
mother worked. To Gregory, every game they invented
was an adventure worth publishing in a book. The time
when his father picked him up at school was Gregorys
favorite part of the day. And at home his very soul would
brighten up whenever his father patted him gently on the
shoulder or fixed any of his beloved toys. Gregory would
spend hours and hours telling him about his adventures
that day and he was proud and at ease because he did
not need to share his invaluable father with anybody,
since he was an only child. Even though he was only six
years old he was well aware that the relationship
between his parents was not good. Gregorys parents
were constantly arguing about things Gregory at that
moment could not fully grasp. The regular pattern of
their arguments included more or less the same words:
drink, change, again, be here, leave, money and what
seemed to be Gregorys mothers favorite phrase in the
whole world: the kid needs a responsible father, not a
friend. These continuous fights were the antecedent to
the event that would change Gregorys life forever. This
event would be the true origin of his distrust and of his

negative attitude towards almost anyone he knew.

Gregorys mother thought it would be easier to lie to a
six year old. However, in time she proved to be wrong.
At first, she told him that his father was out looking for a
job, then that he was on a business trip, then that his trip
had been delayed until there was no more need to lie
and strangely enough, the truth was not necessary
either. Deep down inside, Gregory knew his father would
not come back. For some reason he did not understand,
his father had abandoned him and his mother. He had
left them alone in the world, never thinking about the
dangers that they would have to face. It took Gregory
years to find out what was happening to his parents
those days. Reality was that Gregorys father was
always at home because he did not want to get a job,
and if he did, he drank too much and soon got fired.
Gregorys mothers theory was that he used to do that
on purpose, not to work at all. And during the year
before he abandoned them he was violent towards
Gregorys mother at times. This behavior was getting
more and more frequent. According to Gregorys mother,
somewhere along the way, his father changed,
drastically changed. Once she told Gregory, He was
like a friend to you, but certainly he was a foe to me.
And that did it. Gregory lost track of how many times he
had asked himself why his father had left. He asked
himself whether there was something wrong about him
that may have caused his fathers decision. For years he
blamed himself. Gregory secretly experienced years and
years of sorrow. The person he loved the most had let
him down. He was disappointed with love, with life, with
himself, and with everyone he knew. He grew dark,
pessimistic. His hopes, dreams and expectations for the
future were lost. They were dead to him. He promised

himself that he would never ever trust anybody so much

again; he would never put all his faith on a single
person, because people are extremely likely to deceive
you and to let you down. More than anyone, he knew
how it hurt to be left behind as if you were an object and
he would not take the chance to experience that pain
again. There, in that crystal prison he had built
throughout the years, he remained distant from
everybody and everything. He could not be touched and
no one could touch him or hurt him either. The glass
was a protective shield that kept him safe.
Suddenly, the taxi honk brought Gregory back from his
thoughts. Veronica was ready to go and Emily was now
holding her hand and looking straight at her as if she
wanted to take a mental picture of that very moment.
She approached her husband and tenderly embraced
him.
Bye honey. This will take only a few days I hope,
only until mom gets better, Veronica said.
Its okay, take as long as you need... Emily and I
will be here waiting for you. Send my best wishes and I
hope your mom gets better soon, Gregory answered.
Thats so sweet of you, dont worry, shell get your
message. I must admit Im a bit worried, are you going
to be able to handle this? I mean, taking care of Emily
all by yourself? asked the wife.
Sure, dont you worry... If it makes you feel better
Ill call you at your mothers if theres anything I need.
Now get going! The cab will leave you. Well be just fine.
Dont you worry about a thing, Gregory answered,
trying to convince himself of what he was saying.

For the twentieth time Veronica said goodbye to her

daughter and Gregory. Father and daughter waved
goodbye at the moving taxi until they lost sight of it. The
child seemed to be at ease and she also seemed to be
thinking about what to do during the rest of the day. The
father looked terrified thinking about how to deal with the
things the child would want to do during the rest of her
day. Before he could even utter a word, her daughter
asked softly, Are you ready for supper Dad?
Sure, answered the surprised father, who was
glad that she had made the first move.
Gregory hurried to fix their meal, gave Emily some time
to do her homework and accompanied her to her
bedroom. In the meantime they both seemed to be
curiously awkward in the presence of each other.
Gregory felt as odd as ever and Emily looked nervously
at him and thought about all the things she could do to
gain his fathers approval. Although Gregory did not
notice it, she was desperate to do so. Emily knew that
while her father was alone at home he enjoyed listening
to the piano music which he loved. She was eager to
know how to create that marvelous music. Maybe those
melodies could put his father out of his melancholy, she
used to think. While he tucked up his daughter in bed,
Gregory went on with some routine questions he had
been rehearsing for a few minutes: Did you do all your
homework? How was your day? Dont worry, Mom will
soon come; Get some rest; Tomorrows a school day,
See you in the morning. He stood up from her bedside
before she could ask him anything he would not know
how to answer. He rapidly turned off the lights, for the
last time said see you in the morning, and walked out
before the child could reply. He walked away feeling like
a rabbit that survives the attack of some ferocious

creature. He went to his bedroom where he intended to

go to sleep, but for some reason he could not
understand, he felt as if his chest were about to explode.
It was burning with something cold that he felt growing
inside him. He could not tell what it was. It was a
completely new sensation for him and it made him feel
uncertain about everything he knew. His mind went back
and forth, from his good childhood days, to the bad ones
too, his daughter, his wife, their present, their future, the
moment when they would surely leave him, where he
would be left alone again. The routine of a lifetime.
A shrill sound and a blinding light awoke Gregory the
next morning. They were annoying. He turned off the
alarm clock and closed the shades. He got up, fixed
their breakfast and went up to Emilys bedroom to wake
her up. When he saw her he was surprised by the look
in her face. She was sick. She was shivering and when
he touched her she was hot and her forehead was wet
with perspiration. Emily opened her eyes and weakly
greeted her father.
I dont feel well daddy... but if you want me to go
to school I will, Emily said.
No, its okay, you can stay in bed, and its pretty
obvious you have a fever. Ill call the doctor and well
see what he has to tell us, okay? Gregory replied.
About an hour later the doctor arrived and Gregory
cordially escorted him to the little girls room. She was in
the same state as earlier. Nothing seemed to have
improved. The doctor took a quick look at her and finally
gave his evaluation. Her fever was only the result of a
cold. After the doctor left, Gregory went back to the
childs room to give her the medicine and to see how

she was doing. She quietly drank her medicine, she had
tea with some cookies and went back to sleep again.
How curious! Gregory thought. This simple fever seems
to have taken away the very essence of Emily. She was
no longer talkative and cheerful. She was silent and
reticent. She had drastically changed and he prayed for
the medicine to quickly take effect so she would be the
same bright girl he knew, instead of this unknown dark
and mysterious child lying in bed. He let the child sleep
for as long as she needed to. She slept until the
afternoon, getting up from time to time to go to the
bathroom. The very last time she got up, Gregory heard
her calling him. She urged him to her room.
Whats wrong? Are you not feeling better? Do you
want me to call the doctor again? Gregory asked.
No, Daddy. Im okay. Im calling you because of
something else, Emily replied.
What is it?
Would you stay with me until Im okay? Or at least
until you make sure Im asleep again? I dont like being
alone Daddy. I know you may have other things to do
now, but please just a few minutes, would you stay with
me? Please? Emily asked her father.
A gigantic tight knot grew in Gregorys throat. An
uncontrollable tremor shook his very soul and it was
visible in his face. He had to look away for a few
minutes to hide the storm of nightmares that tormented
and terrified him. Hearing her childs plead was like
going thirty years back in time and he could see himself
as a child falling asleep all alone, crying until his swollen
eyes would hurt, and falling asleep between sobs. He
could hear himself praying not to God but to his father to
come back. Gregory hated being without him more than

anything. He prayed, and begged, and hoped, and cried

and suffered until he thought he had run out of tears.
But no one answered. He more than anybody knew
what it was like to be alone.
Are you okay, Daddy? Did I say something
wrong? You look so sad, said the child.
No, mmm... Im okay. Im a bit tired thats all.
So would you stay with me? Please?
Sure, I swear Im not going anywhere unless you
ask me to, Gregory said.
I dont want you to go away.
And he fulfilled his promise. He stayed by her bedside
the rest of the day. With his emerald eyes, Gregory tried
to absorb every little detail of this lovely child. She was a
map in which every territory was somehow familiar to
him. Looking at her was an eerie dj vu. He could see
himself reflected in her. He had never noticed how alike
they were. Gregory discovered that her face not only
resembled his face when he was a six year old, but he
also discovered that his daughter had the same spirit,
the same attitudes and the same love and trust he had
once had. He started to wonder what had happened to
him during all those years that had led him to be so
blind. This was a magnificent sight, a new incomparable
uncharted territory ready for him to look at whenever he
wanted to, but he had not paid much attention to it
before. He started to feel warm; maybe it was the childs
contagious heat. But he did not have a fever; for sure. It
was something awakening, begging to be released.
Gregorys lustrous eyes lingered on Emily, who dreamily
opened her bright green eyes and turned her head as if
she were looking for something she had lost. She met
her fathers luminous eyes and sweetly smiled. He

warmly smiled back and caressed her. She sighed and

went back to sleep with the same charming smile she
had given him before.
And that did it. The cold crystal prison that held
Gregorys soul captive opened its doors and let love in.
The beast inside him was released from its enclosure. It
was the most liberating experience of his life. The
opaque glass out of which that prison was made
completely shattered into a million pieces, it seemed. He
could feel it explode, allowing him to feel, to touch, to
joyfully open his arms and embrace life. That explosion
would allow him to live and not to waste another minute
of his life being afraid. A secret force was now binding
his soul with his daughters. That natural bond that
linked them would last a lifetime and even more than
that. He would not let her down. That was the only
certainty in his life. He would always be there by her
side, just as he was now. He would never let go of her
hand. Only if she needed it, he would do so. He took a
solemn vow not to make the same mistake again. He
knew he was in time to do so.
The crashing of the glass around his soul suddenly
woke him out of a long, long dream. He started to laugh
quietly as tears of joy fell from his beaded eyes. It had
been years since he had smiled or laughed at
something truly meaning it. At first, Gregory wanted to
hide those tears before someone could see them. It was
almost like an involuntary reflex to do so. It was a habit
he had developed throughout his life. But now he
realized he did not care if somebody could see those
tears. In some strange way, he was actually proud of
them. They were happy tears; they were tears worth
being shed. He carefully stood up from the childs bed

and walked to the bedroom window. The window was

covered by lace curtains whose color went from a pale
blue to a warm pink. Gregory could see his own
reflection in the opaque glass. He looked different,
renewed. He felt that that room needed some fresh air,
so he lifted up the shade and let the light breeze warm
up his gray face, his arms, and his hands. He felt
embraced by the rays of light that seemed to
enthusiastically welcome him back to life. Sighing, he
looked out of the window and noticed a small pigeon
sitting on its cozy nest on one of the branches of a tree.
The pigeon was protecting its egg. It was carefully
averting any danger from his offspring. The wild bird
seemed to be unswerving and determined not to go
anywhere. Gregory approvingly nodded and smiled
again saying, I got you.

SOMETHING YOU SHOULD KNOW

Melisa Natalia Antnez
Natalia Antnez was born and raised in Mendoza and is
currently a third-year student of English. She embarked
on the difficult but thrilling experience of becoming a
teacher of English because she considers this language
a wonderful way to communicate with other people
around the world. In Something You Should Know
Natalia presents us with a moving story about a special
boy. She got the inspiration from her personal
experience as she is currently working at a kindergarten
for children with special needs. In this story we are
invited to reflect upon the importance of learning who
we are and why we are here.
Thomas could not believe where he was heading. It
never crossed his mind that this day would come so
soon. His mom and dad never let him believe so. They
had preferred to hide the truth from him for so many
years. The thought of an interminable five-hour drive
across the mountains to Denver made him feel more
distressed and confused as each minute passed. He
would not quite pay attention to Johns question, right
next to him, in the drivers seat.
Hey! Are you OK? You look pale, John asked, for
the third time.
Yes, he said, lost in his own thoughts. Just
nervous I dont know how you convinced me to do
this.
Look, I know this must sound crazy to you, but if I
were you, I would try to clear up this mystery. Its

everyones right to know where you come from, John

answered vehemently.
Thomas could not ever regret having met John. Not only
had Thomas considered John his best friend for over
fifteen years, but also thought of him as the blood
brother he never had. They had shared so many things.
His being there with him to meet his biological mother
meant a lot to him. Their friendship went back to primary
school. John had been the only classmate who had
accepted him without pointing at his learning difficulties.
In fact, Thomas knew that having been helped by two
teachers, one for the whole group and the other just for
himself, and by John, had been essential to his
becoming what he was now. John had also been more
patient than other classmates. He would stay with him in
class, even during breaks, when it took Thomas a little
longer to finish his work. He would give his friend his full
attention when Thomas wanted to say something but
found it so hard to grasp the words that expressed his
feelings. In the afternoons, they would play together
whenever Thomas was free from therapists. But, most
importantly, John had been by him, unfailingly, during
high school. He had been the advocate friend who had
held out his hands when he was lost, who had listened
to him when he needed a word, who had spoken to him
when he sought advice.
***
Her face was fair, her eyes distressed, her temper
affable; at least that was what Thomas thought he could
capture from the snapshot he was holding in his hands,
a flavor of his mother. The woman was cuddling a tiny,
newborn baby: Thomas himself. On the back of the

picture, there was a name: Jane Austing. Feeling

queasy inside, rambling thoughts filled his mind: why
had she abandoned him, what had her feelings, her
thoughts, and her dreams been when Thomas was still
part of her life. Her father, mother and John were looking
at him, worried about his reactions. His breath came in
short gasps, and his wan face was illuminated by the
natural light in the room. Tomas finally spoke, his words
shattered the moment.
Why did you cover up the truth for so long?
he murmured.
I wanted to wait a bit longer. John was the one
who thought it was high time. He actually was the one
who found that hidden photo a few weeks ago. He
thought it was something you should know before he
goes to college and he is not around to be with you,
Rosa, Thomass mother, answered.
What do you know about her now? he
stammered after a few minutes, as he was processing
the unwelcome news. Is she alive? he asked his
parents again, looking back and forth to them and John.
We dont know. We lost contact after we adopted
you when you were five, Thomass father added.
I dont know, he took a few minutes to find the
words if I want to know more about her She did
abandon me, right?
What did you say? John spoke for the first time,
bluntly. Dont you want to know why she left you with
them? If she has a family, kids? If she is looking for you
right now? he reached out to him and patted his back.
Dont you understand that being this person,
that being me could have been more than enough to
get rid of me Leave me alone, Thomas replied and

ploughed his way through the room, striding outside the

house.
***
John watched Thomas, driving next to him, carefully
studying him; trying to guess what thoughts could be
crossing his mind. But Thomas felt as if he had been
walking around in a dream all day. He could not believe
that he had actually plucked up the courage to make the
decision to meet her; he was well known for not acting
on his own initiative. Ever since they had set on the trip,
Thomas, as elusive as he generally was when he felt
cast down, did not say a word. He looked away as if he
were scanning the horizon for any sign. He caught his
image reflected in the wing mirror, yet could not quite
recognize himself. He looked studiously at his features:
the oblique eyes, the flat nasal bridge, the peculiar short
neck, his plump round face. As if he were thumbing
through the pages of his life, he remembered again the
old times, those he had had access to as his mother
revisited them for him, supplying all the details his frail
memory would not retain. The interminable sessions of
physical, occupational and speech therapy was what he
remembered best, as they took up a huge part of this
childhood and adolescence. As if John had read his
mind, he said,
Remember the time when we used to play the
memory games? Like the lists your mom made with
errands, and instructions, and how I would help you
remember at least five of them
No, I have forgotten, he answered, without any
other word. I can barely remember some of the
teachers I worked with a few years ago.

It seemed as if his whole short life had started to lose

shape, as if, all of a sudden, a piece of a puzzle did not
fit. All the funny anecdotes John was telling him about:
the time Thomas had spent with his family, the summer
camps, the movie nights together, the school time with
him, appeared to be the memories of other person. The
windshield wiper went back and forth as the ceaseless
spring rain fell. This outlandish idea of driving to his
mothers made him realize already in the pit of his
stomach- that his life could actually change from now
on. After musing on his most recent memories, he spoke
again.
Wait! Stop the car!
John obeyed and pulled over. Thomas fled from the car
out to the road. John followed him.
Are you ok? Whats wrong? John asked,
sounding disturbed.
The sound of cars passing by brought him back to the
moment with a start, and he remembered what he was
doing there.
I dont even know what Im going to say to her
No idea how shell react. Yell out in surprise, ask me to
leave, let me in, cry? Thomas wondered, uneasily.
Dont worry, I will be with you. Just be calm, ask
all what you need to ask. You have to get this over with,
John said, reassuringly.
***

As he packed some clothes for the trip, Thomas

admitted he felt cramped in his bedroom. Nothing would
cheer him up, not even looking at the words on the
piece of paper he kept in a picture frame on his bedside
table. He read: People should understand that special
kids do not have a disease, but a condition; they are not
looking for a cure, but for acceptance; neither are they
looking for pity nor indifference, just respect and your
genuine love for them. Of course, he always thought it
was also a message for the people who accused special
kids from a distance, not only for himself. He sat down
on the bed, hid his head in his hands. He cried bitterly.
He understood that being special was so much harder,
particularly when you want to look normal for others. He
knew he was taking a risk with this woman.
***
They were now facing the semi-detached house. The
sun shone palely through the clouds. It
seemed a perfect spring day. Thomas stood
transfixed with shock. John held Thomas hand
and led him on gently. Thomas took short steps to
the front door; every step seemed to be taking him
a long way. They walked up the wooden steps,
crossed the porch. Thomas hesitated a moment
before ringing the bell. Feeling edgy, he forgot
what he had rehearsed in the last two hours in the
car. Was it Hi, Im sorry to interrupt you today, but
Im your son? or something like, Hello! My name
is Thomas. Im your son and then maybe let her
know about his existence, or was it the other way
around? He took a long breath and looked at the
massive door, still confused and frightened. He
searched for his friend. John nodded reassuringly

and whispered, wishing him good luck. He

knocked at the door. After what seemed hours to
him, the door clattered open and a woman stood
there, looking frightened. She stepped back, took
her hand to her mouth, and fainted.
Her skin was of a fair color; her pale lips were cracked,
her eyes tear-filled, her hair short and wavy, with strands
of grey. As she woke, she felt six pairs of eyes watching
her, studying her moves: Stephen, her husband, her two
young sons, John and Thomas. Stephen helped her to
straighten herself up, and carefully explained to her
what had just happened.
She sat down and the only person she could really see
was Thomas. She took her hand to her neck, as if she
had a lump in her throat. She came closer to him and
touched his face softly, and watched him as if she was
staring him out.
Your deep blue eyes have not changed, those
blue deep eyes which I always dived into, as if I were in
the vast, warm ocean. I was always spellbound by their
beauty, your beauty, she said. I never thought I was
going to see you again, my dear, she said, weeping.
A gentle smile of reminiscence flickered across her face.
She stood beside him, teetering on wobbly legs.
Thomas, almost unawares, approached her and hugged
her tightly. She cried over his shoulder and asked him to
stay with her for a while just like that. Both needed that
hug. She needed to hug him so as to recognize every
single detail of her beloved baby, to distinguish the
savory smell she could still recall, the hair she had
longed to caress, the smooth skin she had nourished.

They just sat for some time. Everybody in the room had
waited for her to speak up. He did not want to hear
about her whole life now. He just wanted to know only
about that part of her life that concerned him, that
explained how he had ended up with Rosa and Pablo.
Well, you were born when I was thirty-five. She
cleared her throat. Your father was my second
husband, and he left the minute I got pregnant. Back
then, I was alone, my parents were both dead and I was
staying with a relative. I knew from the start that you
were going to be special. I could feel it in my womb that
you were going to be someone different, that you were
going to change my life. I was unprepared for the shock
of being told my baby had Down Syndrome.
As if they were the only two people in the room, he felt
her words were only his. She talked to him as if her
family was not there. She wiped tears from her eyes.
Thomas could only picture her regretting having had him
in the first place. Then, feeling ashamed of his being
hers.
I knew so little about it and I was overpowered
by fear It frightened me to death not knowing howto
take care of you overwhelmed by feelings of loss
guilt, fear think of all the problems ahead how I
would take care of you her voice trembled, as if she
had anticipated for a moment that these words were not
going to repair what she and Thomas had lost.
Some pieces of her speech were the only words
Thomas could capture. Thoughts inside his mind spun
rapidly, round and round.

When was I born? Thomas asked abruptly.

November, 15th. When I left you in the convent I
asked one of the nuns to keep your name and your birth
date. Did that happen?
Yes, he said in a clear voice.
Thomas felt this was not his place at all. Janes sons
met Thomas eyes for a moment, and he felt the
curiosity in those eyes, which caused him a deep feeling
of unease. His eyes became fixed on John, sitting in a
corner of the room. He smiled at him, and he received
his expression of support. Jane spoke again.
In fact, I asked her if I could know what would
happen with you I could send you photos, write to
you, and send you some presents so that you would
eventually know more about yourself where you come
from. She said I should reconsider my decision to
leave you there. She took a moment to calm down, and
then continued I hesitated for a moment and I handed a
snapshot with my name on the back to her.
When and why did you leave me there? Thomas
finally asked what he had fought inside him so hard, all
the rambling thoughts, expectations, fears, and his true
self depended on this question.
You were five. Back then, her hands moving
backwards, trembling I was diagnosed with cancer,
she paused. My doctor told me I had no more than a
year of life. She clutched her hands, stood up, and
walked across the room to the window. Looking outside
she continued, I wouldnt leave you with my relatives or
at an orphanage, so I looked for someone willing to take
care of you. I thought of the only place Ive always felt
welcomed and at peace, a church. She turned back,

and went back to Thomas again, and finally said, So I

left you there with the nuns, with the strong belief that
God had sent me there, and guided me to leave you
with them. She held his hand tightly and said, Sorry.
It was then when Thomas understood her. He felt her
pain and repentance also his. A feeling of unbelievable
tranquility, almost of communion with someone, flowed
through him.
Little by little, Thomas loosened up, and the rest of the
day was filled with anecdotes of his early childhood.
How strange I cant get over how things have
worked out for us. Now every memory begins to take
shape in my mind. The lullaby song; I remember
humming You are my sunshine along with the music,
with the feeling that Id heard it before. I even
remembered the beautiful voice of a woman singing.
Gosh, and the smell of a spring flower, a sweet-scented
lavender bluebell
I loved that song. I remember it was the only one
which would make you sleep, she confessed, and
laughed for the first time in the afternoon.
At the end of the day, she asked him if she could write to
him and see him again. Tomas could not say no. As she
was walking them to the car, she said.
There is something you should know. I was the
one who wrote the message you mentioned to me about
a minute ago, the one you keep on your bedside table. I
just want you to know, I never, not once, felt ashamed
of you, and I never will.

On their way back to Denver, in the car, he took a form

out of his bag. It was an application form for college. He
fetched a pen and started filling in the blank spaces.
You finally made up your mind. What has helped
you? John asked, intrigued.
Everything. Now I feel I can find a place at
college, where I can feel comfortable, safe, and proud of
who I am. After all, only few of us can go to college. I
want to be one of them.

LIKE A ROLLER COASTER

Gabriela Yasmin Bittar
Gabriela Bittar lives in San Martn, a big city in the east
of Mendoza. She has always liked languages and still
remembers the day she animatedly told her mother she
wanted to become an English teacher. So strong was
her desire to do so, that nowadays she is a third year
student of the English Teaching Training Course. When
the time came to write her first short story, she was very
enthusiastic about the idea, but was not sure about her
creative power. However, in "Like a Roller Coaster", we
see those insecurities fade away as Gabriela presents
us with a touching story about loving and being loved.
It was a sunny afternoon in November, and Stasia was
at home, getting ready to go out. She took a bath, as
she did every time she went out, and she carefully
chose the right clothes for that occasion. She looked at
her night table alarm clock to make sure she was not
delayed and waited anxiously, facing the mirror and
thinking of the best way to greet him.
They hadnt seen each other for about four weeks
because things had started to go wrong; in fact, their
relationship had never worked out. They had been
dating for about six months; they liked and loved each
other. But they were so different; they fought so many
times that she told him she wanted to break up with him.
Once again, the time for the date came and she was so
eager to see him. They had talked by mobile phone
several times and they had told each other so many

things, trying to figure out why their relationship hadnt

worked out. They both felt sad and lonely, and she cried
- so in need of his love, so in love with him, so blindly in
love. He talked to her in a sweet voice and in such a
gentle manner that she finally agreed to meet him again.
They arranged to get together in the park at 5 oclock
and, as usual, she got there first. She sat on the park
bench for a few minutes, then she stood up, then she
sat again; she kept on looking at her watch. She looked
for her mobile phone in her bag but she hadnt received
any messages. She went to buy a bottle of water in a
shop across the street and came back to the bench.
Many people passed by, people walking their dogs,
people exercising, couples playing with their children,
but she was alone, waiting for him. She looked at her
watch many times, longing for time to pass. But it did
not; she felt disappointment every time she looked at it.
Twenty minutes passed and nothing happened; she was
there, alone, staring at the ground, wondering what
might have happened to him. After several seconds,
what she felt was no longer worry but a strong feeling of
irritation.
I hope this hasnt been a joke, she told herself.
Twenty, thirty, forty minutes had passed since she had
arrived. She took her phone, made a call but nobody
answered. She left a voice message saying, Im
leaving. I thought you were coming this time, and she
hung up. She spoke very quietly but her words sounded
as deep as the blue sea. She was almost leaving when
she suddenly raised her head and stopped.

More and more people started to arrive at the park.

Many of them took pictures, some others passed on
their way to work. And Cliff was there too.
Sorry, he said with an apologetic smile.
Stasia remembered how much she loved the calm smile
on his face and his penetrating look, which made her
feel uneasy at times. But she knew that when he looked
at her in that way, she could trust him. She had always
thought that the eyes were the gateway to a person's
soul. A few seconds passed and they both hugged each
other and he kissed her with the sweetest lips she had
ever kissed before. They sat down on the park bench
and started talking, quietly and sincerely. She burst into
tears, overwhelmed by all the suffering she had gone
through for him, but she never stopped looking at him
straight into his eyes. They talked for about ten minutes
and then there was complete silence. They just looked
at each other, expressionless. Suddenly, she hugged
him and told him, I love you and I really want things to
work out with you.
Listen, he said, I cant talk here with all the
people passing by. Why dont we go to my apartment?
Stasia accepted immediately. She stood up and held his
hand strongly. In the apartment they drank some orange
juice and after they talked, hugged and kissed for a
while they decided they would try again, for the third
time, to really commit themselves to their relationship
and see if it worked out.

I will never leave you. I love so much. I promise to

be with you and take care of this relationship. You know
what I feel. You are the girl I want to be with, he said.
She, for the first time in their relationship, believed his
words.
After having spent the whole afternoon together, while
he was taking a shower, she sat in bed and started
thinking. She thought she had to tell him. Why not? He
had been so lovely, so kind and sweet with her lately.
Whats more, he had always kept in touch with her, he
had always insisted on meeting again and trying again
and she loved him. She had always told him
everything, so why should she keep this to herself? She
needed to tell him... even more now that they had been
together in bed after all the things that had happened
between them, and after all those days yes, she loved
him, and she needed him by her side, helping her,
supporting her.
Sweetheart, she told him when he came back to
bed. I need to tell you something that for some reason I
didnt tell you before.
She was anxious to see how he would respond. But she
knew he would understand and support her. He had
previously told her he loved her.
Look, I know weve been through difficult
situations, disagreements, fights, disillusions but we are
here, again, giving ourselves another chance. What has
happened to me this afternoon was wonderful because I
know I love you. I want to change all the things you dont
like, and hope you will change yours, too. Baby, we have

to learn to cope with this situation. But now I want to go

a step further and open myself to tell you something that
is really important to me. I want to share this with you
because you are everything for me I love you Cliff.
She had fought so hard not to cry but before she
finished talking she burst into tears.
I have leukemia, she sobbed.
Absolute silence hung over the bedroom. She waited to
see his reaction. She was expecting him to hug her, to
tell her he would be there to support her. She was
expecting him to ask for an explanation, to go mad or
or something! But no, he only stared, two meters away
from
her,
near
the
bathroom
motionless,
expressionless, saying nothing at all.
Why should I be surprised? she thought to herself.
Why? He never says a word, he never expresses what
he thinks or feels!... No way! This is happening to me
again. Please God, make him speak!
OK, he said.
OK? What does that mean? she thought.
I mean, everything will be alright, he said with a
blank look on his face.
He bore a strange expression on his face, but she
thought that maybe he needed some time to assimilate
what she had told him.
Should I wait? Do other people act like this in a similar
situation? she asked herself but she didnt say a word.

He didnt look at her in the eyes but he said, Sorry

baby, can we talk about this later on? I have to go to the
gym now.
What?! she thought. Is that what I heard? To the gym?!
No no no no, it cant be possible.
To the gym? she asked, with an ironic tone of
voice. OK, go to gym if thats what you need.
She stood up, gave him an insignificant kiss and then
left.
See
you
tomorrow?
she
disappointment, but he only nodded.

asked

in

She walked home thinking about what had happened.

She couldnt help wondering what was on Cliffs mind.
She tried so hard to understand his behavior but
sometimes, getting to know a person takes longer than
what one usually expects.
Several wonderful spring days passed and Stasia
remained at home, waiting for her mobile phone to ring.
She hadnt been paying attention to her surroundings,
her family, friends, nothing Cliff, just Cliff he was the
only person she wanted to see and talk to. It seemed life
was passing her by when she found herself lying on
bed, constantly checking her mobile phone and
wondering when he would call or text her. Wherever she
went she took her mobile phone with her. It was like an
addiction, she couldnt help it. Hours and hours passed
and she didnt stop thinking of him not even one single
minute desiring to talk to him, dreaming of that longing
phone call. And the phone finally rang, yes, it was a text

message. But no, no no no it was not Cliff; it was her

best friend asking how she was. Stasia wanted to tell
her friend she had been with Cliff again, that they had
talked and had decided to be together again. She
wanted to scream out loud what she was feeling, how
happy she was. She wanted to tell her how kind and
sweet Cliff had been with her, how close they had
become, how
What? she thought. He hasnt even texted me once. We
are not close and and Im Im not happy.
At that precise moment she could feel something
strange. It felt like a knot in the pit of her stomach. She
didnt figure out what it was and when she tried to
swallow, she couldnt. There was a bitter taste in her
throat. Something she couldnt describe, something
something wrong, something bad. Stasia knew that his
behavior was not right. She decided not to tell anybody
about this. By the following week, she had texted him
twice, she had also phoned him up, as she always did to
wake him up, to cheer him up, and to show him all her
love, but he had never ever answered back. Never. He
had completely disappeared. She could have thought
many things about him. He may have been immature;
he may have paid too much attention to his friends
leaving her aside. He may have been lazy. But there
was no way she could understand his behavior that
time. She would never have thought he would
disappear. She had trusted him, she had believed his
words.
Two days later, she passed by the park where she had
met him the last time. Lots of memories came to her
mind and she was pushed, by a feeling of nostalgia, to

go away from that place. All the wonderful moments

they had lived together, all the sweet words he had told
her, all the kisses and hugs, and and also all the sad
days she had spent crying, wondering where he was,
what he felt, who he was with, when he would pay more
attention to her and become the Prince Charming she
had always dreamed of. At that precise moment, the
light blue sky and the bright hazelnuts against green
leaves just attracted her. She lay on the green grass,
thinking and taking a look into her life, her past, her
present, and the way she wanted her future to turn out.
Her arms were wide open and she had closed her big
blue eyes. She felt alone, although there were many
people around her. She started daydreaming; she was
flying in her own world. She saw herself in an
amusement park with nobody in it, no big rides to go on.
There was just one thing in front of her, the roller
coaster. She felt like going on it.
But theres no one here to help me, to be with mewhat
if I fall? What if I ?
There was complete silence.
And what if I fall? Nothing, nothing will happen. I mean, I
can go on with my life, I can even go on other rides;
there are actually other rides
Suddenly, she opened her eyes and for some reason
she felt renewed. She had never thought of her illness
as many people do. For her, it was just an illness that
she would have to cope with. It was not a big deal. She
had always known she was a strong girl. So, why would
it be hard for other people, like Cliff?

Maybe he was confused. Maybe he only wanted to get

revenge for the time when I broke up with him, she
thought. Maybe he just wanted sex. Maybe he thought
of his self-preservation instinct and didnt want to be with
an ill girl or maybe he if he was able to leave me, he
didnt love me that much. Yes, that could be one reason,
and I know Ive been a difficult girl and that sometimes
Ive been a pain for him. But I dont care anymore. Im
not sad, I dont feel like crying, and I dont deserve to be
with a guy who doesnt care about me. I took the risk to
enter this roller coaster facing the ups and downs of it,
yes, I entered the rides, but once the ride is over well,
its over. I dont want this roller coaster anymore, no. I
want something else I want to go on other rides. I
might have been wrong or not, but as everybody says, a
stumble is not a fall, and Im not falling, not when Im still
alive.

HER ROCKING CHAIR

Roco Bonad
Roco Bonad knew from an early age that someday
she would like to be an EFL Teacher. After receiving
primary and secondary education, she entered college,
where she had her first direct contact with English
Literature, which she has come to love. Rocio enjoys
reading classic short stories as well as children's poetry.
Although she does not have a favourite author, she
prefers to read works set in the early XX century. Her
preference for this kind of literature is clearly reflected in
her charming short story "Her Rocking Chair."

It was a warm afternoon and Ursula Kendrick was sitting

in her bedroom, relaxedly rocking in her rocking chair.
Her head was tilted to one side, her brown silky hair
arranged into two thick braids that started in her
temporal hairline and ended in her nape. A single curl
had dropped out of the braids and fell on her forehead.
With one hand she held a strand of hair from her nape
around one of her fingers, curling it the way she did
when she caught sight of a handsome young man. With
the other hand she mindlessly turned over the pages of
The Delineator especially brought from the United
States by her mother her emerald green eyes taking a
glance at the designs, thinking about what to wear to the
Concert Hall, coming next Saturday.
Even though she was very relaxed, her torso was
tucked into a tight corset, making her breathe
spasmodically. She also wore a green petticoat,
matching her Sunday dress, made exclusively for her by

the familys seamstress, and she herself had chosen the

fabric. The deep green of the shirtwaist matched her
eyes, and the high collar made her neck look longer.
The skirt was decorated with very thin silver grey
stripes. She looked like a porcelain figurine glowing in
the faint sunlight coming from the window. Now and then
the voices of her parents downstairs came to her as the
faint echo of the sea you can hear in a seashell.
The next moment she heard hurried footsteps coming
up the marble stairs, and a nervous knock at the door
woke her from her daydream. In came Bruna, her
nanny, her eyes frantic, her cheeks rosy, flushed by the
hurry. Ursula leaped up at Brunas abrupt entrance.
M-Ms Kendrick, Bruna stammered, your father
is coming right now to tell you something. By the look
on his face I wouldnt say its good news. Before Ursula
could utter a word, she heard a knock at the door.
Come in, she said, and her father entered the
room, followed by her mother. He bore a sorrowful look;
her eyes were watery and red. Ursula immediately
asked what had happened.
Uncle John and Aunt Betsy died last week, said
Mr Kendrick in a somber voice; and that leaves your
cousin Anastasia as an orphan, he continued,
thoughtfully rubbing her beard with his hand.
I have decided that you should go to their house
in the country and raise her. You will surely make a good
governess, given the education you have received.
Ursula bowed her head.

We have fixed everything for you to go to

Thornborough as soon as possible, say, next Friday.
Bruna, please, start packing Ursulas belongings right
away.
This was big for Ursula. She had spent her childhood
cycling in the park, playing with her neighbors, eating
candy, having belly-laughs with her friends. She had
lived more than comfortably since Bruna had almost
been her shadow, a shoulder to cry on, a confidante,
and the one who pampered her. Now, all of a sudden,
she had to turn into a grown-up woman, leave the
splendid life she was living, and go and raise a child she
didnt quite remember ever meeting. Ursula only knew
that her cousin, Anastasia, was an only child who lived
in the countryside with her parents, in a decent cottage.
It was comprehensible that she should go and
accompany her cousin in such a difficult situation, but
raise her? Take care of her? That was impossible. She
was not one to take care of anyone, but the one who
was always taken care of.
Anyway, her father had been blunt about her going to
the countryside. Not that she had more options; she had
been, in fact, pushed to take over the care of Anastasia.
Once she had dreamt of moving to London and having
her own clothes shop, where she would sell her designs;
now she reluctantly started selecting her best clothes for
the trip and for her stay there, the flame of hope and
happiness consuming themselves till there were only
ashes. No Concert Hall for me, then, she thought.
Ursula was hectic during that whole week, getting ready
for her new life in the countryside.

Mmm Ill take this in case it is extremely cold, and

this in case its mild. These five hats to cover my face
from the sun... Oh! Im forgetting my dance shoes! she
had said, running around the house, trying not to forget
a thing. She had been disappointed, though, when her
father had frowned at the size of her luggage.
What about your books, Ursula? he had asked,
and so she had sighed and started selecting some
books -as well as old editions of The Delineator- for her
future job as her cousins governess.
Ursula had mixed feelings about the trip. She had
accepted that there was no way out, that she couldnt
stand against her fathers decision. And that really upset
her. But at the same time she was expectant, looking
forward to meeting her little cousin, excited to give her
the presents she had so specially selected for her.
When the day came to leave her house, she dressed
up, wearing her best dress and a beautiful hat matching
her shoes. She needed to be prim and proper for the
occasion. When everything was ready, the Waverley
packed with boxes of books and her trunk on top of it,
she smiled at herself. Maybe in Thornborough therell
be a Concert Hall too, she thought.
The trip lasted three long, tiring days, which Ursula
spent reading and staring out of the window. Now that
they were approaching the village, she could get a
clearer idea of what kind of life she was to live in the
next years. Wrong attire for the occasion, Ursula, she
thought to herself, as she looked at the landscape. On
each side of the road she could see tall, thick pasture
covering the land, and small woods of ten trees or so

scattered here and there. As summer was approaching,

everything looked green and lively.
Anyway, she sighed hopelessly when she could only see
one or two cottages in the distance. There were no
people in sight, which scared her and made her
stomach go up and down. When the driver told her her
cousins cottage was only a mile away, she powdered
her face and neck, and repeatedly straightened her
dress with her hands. She looked for the things she had
especially brought for Anastasia: a beautiful blonde doll,
a bar of Mary Jane candy her favorites and a
domino game. She imagined both of them having a
picnic under a tree, laughing heartedly, pretending the
doll was their guest, playing domino and enjoying life.
But that was far from reality, which she came to know
when she arrived at Anastasias house.
When the car came to a halt in front of the cottage,
Ursula felt a heavy brick in her chest, sinking deeper
and deeper into her soul. She stepped off the car in
order to get a better view of the house. It was a small
modest house, but its surroundings were creepy. The
walls of the house were blackened by dampness, and
there were only two large windows in the front, one at
each side of the main door, whose white carpentry
looked like the houses eyes. The grass around the
house was almost as high as Ursulas knees, which
made the house look abandoned. It seemed as if spring
had forgotten this house. There was a huge tree on the
left side that seemed to cover the house, as if it were
hugging it. A rope was tied to a tire hanging from the
tree, gently swaying in the light breeze. She had
imagined that Anastasia would be on the swing, waiting
for her arrival; but she was wrong. The front door was

wide open and there was a wide woman standing there

who seemed to be the maid, forcing a smile at Ursula.
Then she realized she was frowning, and caught sight of
her cousin.
Anastasia was no older than seven, Ursula thought. She
seemed very little compared to the woman next to her.
Her fine blond hair, blown by the wind, hid part of her
face. Anyway, she could see her eyes were cast down.
She was wearing a long white dress, which also
fluttered in the wind and made her look like an angel.
With one of her tiny hands she was holding the womans
hand; with the other she cradled a teddy bear in the
crook of her arm, and she sucked her thumb. The sight
of that little angel broke Ursulas heart, and she had to
hold back the tears in the back of her eyes. She sighed
and marched towards them, hoping to be welcomed.
Hello Ms Kendrick. Im Gertrude, Anastasias
aunt, the woman said in a serious tone. How was your
trip? she continued without much enthusiasm.
Ursula felt the brick in her chest was going to leave a
whole there, since it hardened and seemed to sink
deeper than before. So this woman dressed like a maid
was not a maid, but an aunt.
It was long, but nice indeed, thank you, Ursula
managed to say. I suppose you are Anastasia, she
said, turning towards the girl, bending to look closer at
her face. She looked at the child with intent eyes. The
girl nodded and let go of the womans hand, running
towards the swing.

Come in. Ill ask the driver to get your belongings

inside. You must be really tired, the woman said, while
she invitingly extended one of her hands towards the
inside of the house. When Ursula crossed the threshold,
she first caught sight of a trunk and a suitcase packed
with things which were in the hall.
Next thing she knew, the driver had unloaded her trunk
and boxes, and Gertrude was putting on her ragged hat,
gathering her suitcase and a few books. She stood
frozen, unable to move or utter a word, watching this
woman leave her and Anastasia, arguing she had to go
home to take care of her own children. She thought she
heard the woman say something about the things in the
house, and about Anastasias bedroom, but she couldnt
hear. Her words just echoed in her head.
When the woman closed the door, Ursula stood in the
hall facing the door, staring at it incredulously. She felt
the brick disappear from her chest, but instead a twister
was beginning inside her, stirring everything. Then, she
looked outside, and from the window she could see
Anastasia swinging in the home-made swing, still
holding the teddy bear clinging to it.
Ursula instinctively reached for the door, and went
outside to see if Anastasia needed anything. Their first
encounter hadnt been as she had expected, and now
she was looking forward to making a good start with the
girl. She couldnt wait to give her the presents she had
so specially brought for her. When she reached the front
yard, the wind brought the scent of linden flowers, and
she felt renewed. She trotted towards Anastasia, seeing
the idyllic life they would both have from that moment
on. To her surprise, Anastasia didnt utter a word, not

even when she gave her the doll, the candy and the
domino set. Not letting herself be that easily
discouraged, she left the gifts on the floor, next to
Anastasia, and sweetly told her she was going to be
inside the house in case she needed anything. But
Anastasia remained speechless for two weeks which
seemed endless to Ursula.
During that day, she wandered around the house,
getting acquainted with its rooms. The dining room had
only a small table with three chairs, and it was the first
room you got to as soon as you stepped into the house.
The kitchen was on the left corner, and was connected
to the dining room by a swinging door. On the right-hand
corner there was a single chesterfield facing a small
fireplace, which Ursula took as the living room. On the
mantelpiece there were two china figurines, one of
which seemed very old since it was chipped all over. On
one of the walls there were two shelves with books.
There was a door frame in a corner of the living room
with no door which led to the hallway into which four
doors converged.
In her attempt to discover what was in every single
room, Ursula opened each door and peeked in. The first
was her aunt and uncles room, since there was a big
wooden bed and two night tables at each side. There
was also a chiffonier facing the bed and a mirror
hanging on the wall next to it. She got goosebumps at
the thought of how timeless this room looked. The
second was the bathroom, and the third one was the
sewing room. To her relief, there was a bed there, a
small wardrobe, and a chair. For a moment she felt she
had found her place in the house, and sighed. Then she

imagined her aunt spending whole afternoons there,

carefully making Anastasias clothes, and shivered.
When she reached the fourth door, she was interrupted
by Anastasia, who was standing right behind her. Her
heart thumped, since she hadnt heard her come in.
Ursula let go of the door knob, and stepped to the side,
smiling at Anastasia, not wanting her to notice her
curiosity. The girl darted a look at her and started for her
room, closing the door behind her. Of course this didnt
make Ursula stay away from the room; on the contrary,
it was a magnet that attracted her even more towards it.
During the first week of her stay, Ursula found herself
lost in the complicated world of the household. But her
problem wasnt exactly the house. She still couldnt see
what was in Anastasias room. Even though she was
very busy trying to clean the house and make breakfast,
lunch and dinner every day, she kept wondering about
that room.
Ursula tried to speak to Anastasia, asked her repeatedly
whether she was alright, whether she needed anything,
whether she was hungry or cold, but there was no
response. Whenever Ana went outside, Ursula went
right after her with a book or a magazine. She sat under
the tree and read aloud, while Anastasia mindlessly
swung in the tire, her gaze lost. Anyway, the child didnt
utter a word. She seemed to hide in a recess of her soul
which was impenetrable.
Things were getting very complicated for Ursula. And
what was worse, she hadnt imagined this. She had
never thought she would come to a house where there
would be practically no space for her clothes,

magazines and books; least that she would have no one

to talk to. There were no neighbors the only ones were
a few miles away and this girl didnt articulate a word.
She looked at her, and ate what she cooked. But Ursula
was not contented. Desperation struck her in the form of
furious waves, reaching her soul, but from time to time
the tide calmed down. These were the moments in
which she read aloud to Ana, and she felt that the louder
she spoke, the calmer she became.
During the second week, things started to change.
Ursula had become used to using the stove for cooking,
and was very glad about it though she only knew two
or three recipes. Opening all the windows of the house
and the front door was one of the things that made her
feel better. Wind came into the house and reached
every corner, which made Ursula feel renewed. She also
swept the floors and removed the dust from the shelves.
She reluctantly cleaned the bathroom and the kitchen,
the places she most disliked cleaning. Anyway, she
started looking at the house with different eyes. Little by
little she felt she was the mistress of the house, and so
decided she would give it her personal touch.
Every corner of the house she saw she imagined what
could be done to make it fresher, newer. She started
with her room, her very own space, and moved all the
furniture around to have more space. She hung a
beautiful portrait of herself and her parents, which cost
her a bruised finger, but made her feel at home. The
chair that had been uselessly placed in a corner of the
room became her night table, which she dressed with a
little table cloth her mother had especially embroidered
for her. On top of it she placed a porcelain vase with
fresh wild flowers she had picked near the house.

After embellishing her room, she continued with the

living room. She moved the sofa around so that it would
face the window, and she could sit there and have tea in
the afternoons. She ordered the books alphabetically
and took the figurines off the mantelpiece. She hung
three paintings she loved on one of the walls. She even
thought of changing the grayish white of the walls into a
vibrant blue or green.
She didnt feel the desperation waves hit her anymore,
but a calm ocean instead. She saw a world of
possibilities open to her, waiting for her to dive into it.
The previous week everything had seemed so blurry, so
uncertain, that she had thought she wouldnt resist much
longer. But now she was starting to realize that this was
her home, her place in the world, and what was better,
that she was its ruler.
Ursula felt a little more hopeful since Ana started to be a
little bit friendlier towards her. Whenever she offered
something to her she nodded in acceptance, and Ursula
could see her lips curving into a smile or maybe she
imagined it. Now the two of them went hand in hand
under the protective shade of the tree, and Anastasia
sat next to her, listening attentively while she read. This
time Ursula lowered her voice, almost whispered, so
that the child would bend closer and pay more attention
to her.
Things seemed to be running smoothly, but there was
one thing that Ursula couldnt figure out yet. Though
Anastasia was gradually getting closer to her, she still
didnt allow her to go into her room. Ursula knew very
well that curiosity killed the cat, but there was such a

mystery around this room that she couldnt stop thinking

of ways to take at least a peek.
The opportunity came one Saturday afternoon, when
Ana was playing outside. She could not believe her
eyes. The room was suspended in time, as if nobody
had been sleeping or living in it. There was a little bed,
in which she assumed Anastasia fit comfortably, and the
sheets were carefully smoothed. There was also a small
wooden wardrobe with its doors open the only sign
that someone had been there showing two dresses in
their hangers. She was dejected when she caught sight
of the blonde doll, the box of candy and the domino set
still in their packaging, lying at the bottom of the
wardrobe. There was a beautiful painting on one of the
walls, which showed two teddy bears hugging each
other.
There was a rocking chair in one corner, facing the only
window the room had. For a moment Ursula felt this was
hers, the one she had in her own bedroom. There was a
carefully stacked bunch of clothes on it, which she
placed on the bed so as to sit on that chair. A nostalgic
mood undertook her, her eyes looking through the
window, remembering the moment in which her father
broke the news to her. She got lost in thoughts of her
previous life, of how she longed for it, the endless ball
nights, the rides along the park, the afternoons sitting
and reading, thinking of everything and anything.
It was then that a thud woke her from her daydreaming.
She jumped off the chair, her left hand wide open on her
chest, as if holding her heart. Anastasia was at the door,
a stern look in her eyes, her cheeks flushed, her hair
messed up, and her dress crumpled.

Oh! Ana, you scared me! Is anything the matter?

Im sorry I was just think, Ursula said, but was
interrupted by Anastasias voice. For the first time in
what were now three weeks, she opened her mouth and
spoke to her, directly.
That was my mothers Anastasia said in a low
voice. Ursula looked down and then up, her eyes
looking at the bundle of clothes on the bed and then at
Anastasia, her heart pounding. She felt so guilty now.
Im sorry Ana, she managed to say, feeling she
ran out of breath, I just wanted to sit for a while So I
took the clothes off the chair thinking that
Get out of here! Anastasia said, this time her
voice louder, her eyes sterner. Now it was Ursula who
had run out of words. She stammered, trying to answer
to this little girl who had spoken to her for the first time
only to scold her.
Ana had stepped to one side, her arm stretched out, and
her finger pointing towards the hallway. Her head was
down, tears streaming down her rosy cheeks. Ursula
bowed her head and went out of the room, fighting to lift
her feet, which seemed like two concrete blocks. Ana
slammed the door behind her, and Ursula stood in the
hallway, not being able to move. She covered her face
with both hands, hiding her tears, trying to cool her
cheeks that were boiling hot. She was really ashamed
she had come to this house and rocked Anas world, not
thinking of her feelings. She had taken the house as
hers, and even decided to remodel it, leaving behind all
the memories, feelings and emotions each inch of it
contained.

That night, when they were both having dinner,

Anastasia spoke to her again. This time her face bore a
pleasant look, but still Ursula could see the sadness in
her eyes.
Im sorry, she said, and after hesitating for a
minute she squeezed herself down from her chair,
walked around the table, and extended her hands
towards Ursula. Her eyes flooded with tears at the sight
of this little angel, asking for protection. She took Ana
into her arms and sat her on her lap, hugging her. She
could feel her little arms tight around her neck, her head
on her shoulder, her body tense and then relaxed, tense
and then relaxed, sobbing quietly. There they sat for
what seemed ages, holding each other, their souls
exchanging glances, shielding one another against pain
and loneliness.
Later that night, when Ursula went to Anas bedroom to
check is she was asleep, she quietly opened the door
and peeked in. There were some crumpled candy
papers on the floor, and next to them the domino set
was halfway open. Anastasia was in bed, soundly
asleep, curled to one side, cuddling her bear, and her
new blonde doll.

MY GUARDIAN ANGEL
Lucia Campo
Lucia Campo was born and raised in Mendoza,
Argentina. Her father is an accountant; her mother is
history teacher and she has four siblings. She attended
Reyes Catlicos Primary School in Godoy Cruz and
Ernesto Prez Cuesta Secondary School. After
receiving primary and secondary education, she entered
Universidad Nacional de Cuyo to study at English
Teacher Training College She is a current third year
student who found herself sharing the marvellous
experience of writing a short story. My Guardian Angel
in which she wants readers to share her insight into
what life really is, and the difficulties each person
eventually faces.
Why do you think we are here all Doc? my
amusing little friend asked me once.
You mean on earth? Well I believe that we are
here to reach out to one another and take care of each
other. Once, when I was your age, I was trying to grab
the cookie jar from the kitchen counter. In a blink of an
eye, the jar slipped out of my hands and broke in little
pieces. My grandma saw this and told me something
that would always etch on my memory Reach out your
hand, if your cup is empty. And you know what Rose?
She was right. Against all odds, we reach out to one
another. What do you think Rose?
I remembered I had promised her then that I would take
care of her and would not let anything happen to her.
But now I didnt know if I would be able to keep my

promise. I was trying really hard to save little Roses life.

Her heart had just stopped beating. Cholera was the
most fatal murderer after the earthquake. My little
patient was dying from it. All the fluids this five-year old
had lost led her into shock. After doing CPR for almost
ten minutes now, I was losing my faith when a miracle
occurred... I saved my first patient. Just then, I
remembered how all this started...
I arrived in the country one week after the calamity. The
earthquake of January 2010 left Haiti in ruins. I worked
with a team of doctors at one of the two hospitals in
Port-au-Prince. In the middle of this terrible catastrophe,
going for a walk every time we needed a break was not
the most pleasurable thing to do. Sometimes I didnt
know what was worse, whether staying in the
overwhelming and tense atmosphere of the hospital or
going out to see the thousands of homeless people that
crowded the narrow streets. Walking through them you
could see injured people, destroyed buildings,
dilapidated houses and episodes of urban violence. I
remembered an old man in the street asked me once
Where am I? I dont know where my home is. Please
help me. At first I thought he was in shock but then as I
scanned him carefully I realized his head was injured. I
brought him to the hospital with me to treat him. But we
didnt have proper medical equipment. It all made me
feel so useless. I couldnt provide him with the surgical
care he so badly needed. The only thing I could do was
to offer first aid care; which was obviously, not enough.
I had an experience with a woman with four little
children who were trying to rescue their personal effects
from their house. It was heartbreaking to see the
mothers desperation. She was trying to hold her back

from bursting into tears. This is when I felt most

powerless, I couldnt remember the reasons why I had
decided to enlist as a doctor in Doctors without
Borders. When I heard this organization needed
volunteers I didnt even hesitate to join up. For a while I
had really started to regret having done this. However,
this changed when I met a very wise little girl who
reminded me of the true essence of being a doctor. She
simply said with her tender and innocent voice theres
always light in the middle of the darkness. Even though
she had lost her entire family in the earthquake she was
still fighting for her life with unshakable faith. She had
given me the most precious gift I could have never
imagined: strength and resilience. After such an
important life lesson the least I could do was to make
sure that she wouldnt feel alone. Thats why, I would
visit her everyday to read to her and keep her company.
Until the night of the disaster
I was doing my regular night shift when all of the sudden
the earth started to shake violently. I could see the other
hospital from across the street falling down and I
understood what was going on. Our hospital was also
falling apart. We were evacuating the area as well.
Come on Peter we have to go, the hospital is
about to collapse! I heard one of the nurses scream at
me. We need to get out now!
I cant leave Rose here! I have to take her out! I
answered.
Hurry, you wont be able to make it, shes in ICU,
thats on the lowest floor! Peter listen to me, this is the
biggest replica of all, and this place will go down.

I had a promise to keep. The inspiring words of this little

person now sleeping made me realize the real meaning
of my mission. I couldnt leave her there alone. I had to
take care of her, she was my patient, but above all she
was my friend. The hospital lights went out. Before fear
took complete hold of me, I managed to take her hand,
close my eyes and pray. After a while I heard her sweet
voice: Oh there you are my guardian angel. Suddenly I
noticed a wide crack on the roof and heard a deafening
noise. The surrealist movement of the earth and the
violence of the noise of my beloved hospital collapsing
froze the blood of my veins. My instinctive reaction was
to pounce on her in order to protect her. Outside, Haiti
was total chaos. In the dilapidated Port-au-Prince
General Hospital these two friends kept taking care of
each other for good.
We have one another. We have the love that lets us
reach out when our cups are empty-- and share when
they are full. We reach out to one another with love, with
understanding and with hope. Your pain becomes my
pain. Your joy becomes my joy. Your hope is my hope.
Some of us are far along in our grieving; others still
experience grief so fresh and intensely painful that we
feel helpless and see no hope. But above all, we are not
alone; we all are each others guardian angels.

MATTERS OF THE HEART

Ileana Cano
Ileana Cano was born and raised in Mendoza. Following
her longstanding passion for the English language, she
is now studying English to become an EFL teacher, at
UNCuyo. She has described her experience of writing a
short story as a unique and invaluable experience
which I would like to repeat. In her short story, Matters
of the Heart, she invites the reader to reflect on moving
themes such as family bonds, cultural differences and
forgiveness.
I still remember the look on my husbands face when
Nailah gave us the news. His eyes were fixed on her;
his lips curled up in a thin line; his right hand became a
hard fist ready to hit something. He hit the floor so hard
that his fist touched the bowl of shwarma, which flew in
the air and scattered all over the cushions. Neither
Nailah nor I raised our eyes to meet his. My husband
stood up quickly and said, Never. I would not be
mistaken if I said that those were the only words that
Fakhir, my husband, said to Nailah for a very long time.
Nailah had fallen in love with an American, an outsider,
who knew nothing about our traditions and who did not
know that Nailahs marriage had been already
arranged. Fakhir had chosen a humble but honorable
craftsman to wed Nailah. But she had refused
obstinately. The tension that was born between them
that day awoke an unknown feeling of restlessness in
me. I remained waiting for something else to happen
because I knew that things had changed forever and

both, my husband and child, had changed forever as

well.
Every day when the first rays of light passed through the
curtain in her space in the house, Nailah woke up with a
smile in her face, ready to make coffee without sugar
but spiced with cardamom. Sometimes she also
prepared some tea. I would meet her in the kitchen to
start making our traditional khobz, which Fakhir and the
rest could not wait to taste.
One morning Fakhir said to me, What are you
doing?
What do you mean what am I doing? Im
preparing our morning coffee, I said.
I know, I can see that, he answered. But where
is Nailah? She always gets up earlier than anyone in
this house to make our coffee.
Well, she hasnt got up yet, I answered. I knew
my words sounded empty and perhaps meaningless to
Fakhir, but he did not say anything more; instead he
turned around and grabbed a piece of fresh khobz and
started eating. When I turned around to ask him if he
was leaving for work, I saw that he was staring towards
the space where Nailah was sleeping.
He immediately noticed my looking at him and
said, Im leaving now. I realized that Fakhir wanted to
say so many things, but did not. He was worried about
Nailah, but he was also stubborn and proud, and he
was not going to yield.
A few minutes later Nailah appeared wearing her
golden dress and carrying her abaya and niqab, which
indicated that she was going out somewhere.

I asked her, Did you ask for your fathers

permission?
Before she answered she rolled up her eyes and
said in a disgruntled manner, Yes mother, I did.
What did he say? I asked.
Nothing. He just nodded. We both knew that
lately that was Fakhirs way of addressing Nailah and
tell her that she could go out.
Asim is not here so youll have to wait for a bit, I
said to her. She perfectly knew that she could not leave
the house without the presence of her mahram, her
male guardian. She just sat on the floor and poured
coffee to the others. While I was making the rest of our
breakfast, I noticed that she looked at the wall clock
every now and then. She sighed impatiently.
Are you alright? I asked her gently.
Yes, Im just in a bit of a hurry. Im going to the
bank, she said in a trembling voice I did not recognize.
She suddenly stood up, placed the coffee pot on top of
the kitchen table next to me and said almost agitated,
Im forgetting something, and headed towards her
space in the house. Before disappearing completely
from my sight and before I could ask her why she was
going to the bank, Nailah turned around and said to me,
I love you, mom, which made me smile because she
had not said that in a very long time.
I love you too, honey, I answered softly and saw
her leaving. After a moment, I heard a slam at the door
and called Nailah, Nailah, dear. Asim is here. You can
go now.
But she did not answer. I called her again, only this time
I turned around and headed towards the front door
holding a plate with freshly cooked falafel. When I
entered the room, where I assumed Asim was waiting, I

realized it was empty, and then I knew. I ran to Nailahs

space but she was not there. A chill ran through me at
the thought of Nailah leaving the house alone.
Suddenly, the front door opened and for an instant I
thought it was Nailah who had come to her senses. I
was infuriated. I turned around and I saw Asim. He
looked at me and immediately knew something was
wrong.
I said loudly, Nailah! Did you see her? She just
left!
Left? Asim asked in disbelief.
Yes! She said she was going to the bank.
Again, Asim looked confused and said, Maybe
she needed some money to pay for the tickets.
Asims words pierced my ear like a missing arrow.
Tickets? What are you talking about? I asked Asim
with watery eyes.
I dont know, Asim said to me, afraid of saying
anything else.
Asim, I said firmly, What tickets? Plane tickets?
Yes, plane tickets, he said without meeting my
eyes.
Without wasting any more time, I grabbed my
abaya and niqab and said to Asim, We have to go get
her. Now. I opened the door and Asim followed me
obediently. Fifteen minutes later we arrived at the airport
and a black sea of abayas confused my eyes. My legs
felt like dead weight and it was almost impossible for me
to move. My heart started beating faster and faster and I
felt a shooting pain in my left arm. I could see Asims
mouth moving but I could not hear him. Suddenly,
everything went black.

***
Wafiya, I heard a man saying gloomily. Wafiya,
darling, can you hear me?
I slowly opened my eyes and saw a mans wrinkled face
looking at me. It was Fakhir. At first I thought it was
someone else because I had never seen those wrinkles
in his eyes.
What happened? I asked him trying to figure out
why I was dressed in my sleeping clothes.
You fainted at the airport, remember? he said.
Immediately, everything came to my mind. But I was
afraid of saying anything.
Fakhir looked at me and said, I know all about it. Asim
told me. You know whats going to happen, right? he
said in anguish, which surprised me. My biggest fear
had been Fakhir finding out that Nailah had escaped; I
had imagined the worst reaction. But everything turned
out different from what I had expected, and that was
even more confusing. Fakhir continued, Nothing is
going to happen. This is her decision. Imagine if people
knew about this, and for the first time in many years I
saw my husbands eyes filled with tears. I did not
recognize this new man in front of me, but his eyes full
of tears made me feel safe because I knew that he was
not angry, but sad.
Nailahs space was left for the others to have more
room. I put her stuff in a box and kept it in my room
inside an ancient wooden closet. Every now and then I
used to go over her stuff and think about her; and when I
did that I felt a slight pain in my chest. I had so many

unanswered questions. People eventually heard about

Nailahs departure to America, but we did not speak
about that in the house. We waited and waited for some
news from Nailah, but they did not arrive. In the
meantime, Fakhir became very ill. He had some troubles
to breathe at night but he always said it was just the
incense burning that bothered him. He tried so hard to
conceal his pain, his anger and disappointment. He just
did not understand. Neither did I.
One Thursday morning, after nineteen months without
Nailah, I was preparing some khobz when Asim came in
and handed me an envelope. It was a letter from
Nailah. I desperately opened it and started reading. She
tried to explain the reasons she had had for making
such decision. She added that she was proud of who
she was and where she came from; she just did not
belong in Saudi Arabia. Her words broke my heart but I
understood what she meant. She had always been
different from the rest. She was adventurous,
imaginative, and always eager to discover new things.
She wanted to be a doctor and swore that some day she
would become one. It would have been almost
impossible for her to achieve her goal in our country.
Very few women had the possibility to go to university,
and if they did, the chances to be part of the working
field were more than scarce since women were not
allowed to work. She said she was very happy. Jed, her
American husband, was a university teacher and they
lived in Chicago, a very cold city, she called it. They had
twin girls, Amber and Hana. The girls both had emerald
eyes and long silky black hair. Just like you, I said to
myself and smiled. She said that Jed had never agreed
with her decision of never coming back until finally she
decided to write us a letter. Nailah explained that she

had not plucked up the courage to write because she

knew how much suffering she had brought on us.
Immediately after I finished reading the letter I answered
back telling Nailah that her father needed her. I asked
her to come back because her father needed to see her.
A few weeks later there was a knock on the door and
when I opened it Nailah was standing there, her face
full of embarrassment. I hugged her so hard that I
almost felt our hearts touching. We cried together but
did not say anything at first. I took her leather suitcase
and told her to come in.
She finally spoke, Everything looks the same.
Certainly not everything, I said and smiled at her.
She laughed and quickly looked at her reflection in
the mirror. You look different too, mom. You look sad,
Nailah said.
Well, remember that I told you to come as soon
as possible? I asked.
Yes, I remember, she said, sensing that there
was something wrong. What is it, mom? she urged me.
Its your father, Nailah. Hes very sick.
Nailah lowered her head and did not say anything
for a while. Then she asked, Is he in the hospital?
No. Hes in bed, darling, I said.
She came closer to me and hugged me tightly,
tears falling down her cheeks. I feel so ashamed
mother. How could he ever forgive me? He wont even
look at me, she said, crying nonstop.
I think you should go and see him. Let him know
that youre here, Nailah.
She looked at me almost asking for permission to enter
our room. I nodded and Nailah went in. Fakhir was lying

in bed and all you could hear was his uneven breathing.
The room was almost dark and Nailah knelt down and
sat next to her father. She said shyly, Dad? Can you
hear me? Its me, Nailah.
Fakhir slowly opened his eyes and barely smiled. He
tried to move his hand but it seemed it was too heavy for
him to move it on his own. He closed his eyes again.
She raised her eyes and saw me at the door looking at
both of them, crying. I nodded so that she knew she
could take her fathers hand in hers. Fakhir opened his
eyes one more time when he felt his daughter holding
his hand. Fakhir tried to speak but he could not, so he
lifted his hand away from Nailahs and pointed to the old
closet in our room. Nailah looked at the closet and then
at her father, but did not know what to do. She just held
his hands and said, Forgive me, dad. Please, forgive
me. Fakhir looked at Nailah, smiled and closed his
eyes one last time.
After the funeral, I took Nailahs box from the closet in
my room and gave it to her.
She went through her stuff and said, Whats this?
holding up a yellowish envelope with her name on it.
I said, I dont know. Ive never seen it before.
Nailah opened it and there was a letter inside. The letter
was from Fakhir:
Dear Nailah,
A mans heart is sometimes too small to
store the many things he most worships and cherishes.
You are one of them. When you left you took a piece of
my heart with you and I wondered so many times why
you made that decision.

With time I came to understand that you

must have had your reasons for leaving, as Im sure you
understood my reasons for not going after you. I also
realized how different things are nowadays compared to
the way they were when I was your age in this country.
Its very hard for a man like me to view life from your
perspective, my dear Nailah, but that did not stop me
from loving you and praying for you to find happiness in
this world. I cannot tell you how hard it is to divide ones
heart into two pieces, although I think you might know
what I mean. When you left I knew that you were looking
for something that you were not going to find here, but
that did not mean that you stopped loving us. I finally
understood that you just did what you had to do. I hope
you have found what you were looking for, Nailah, and
remember that I will never stop thinking about you.
Love,
Your father.

THE BEST DREAM

Mara del Rosario De Munno
Mara del Rosario De Munno was born in Mendoza, on
August 23rd, 1988. From a very young age she became
interested in the English Language and has been
studying it for more than ten years. In addition to her
passion for dancing -she is a Spanish dance teachershe loves reading, especially epic novels. In this short
story, which is her first attempt to write creatively, she
has dealt with the delicate issue of choosing between
life and death. She found inspiration in her strong
conviction to defend life.
The air was extremely cold and the sky was already
dark. Winter was close. Today it seemed it was actually
here. She walked into the house, sad and heartbroken.
Without greeting anyone, she went to her bedroom. Her
room was so tiny; it felt suffocating. It was cold yet she
plodded to open the window. Then, as if the freezing air
gave her strength, she slowly went to bed, she covered
herself with a warm blanket and gasped for air. Only a
week ago, Eliza was the sweet and charming girl she
had always been. Now, she seemed someone different.
As she was lying in bed, the cool air brought memories
of her meetings with friends. On one occasion, she and
her friends had gone to the park and Lucia, one of her
friends had asked her if she was happy and she had
shouted that she was extremely happy because she
was in love. They all laughed, especially herself who
always had a smile on her face.

What will you be when you grow up? her mother

had once asked her when she was still a little girl.
I will be a doctor, mom, she had answered. She
had certainly maintained her idea. She loved to help
other people and especially, if they were ill children. Yes,
she would really like to become a pediatrician.
These plans seemed so far away now. Her nostalgia
and disillusionment could probably explain the lump she
felt in her throat.
Eliza had just come from the doctor who had confirmed
she was pregnant. She decided to have some tests
made because lately, she had felt odd. She did not want
to tell anyone at home so they would not worry. That is
why a very close friend had accompanied her. When
she got the news, the world seemed to change direction
in a minute. Now, she was going to have a baby. She
was in love and the father was a good boy, but she had
just met him a month ago. A baby changed everything.
What am I going to do now? she told her friend
sadly. Her friend wrote a phone number on a small piece
of paper almost as a reflex. After that, Eliza told her that
she wanted to be alone and, now in her bedroom, she
began to cry desperately. She looked at herself in the
mirror and she noticed that she had a despairing and
unfocused look. A baby, a baby, a baby, I will not be
able to go on living, she could not stop whispering. She
looked pale and her eyes clearly reflected her sorrow.
Eliza knew that her mother was terribly worried about
her, her mother probably knew, as she always knew,

that something was wrong. Her mother knocked at the

door.
Are you ok, Eli?
Eliza said, Yes, mom, just tired. Ill sleep now,
thank you, and her mother went away.
Eliza had not yet plucked up the courage to tell her the
truth. She could not stop thinking about this baby and all
her dreams and projects. How much would she have to
give up? The world, which used to be enormous,
seemed very small now. She was afraid of so many
things; she was afraid of the father and her parents
reactions, of peoples opinions, of her friends
disappointment, of her own performance as a mother.
And she was also afraid of giving up her dreams.
No, she said. I cant have this baby.
With her hands and legs trembling with fear, she dialed
the number and she made an appointment with a doctor.
That night, she cried almost through the night. It was
almost daylight when she fell asleep.
She dreamed and dreamed. It was spring. There were
flowers everywhere and the green leaves were starting
to appear. It was a perfect sunny day and there, inside a
cradle was a baby girl. Next to it was Eliza. She picked
up the baby, who smiled as she cuddled her in her arms.
It was a perfect moment; her baby in her arms. The
sound of the little girls heart made her own heart flutter.
Eliza held the baby tight. She could feel how innocent
and defenseless it was in her arms. She cuddled her

close. She was crying. The babys eyes met hers; she
loved that girl more than her own life.
She woke up with a pounding heart, sweating all over.
Her lip quivered and then her eyes brimmed with tears.
She had been able to see the baby perfectly; her sweet
smile, her luminous eyes, her stubby nose and her
golden hair. She felt the joy of holding the baby. She
could feel again, the power of the moment she had had
with the baby girl. However, while she was thinking
about her dream, a disquieting thought abruptly struck
her. She had had a wonderful and vivid dream; however,
she would not be able to have this baby. She would not
be capable of raising it. She could not be a mother. She
had so many dreams and they would be impossible to
attain with a child. She began to get dressed. She was
going to carry out the abortion.
Eliza, will you have breakfast? her mother asked
her when she was about to leave.
No, mom, I am leaving, she answered in a low
voice.
Eliza wanted to hide her tearful, distraught look and her
lean body from her mother. Eliza knew how devoted her
mother was. She knew her flawlessly as every mother
knows her child. A strong bond existed between them.
As she walked through the kitchen, she greeted her
mother and left.
***
As she walked, she noticed winter was near, yet it was
still a brilliant autumn day. The streets were full of yellow

leaves that rustled as she walked on them. A light

breeze was blowing and the weak sun made the air a
little warmer. On the way to the clinic, Eliza was walking
as if her feet weighted a ton. She was passing by a
square where she stopped walking to see a young
woman playing with her little girl on the swings. They
both were laughing. The happiness of their faces was
the same that the contentment she had experienced
during the dream she had had the previous night. It was
also the same pleasure that she had always felt when
she spent hours chatting with her own mother, sharing
interests, planning activities and many other things. That
image was perfect; if love could be represented in a
visible way, that woman playing with her daughter and
the smiles on their faces, was the image of love.
Almost unaware, she found herself at the door where
she would finish with the life of her baby. Of course, she
was afraid of what could happen to her but she was also
afraid of making a ghastly mistake. She opened the door
slowly as she was trembling again. She walked slowly
into the waiting room. It was cold and depressing and
there was an appalling smell. There were some young
girls just like her sitting there. She looked at them one
by one, their eyes were soulful and lifeless. Seeing all
those girls, Eliza experienced the strangest feeling she
had ever had. Images began to appear. What she
wanted to be, what she was now and what she would
do. Once again, she started to cry. The dream she had
had, the woman with her girl in the square, the
memories of the moments lived with her own mother
made her see that she was going to be a mother.
Something so simple had been so difficult for her to
understand. She was going through the most wonderful
moment she would live in her life: she had life inside her

and she was already a mother. What she had in her

belly was a baby and now she knew that she loved it
more than herself. She was not losing anything; God
was giving her the most special and valuable gift she
could ever ask for. Now, her eyes were shining with
happiness. The strong pain she had been feeling in her
heart had disappeared; it was fluttering again, but now,
in perfect happiness.
She felt relaxed and extremely happy, living the most
important and beautiful moment of her life. She walked
jauntily and smiled radiantly. Love was its own reward
and she felt that her best dream was coming true.

THE CALL
Sofa Gallardo
Sofa Gallardo, best known as Sophie, was born in
Mendoza in 1990. She decided she wanted to become
an English Teacher in her last year at high-school. In
order to fulfill her dream she entered College in 2008
where she got in contact with some of the most
renowned works of English Literature and developed
the habit of writing. A positive and optimistic young
woman, Sophie loves listening to music and going out
with friends. She lives according to her personal outlook
on life: at the age of 20, she emphasizes the importance
of considering every single day as the last one, since
you never know what may happen tomorrow. The
Call, her first short story, explores a father-daughter
relationship, showing how unpredictable life can
sometimes be.
There are some events which can dramatically change
peoples lives. Some events, particularly those we can
call tragic, can affect a person so deeply that they will
radically transform their lives. This was what happened
to Francis Griffith, manager of a successful publishing
company, a grey, showery morning in July.
It was half past six in the morning, and Francis was
already awake. He was still recumbent on his doublebed, wearing his blue striped pajamas, watching the
news on his LCD screen. His pale blue eyes, particularly
that morning, were close-set. Next to him, there was his
treasured notebook, which was on in fact it was never
off-, and his other half, his cell-phone. He also had lots

of advertising magazines spread not only around him

but also all over the bedroom. At 7 am, he decided it
was time to get up and have breakfast.
Downstairs, he could hear, coming from the kitchen, a
soothing voice singing. It was Carolines voice. She had
already set the table and was preparing breakfast. The
moment Francis entered the kitchen Caroline stopped
singing and said,
Good morning, daddy. How did you sleep?
Just fine, it was all he said as he sat at the table.
While he was preparing his bread and butter and
pouring sugar into his black as night coffee, he placed
his computer in front of him and started checking some
e-mail.
It seems youre having a busy day, his daughter
said.
Yes, yes, as always, Francis answered without
his eyes meeting hers, only watching his computer.
Fifteen silent minutes passed by. Francis was still at the
table, finishing his coffee, and Caroline was sitting
quietly in front of him, when she finally spoke.
I was just wondering if, maybe, you could, if
today, we could have lunch together or I dont know,
maybe do something. What do you say?, Caroline
softly asked.
There was no answer.

Francis, hypnotized by whatever he was reading on his

computer, picked up his cell-phone and began making
some calls and talking urgently to some of his clients.
Ten minutes later, he stood abruptly up from his chair,
picked up his navy-blue overcoat and an umbrella and
left without even saying good bye.
It took Francis an hour to get to the office, almost thirty
minutes more than usual. Rain had been pouring
incessantly, a fierce wind was blowing and the branches
of a tree had aggressively fallen on the concrete. The
roads were overcrowded and slippery, which made it
difficult to circulate. When he entered the office, he was
swamped by an avalanche of letters, phone calls and
people waiting for him. He ignored everything and went
straight to his desk. There, he slowly accommodated
himself on his black leather arm-chair and turned his
computer on. He had received, in an hour, around sixty
e-mails, which did not surprise him he was used to
receiving hundreds of e-mails per day. Among all those
e-mails, there was one which particularly called his
attention.
An e-mail from Slaven. Odd. Ill read it later, he
said to himself aloud.
While he was drinking a cup of sour coffee, his secretary
entered his office abruptly.
Sorry Mr. Griffith, but you have a call, she said
impatiently.
I told you not to bother me, no meetings, no
phone-calls, not this morning, Right? Francis said in a
harsh voice, his eyes still on the computers screen.

Yes, I know, but this is an important call. Its

something about your daughter, Caroline, she
explained.
Caroline? What is it now? Ill take this one, but no
more calls, got it? Francis crossly responded.
The very moment he hung up the phone, Francis
desperately left the building, forgetting his cell-phone
and his overcoat. He didnt seem to care about it either.
The people on the elevator tried not to look at him, his
face looked frightened and haggard. Francis left, tears
rolling down his face. He had not stopped working all
morning or done anything that was not related to work.
Tell me she is not my it cannot be her-, Francis
said, movingly.
Sorry sir, I wish I could say that, but yes it is your
daughter. There was nothing people could do to help
her. That car was going too fast and ended up running
over her, the police officer said.
The rain was still falling, but with more intensity now.
The sky was grey and furious, as if it were plotting
against him. Why? was all he could scream while he
held his young daughters dead body in the middle of
the lonely street and drops of sour rain met his face. Still
lying on the street, his clothes all soaked and with a
shrill cry that could be heard from a long distance, he
could not think of anything.
At 8 in the morning, the day after Carolines funeral,
Francis was in his office as usual. He was sitting in his
leather arm-chair in front of the computer, answering emails, with his cell-phone in one hand, calling some
clients, and with a cup of sweet coffee this time, in the

other, having breakfast. That day, at noon, he had

meetings where he presented new ads and had to talk
personally to his customers. That day, and the ones that
followed, Francis arrived at the office before the sun had
risen and left only when the lights in the street were on
and the moon was the only thing he could see in the
sky.
That first weekend at home, he stayed in bed. The first
thing he did as he woke up was to turn on his computer
and then his television. Apart from voices that could be
heard from the television, the house was in deadly
silence. He spent that and the weekends that followed
all alone.
A few weekends later, on a late warm afternoon, while
Francis was still sleeping, his cell-phone began to ring.
Hello, he answered in a sleepy voice.
Hi daddy. Are you ok? Your voice doesnt sound
good, Slaven said in a worried voice.
Yeah, yeah, Im fine. I was just sleeping, he
said, expecting to be told the reason of the call.
Great, then. I wanted to invite you to Oregon. It
would be wonderful if you could stay the whole weekend
with us so that
Oh, Im afraid I cant. I have some urgent
speeches to prepare for next week. Maybe on another
opportunity, Francis said as he interrupted his son.
Are you sure? Amanda really wants to see you,
and me Slaven said.
I am sure that is so. Sorry, and send my love to
little Amanda and to Emma, Francis curtly answered.

It was while he was saying that he had some urgent

speeches to prepare that he vividly remembered a
conversation he had had with his daughter. He
remembered the sweetness of her voice as it echoed in
his mind, seeing her standing at his bedrooms door,
soothingly saying,
Daddy! Ive prepared your favorite meal to
celebrate your birthday.
Oh honey, thank you, but well have to wait till I
finish preparing a speech for tomorrows board meeting.
Its very important that I finish now. Lets say an hour,
ok?
Fine, his daughter answered in a sad tone. You
havent opened the present yet, she continued.
Ill open it when Im done with what Im doing.
Dont worry, Francis said.
Hope you like it, his daughter said. Francis saw
she was looking at him with watery eyes.
A week after his sons call, Francis was walking leisurely
down the street. The soft breeze fanned on his cheeks,
and the incandescent sun made him take his sweater
off. As he approached the bus station, he saw a lot of
people, families hugging each other, which produced a
feeling of guilt but at the same time of redemption
inside.
Good morning. How can I help you? the man
behind the counter gently asked.
Hi, I would like a ticket to Oregon, please,
Francis responded with bright eyes and a smile on his
face.

A SIMPLE QUESTION
Noelia Alejandra Gioia
Noelia Alejandra Gioia was born in Mendoza City. She
loves listening to music in her free time. Since her
adolescence, Noelia has been interested in learning and
speaking different languages and getting to know about
different cultures. This led her to study English at
Teacher Training College, UNCuyo, to become a
professional teacher. She is also planning to travel to an
English speaking country next winter. Through her short
story A Simple Question, Noelia would like to invite
readers to reflect upon a universal emotion: jealousy.
With her work, she wishes to encourage young people
to leave competitiveness aside and make an effort to
build up a better future for all.
A long busy motorway partially covered by fresh red
blood was the scene of the accident she could see on
the TV screen. Poor young woman! She had many
years ahead! was Mariahs logical conclusion.
***
Mariah was in her modest rented house on Pablo
Vargas Street. She was listening to the news about the
eighteen year old woman who tragically died after being
hit by a car. Mariah was eighteen, too. Her goal was to
study at university and start a successful career the
following year. Mariah wanted to become a professional
psychologist. Mariah was so worried She thought: Will
it be hard? Will I pass the entrance examination? Well,
at least I will have the time to study But Mariah still
had to finish her French course this summer. She was

also worried because she had to do her pregnancy test.

A week later, Mariah decided to call her friend Helen.
It was positive, Helen.
The man you met in the summer came back to
Texas, mmmm? I dont know what to say to you
right now. And what about your ambitious plan to
study psychology next year?
***
It was Monday evening. Mariah was sitting at the back
of the French class in La Alianza Francesa. Mariah
heard two people approaching.
Excusez- moi. Son nom est Victoria Edwards,
une nouvelle elve, 1 the Director of Studies introduced
the new classmate to the rest.
The class used to have dinner together once a month
after class. So when the class was over that day,
Victoria was invited to go with them. Victoria, open
minded, accepted. They went to Ph Bar on Arstides St
this time.
How come youre studying French? What do you
do? Mariah asked Victoria.
I study Medicine at the university, Im in fourth. Im
leaving for the States soon, on a scholarship, Victoria
answered.
When they all finished eating, Mariah saw, from her
table, a red sport car slowing down in front of the
entrance of the bar.
1

Excuse me. Her name is Victoria Edwards, a new student.

Oh! Its Mark! shouted Victoria. And Victoria left

rapidly.
It was Monday again and Mariah was in class. She was
thinking of Victoria. She was free to study at university.
Mariah would not. Mariah thought: the decision not to go
to university next year was so quick, just as things with
the American man happened No university next year
then. Going to French class now intimidated her.
Mariah looked for an empty desk, preferably in the back
of the classroom, alone. Victoria turned around with her
radiant smile and whispered hello to Mariah. Mariah,
detached, waved to her and with a wry smile greeted
Victoria. The lesson that evening was based on emplois
et professions2. The students were supposed to work in
pairs and one student had to ask the other what their job
was. Victoria invited Mariah to work together.
Lets do this together and we may have a chance
to talk a bit! Victoria said to Mariah.
Mariah thought: Victoria must spend all her time
studying to keep up her grades! But Im sure she does
not work and, in any case, she drives that new red car...
I want to do my work with Nathalie, like always,
she said.
Mariahs response arose from her envy. She did not feel
like working with her.
Nathalie is not here, but its all right Mariah, Ill
work with somebody else. Dont worry.
2

Jobs and Professions

Mariah could hardly control the resentment she felt; she

could not work with Victoria.
Back home, in her bedroom, the thought of Victoria
haunted her. Does Victoria think she is better off? Well,
my intention was to study like her. But Im pregnant.
Mariah had a headache. She could not stop going over
and over the conversation with Victoria at the bar She
would not be able to go to college the following year
because she had to raise the baby as a single mother.
She would not have the time to start studying at
university. The thought that others had the chance to
start a career at university made her angry. All her life
was full of what she could not have as she had planned.
Others could be free to study. Mariah was starting to feel
different from those people. So now, she did not feel like
going to French classes anymore. Why couldnt she be
just happy instead of reacting angrily towards kind and
generous people? She thought: Am I being too childish?
What shall I do? If she behaved aggressively, she would
lose the opportunity to make good friends
Mariah was listening to the news report on TV. She
heard that a woman had been another victim of a car
accident in an intercity motorway. The news reminded
her of the young woman who passed away a year
before, who was apparently walking when a driver hit
her with his vehicle while she was crossing the long
busy motorway near the English Institute.
Mariah was still alive...
***

It was Wednesday evening and the French teacher

asked the students to form two groups to do vocabulary
work: sentiments et emotions3 this time.
Allons-nous travailler ensemble?4 Mariah asked
Victoria with a smile.
Mariahs French was improving.

Feelings and emotions

Shall we work together?

THE GRADUATION TRIP

Tzu Ying Lee
Tzu Ying Lee was born in 1990 in Taiwan. At the age of
4, she arrived in Argentina with her family where they
decided to settle. Tzu Ying is a very optimistic young
woman, whose love of languages motivated her to study
English at Universidad Nacional de Cuyo. In her short
story The Graduation Trip she tries to show the
importance of parents and friends in a teenagers life.
She reflects on the significance of strengthening these
bonds since, after all, life will not last forever.
She turned off her MP4 player, took off her earphones
and looked out of the window with her big soulful eyes.
The sky was cloudless blue and the sun was shining.
For two seconds, she had to close her eyes to get used
to it. In a few minutes, they would arrive at one of the
most attractive beaches in Kenting, a place that she had
always wanted to visit. On the right side of the road, at a
lower level, she could see white beach chairs and
multicolored parasols, and beyond the golden sand, was
the deep marine blue sea. There were a few people
surfing. She opened the window and breathed in deeply.
There was a comfortable smell of salty water in the air.
Looking at the attractive coastal landscape, Alice
recalled the day she had left Chicago and started this
journey. She had been at the airport with her friends,
Kimberley and Rose, waiting to check in. She listened to
her friends mothers reminding her friends to be
cautious, not to talk to strangers Alice walked away
quietly. She did not want to listen to them because it
brought back painful memories. Pacing back and forth

near the doorway, Alice waited for her father until the
last moment. She knew that he would not come to see
her off as her friends parents did. Illusion will never
change into something real, she murmured when she
stepped into the Boeing 747. Alice pulled down the blind
and turned her head to the left. She looked at her two
friends who were cheerfully planning what they were
going to do as soon as they reached the beach and
again, her thoughts flew away. She remembered the first
day they met.
It had been almost three years ago, on the first day of
her high school life. Weirdly, her father had
accompanied her to school that day. She was
delightedly uneasy and when they were in front of the
school, she hesitated for a few seconds and quickly
entered the big stone building, alone, without saying
goodbye to him. The school was very crowded. She kept
tugging at her long black hair and her small fragile body
was tense. She did not know what to do there, alone,
without company. Glancing at the girls who were talking
to their parents, she was impressed by their excited
faces and high pitched laughter. She wondered why
they were not nervous like her. The bell rang. She knew
she should go into one of those classrooms but she did
not know which. Biting her nails, she looked, with
puzzled eyes, at the girls, teachers and parents who
were going in and out of the classrooms. Suddenly, she
felt that someone was touching her hair and turned back
carefully. It was a beautiful blonde girl. There was a
sweet smile on her face and she winked at Alice. A small
red headed girl was standing next to her and she was
smiling too. They stared at Alice for a few seconds and
nobody said anything. The bell rang again.

We should get into the classroom, the red

headed girl said.
Yes, I know, the blonde one answered. Lets go
together, she said, looking at Alice. Alice smiled timidly
and said nothing.
Oh, sorry! We forgot to introduce ourselves. Im
Kimberley and this is Rose, and tugging at her blonde
hair, Kimberly added, I love your long straight black
hair. I think we can become good friends, and she
laughed.
Im Alice. Nice to meet you! Alice said shyly.
Since then, they had spent almost all their time together.
The bus stopped at the hotel. Alice gathered her
thoughts and went out quickly with her friends. Twenty
minutes later, they were sitting under one of the
multicolored parasols drinking coconut juice.
Were here at last! Kimberly said elatedly. You
have been waiting for so long, havent you, Alice?
Alice looked at her and answered softly, Yeah,
coming to Kenting has always been my dream. You
know, this is my mothers hometown.
Are you OK, Alice? You dont seem to be very
happy. Rose seems to be more excited than you are.
Of course Im happy. Ive always wanted to visit
this place though my mum will never know Ive come.
Im just thinking about what Im going to do once our
graduation trip ends.
Come on, Alice, we have just arrived at this
beautiful place. You shouldnt be worrying about that!
Besides, all of us know that youll go to college. Your
dad wont let you have any other plans, Alice said while
she ate sugar cane.

Kimberly looked at Alice and said, Well, Alice, we

can go to Paris together! Ill study fashion design, you
know, and you will be far away from your cold empty
house. Well meet our Mr. Right there and life will be so
wonderful, you see. What do you think?
Kim, it would be very nice, but you know, Paris
is not the kind of place for me I think I need to stay
close to my dad. I dont know Alice said, as she kept
staring at the horizon.
Alright, Alice. Leave all your worries behind and
lets go for the wet suits and the surfboards! Rose said
after drinking the last drop of her coconut juice.
Unwillingly, Alice left the white beach chair and joined
her friends. She raised her head and looked at the sky.
It was no longer as clear as it had been a few hours
ago. A strange sense of trepidation grew inside her.
Alice shook her head and said nothing.
It was 4 pm and Alice was near the water now. After an
hour of practice, Alice and Rose still found surfing very
difficult. They could not keep their balance for more than
ten seconds. Finally, Alice gave up and told Kimberly
that she would stay under the parasol with Rose while
she enjoyed surfing. Alice stared at Kimberly as she
walked towards the water. At first, Kimberly did well. She
was able to ride two small waves. Alice smiled and
looked at her friend, who was waving at her while she
managed to ride a bigger wave.
This is Kimberly, always so lively and sparkling, Alice
thought.
Alice, did you bring your camera? I think Kimberly
would like to have a photo, Rose said.

Alice nodded. She took out the camera and grinning,

she pressed the button. But when the screen showed
the photo, she did not see Kimberly in it. She looked at
the sea and called Rose in desperation. Go and look for
help! Im going into the sea, she told Rose and ran
towards the sea.
***
Three days later, Alice woke up and found herself in an
unfamiliar room. The walls were all snow white and a
pungent smell of iodine hit her. A woman dressed in
white was putting her on a drip. Her mind went blank for
a few seconds until she felt a sharp pain in her left arm.
She remembered the graduation trip, and Kimberly!
She looked around the room anxiously and she saw a
black figure lying on a sofa bed in the right-hand corner.
Alice was about to cry out her friends name when she
realized that it was not Kimberly. It was a middle aged
man. It was her father! He wore a deep grey suit and
a pair of shining black shoes. Alice stared at him with
watery eyes. She could not believe that he had left his
company and had come to this far away island to look
after her. She closed her eyes and a crystalline tear
rolled down her pale oval face. For a few seconds, she
forgot about Kimberly and her thoughts flew away.
It was her 16th birthday. She had never celebrated any
birthday before. This would be the first one, but she had
not invited anybody for the occasion. Her father was the
only guest. He was the only person she welcomed for
this special day. She had called him that morning and
told him that she would wait for him for dinner and he
had promised he would be at home at 8 oclock. It was

7.45 pm and Alice sat at the big dinner table, waiting

anxiously for her father. She kept looking at the second
hand of the clock as time went by. Tic toc, tic toc, tic toc,
tic toc Eight. Ten past eight. Twenty past eight. Twenty
to nine. Nine. Tic toc, tic toc, tic toc, tic toc... Suddenly,
the phone rang and broke the rhythmical sound.
Mechanically, Alice walked towards the phone, picked it
up and about a minute later, she hung up. It was her
fathers secretary. She said her father would not be
going back home because he had to meet a client. Alice
knew that it was not true. She knew where her father
was going. As every July 14th, he would go to the
graveyard. Alice sat on the sofa near the table and
closed her weary eyes. She had always felt sorry for her
father. She wished she had never been born, she
wished her mother had not died during labor, she
wished her father was not a workaholic. She believed
she was the unlucky person that had brought
misfortune, the one that had caused her mothers death.
Since her childhood, she had kept a distant relationship
with her father. She had not found the courage to face
him and his sad blue eyes. Her father had been trying to
avoid her too. He had always been working, and never
at home. It was alright; she understood her father; she
actually did. But this time, she could not forgive him. He
had promised to dine with her. How could he break his
own promise? It was her 16th birthday!
Alice heard a faint sound and opened her eyes. Her
father had woken up and was now trying to sit up. His
eyes met Alices and for a second, there was a sign of
relief and elation, but before Alice could understand
what it meant, it vanished rapidly.

How do you feel? he asked, and then said, You

were almost drowned in the sea.
Im fine. Dont worry, Alice answered without
looking at him.
A few seconds later, she remembered her friend
and asked her father anxiously, Where is Kimberly?
Shes gone, he said quietly, looking steadily at his
daughter.
Suddenly, Alices eyes widened and they were now deep
inky black. She helplessly burst into tears. She
remembered her friends beautiful face and lively
laughter and she could not believe that she had left her.
She thought about their last conversation on the beach.
She remembered Kimberly asking her about going to
Paris, telling her about what she was going to study and
the boys she was going to meet. A deep sense of
loneliness took over her. Her mother had left her
eighteen years ago and now, her best friend had left
her too. She was alone in this cold cruel world.
No, no, you still have your father A tiny voice
inside Alice reminded her that she was not alone.
But he is so unkind and cold. He always leaves
you alone. He does not love you! Alice heard another
voice.
No! This is not true! Hes always wanted the best
for you and he does love you, the first voice said. Alice
closed her eyes and tears were streaming down her
face. She tried to calm down and wiped her tears hastily.
Yes, her father was the only one who was now there for
her. She should do something. She did not want to lose
the only person she had left in this world. Her father
walked towards her. She looked up and stared into his
deep blue eyes.

Lifes like this, isnt it? she asked, showing no

emotion.
Yes, my dear. Life is like this. It wont last forever,
her father answered with a weak smile. Im sorry you
are forced to face this at this age.
No, dad. This is not the first time I face the loss of
a beloved one. Mum left us, didnt she? And you are
always away from home Alice said sadly.
Dear, Ive always been with you. At least, Ive tried
to
Have you? Youve always been working! Thats
the truth! Alice said miserably.
Please Alice, listen to me. Ive been away from
home because I thought you wanted that and that it was
the best for you. I know you blame me for your mums
death. Thats why you look at me with hatred every time
you see me, isnt it? Im sorry for not being a good
father. I just want you to be happy.
Alice was stunned. She did not know that her father
thought this way. She looked at him fixedly, her eyes
showing disbelief.
But you hardly ever come home Alice heard
her own voice.
Thats because I thought you did not want to see
me. You look happier when you spend time with your
friends.
Yes, thats right! But its because youre never
home! You never pay attention to me or to what I do! Im
nothing to you! Her voice was breaking and tears were
pooling in her inky black eyes again. Leaning towards
Alice, her father raised his right hand and wiped the

tears slipping down her cheek with his thumb, saying

nothing. Alice closed her eyes.
When you were a child, I hardly ever went back
home because it reminded me of your mother Do you
remember when your nanny left you? I think you were
16 by that time. Before leaving, she told me that you
were the most unhappy child shed ever seen. He
paused for a few seconds and then went on, it was then
that I realized that it had been very irresponsible of me
to have left you alone all those years. So I started to go
back home more frequently. But then, I found that you
always looked at me with hatred. I thought you were
angry with me because I couldnt give you a perfect
family. I feel so sorry about all this. I know you blame me
for your mums death, I really do. I also know that you
need a mother, need love and company, need a warm
family But I didnt know what to do. So I escaped; I
couldnt face you, her father said.
Alice could not believe her ears. She opened her
eyes and looked into his fathers blue eyes. And she
broke down in tears. Daddy sorry, sorry, Im so
sorry I dont blame you. Im the one to be blamed for
all this. Mummy died because of me. If I had never
come to this world everything would have been
different Sorry daddy! Alice said.
He hugged her tightly and said, dear, you should
never think that way. Youre Gods gift to me Sorry,
Alice. Weve wasted a long time because of
misunderstandings.
***
Two days later, Alice went back with her father to the
beach where the tragedy had happened. They were

sitting on the white beach chairs, under a colorful

parasol. Alice looked at her father. He was on the
phone, talking to the business manager of his company.
He saw her looking at him. He winked at her, smiled,
and gave a sigh telling her to wait for him. Alice smiled
back and nodded, but she left the chair as soon as her
father looked away. She walked straight towards the
sea. It was pale green now and the sunshine made it
look brilliant and dreamlike. Alice went into the sea and
walked, without pausing, until she was completely
immersed in the warm water. Slowly, she closed her
eyes and smiled peacefully.

THE PORTRAIT
Josefina Marc
Josefina Marc is a young committed student of English
who was born in Mendoza. She is easy to like and a
friendly person; those close to her describe her as a
kind-hearted and loyal friend. A passion for singing and
playing the guitar is another personal trait of Josefinas,
which lets us identify the work here presented as hers.
In the following story she reveals a soft spot for writing
about peoples inner processes of maturation and selfdiscovery. Josefina has previously written other stories,
which lets us see how much she likes writing. Enjoy her
work as much as she enjoyed writing it.
She was trying to stay awake as she stood in line
waiting to check in for her flight. Shed rather have taken
a later flight, but she was too eager to see her new
niece. Her sister lived in Buenos Aires, quite far from
Mendoza, and it had become even further away since
her niece was born.
It hadnt even dawned yet. She looked at her ticket once
again to check the departure time as she rubbed her
eyes and tried not to yawn again; but it was useless.
The woman behind her threw a piercing glance at her
from head to toe as she shifted her weight and pushed
the guitar strapped to Ninas shoulder slightly. Sorry,
Nina said in a low voice, still hoarse from the lack of
sleep. The heavy woman frowned and looked away.
Guess waking up early gets everyone in a grumpy
mood, Nina thought, annoyed.

She had planned everything to perfection, but still she

always had the strange feeling that she had forgotten
something or she had messed up the schedules or
something like that. She had been dying to see her
sisters baby girl since the day shed been born; but
hadnt been able to make it to Buenos Aires sooner.
Between band practice and college and her boyfriend well not her boyfriend anymore- she didnt really have
time for anything else. Now she was only hours away
from the moment when she would finally get to hold her
baby niece in her arms and love her forever. Her own
goddaughter... She was supposed to be some sort of
guide for her, as her sister had explained. But how could
she be responsible for someone elses spiritual life when
she didnt even have hers figured out? As she wondered
about this, she heard the irritated woman behind her
stamp her feet on the marble floor impatiently. Your
turn, young lady. She was right. The woman behind the
counter was staring at her, urging her to come up front.
Nina hurried towards her, handed her the ticket and
checked in her luggage, except for her guitar. That she
would keep close to her inside the plane. It was too
precious a possession to leave in the uncaring hands of
people who knew nothing about it.
Once in the boarding area, she was about to sit down
and put away her luggage tab, when she suddenly felt
as if a rug had been swept from under her feet. She lost
her balance and almost fell down, barely able to stand
as she clung to a man standing next to her. Once the
movement was over, she looked around and realized
the rest of the people had felt it too. There was a
murmur all over the room and a baby was crying. After a
few minutes, however, everything was back to normal
again. It had been a small tremor. People seemed used

to them, those who lived in Mendoza. She looked at the

man whod saved her from falling flat on the ground in
order to apologize (she had made him drop his
backpack as she desperately tried to stay away from the
floor) and realized he was young, maybe her age.
Rather good looking, too. He had black hair and very
deep gray eyes, which struck her as if she had
somehow seen them before. She started to stutter an
apology, but before anything came out of her mouth, the
man was bending down to pick up his backpack and the
several papers that had spilled from it and were on the
floor with her own belongings; a bunch of papers, her
keys, her cell phone and the small notebook she carried
around in case she found unexpected inspiration for a
new song, as she had been hoping to for so long now.
She clumsily tried to help him gather his belongings and
talk to him, but when he looked up at her, he seemed
suddenly shocked at the sight of her face. He stared at
her for a moment that felt like ages and then uttered
something that sounded like no problem and was off to
the front of the line to get on the plane. Nina stood there,
confused, but was suddenly hurried by a shrill voice
coming from the speakers urging the passengers to get
in line. She nervously gathered everything and joined
the line.
Somehow, she felt strangely anxious now. That man had
made her feel uneasy; just by looking at her he had
guessed something about her, a deep secret that no one
knew. She wondered why he had stared at her like that,
why he had fled in such haste. Actually, it was not so
unusual if one thought of it. It seemed that lately, men
had the irritating habit of running away from her. She
thought about her last boyfriend and how she had
actually driven him away in fear that he would smother

her; how she had taken him for granted and neglected
him; how she had then realized she needed him more
than she knew and how he had said it was too late. How
she hadnt been able to get her life together ever since
and had not even been capable of writing songs, which
was the only way in which she could express herself.
Her parents had always told her that she should pursue
a more respectable career than being a musician, it was
too unstable an industry, but she had always trusted her
songs would take her far. And now she had lost the
comfort of knowing that. She was helpless. As she
thought about this, she felt her throat close and her eyes
about to water, but she made a real effort not to cry, not
in front of strangers, not in a public place.
She got on the plane and took her seat by the window,
as she had chosen. She always did, actually. She just
loved to look at the desert like land and then the city as
they got further and further away from it. She always
found inspiration there. However, this time she only felt
as if she didnt belong in this world, looking at all those
tiny houses that now looked like the toys she used to
play with in her childhood. The fields almost entirely
covered with the rich browns and deep greens of the
vineyards seemed so far away from her, so
unreachable. The sun was just rising, pouring its yellow
and orange light into the fields as if it were liquid gold. It
was an exquisite sight, really. Then, how come it didnt
move her at all? How come it didnt stir up her senses
and make her imagination fly as it had so many times
before? Annoyed, Nina shut the window screen down
and turned her head over to drift into sleep. Two hours
later, she was woken up by the soft, impersonal voice of
the flight attendant telling her to please wake up and
straighten her seat. They were about to land.

She got off the plane and went straight to claim her
luggage. The faster she did this, the faster she would
get to her sisters and to her niece and she would feel
real happiness for a change. While she waited, she
looked around the room a few times, pretending to be
searching for something, to see if the mysterious man
with gray eyes was there. Useless. Nowhere to be seen.
Maybe she had imagined him. Maybe she was just
confused from the tremor, or perhaps she had imagined
the startled look on his face and was brooding about
something that hadnt even happened. It was something
she would do actually, quite frequently. Her mind was
like a complicated, ever working maze, and she always
took things, turned them upside down and inside out in
ways that could drive her crazy at times. She decided
not to do that this time. She was in Buenos Aires to
meet her niece and have fun and stop thinking about her
issues so much; she definitely should not worry about a
strange person before setting foot in the city. Besides, it
looked like she had something else to worry about.
Almost everyone in the room had already gotten their
bags and left, and there were only three pieces of
luggage moving around and around on the conveyor
band. None of them was hers. She glanced around to
see if anyone had taken her suitcase by mistake and left
it there. Nothing. She felt a knot in her stomach. Her
hands broke into a cold sweat. Where was it? What was
she supposed to do now? She waited a little longer, her
foot tapping on the concrete floor impatiently. Maybe it
was still on the plane. But a few minutes later, the few
people left in the room had gone away and there she
was, waiting for her bag in an empty room, looking at
the one suitcase left there swiveling round, making her
dizzy. Impulsively, she finally joisted it over her shoulder

and went straight to the Security Officer standing at the

entrance of the airport.
Theres a problem, she said in haste, and then
realized she was being quite rude. I mean, good
morning sir, I have a problem here. See, this is not my
bag, and it is the only one left over there. Its not mine,
and mine is not there. What should I do?
The officer, a small, bold, tired-looking man, didnt look
like the kind of person who would go through any trouble
to help her. But when he lifted his eyes to talk to her, he
probably saw her helpless expression. He must have felt
sorry for this girl in old jeans and a worn out shirt.
Hello, there, he said, trying to seem interested.
So, we have quite an issue here, dont we? Well, there
is only one way to clear this up, Im sure we can clear it
up. Let me see your luggage tab, miss.
Nina felt a sudden pain in her stomach. Where had she
put the tab? Had she actually put it away? She then
remembered the tremor in Mendoza and the incident
with the mysterious man. Oh no she thought, her fear
becoming greater. She began rummaging desperately
through her purse, looking for the ticket. Her fingers
touched a small piece of paper and she took it out,
feeling relieved. She handed it to the officer, as if this
would instantly solve her problem. The short man
frowned. He squinted at the ticket in his hand. Then at
the one attached to the bag. He repeated the motion
twice.

Very well, miss, he said, as if feeling selfcontempt. There is no problem really. This is, in fact,
your suitcase.
Nina looked at him as if he were kidding her. She was
so annoyed by his silly, proud face that she could have
easily exploded right there and sent the man to hell.
Instead, she took a deep breath, and counted to ten;
she was not sure she could solve the problem all by
herself.
Im sorry, she said, in the most polite manner she
could manage. But this is really, really not my bag.
There must be a mistake. This bag is not mine.
Yes, it is. Your ticket and the ticket on the bag
match. It has to be your bag. There is no other way
around this, miss.
He looked a little bit confused at first, but now that he
had explained to her that he had a real reason, a fact, to
support his point, he seemed proud of himself once
again.
Now, hurry away, come on. I have to work, young
lady. Good-bye, you can thank me later.
And with this, he was off to somewhere else and Nina
was left standing alone once again, puzzled as ever.
She didnt know what to do. How had this happened?
How come she had someone elses ticket and not hers?
Had the person with her ticket taken her bag home? But,
why? All these ideas stormed her mind. She felt
overwhelmed and puzzled, shaken by an earthquake

wait, that was it! The tremor at the airport in Mendoza,

the incident with the stranger, the papers on the floor.
That was it. She must have taken the strangers ticket
without noticing, and he must have taken hers and her
suitcase too. But, why her suitcase? She looked at the
bag lying next to hers once again. It was an old, wornout black leather suitcase. It looked as if it had been
travelling the planet for at least thirty years. She felt
suddenly intrigued by it and tried to have a peek inside.
Impossible. It had a padlock, of course, and a very old
one indeed: an antique. There was something else: a
small rectangular yellowish piece of paper attached to
its back. It had something written on it in black ink. An
address. It read Defensa, 5412. San Telmo. Maybe the
owners house? Nina was more intrigued by the suitcase
with every minute that passed. She was actually
intrigued by its owner. What if it actually was the gray
eyed stranger? It must have been him, who else if not?
There was something she could do: take the suitcase to
the airline counter and demand that her own be returned
to her. However, there was another, more tempting
solution. She could always go to San Telmo herself, find
the address and the owner and get to the bottom of
things. Yes. That was what shed do. She needed to find
her suitcase, and she needed to return the one she had
to its owner. Plus, the airline would surely take days and
days to solve the problem. But what about her sister?
She wanted to see her niece more than anything. Yet,
somehow, she felt she had to go to San Telmo herself.
Maybe it had to do with the fact that she had not had
anything to really care about for the past few months.
She had been so hurt by the whole situation with her
boyfriend that she had stopped taking care of herself. It
was as if she had been suspended in time for a while.
She hadnt felt attracted to anything lately, and now this

stranger stepped into her life with his dark hair and his
spelling eyes... She looked for her cell phone and made
the call.
"Hey Anna, yes, yes Im fine. How are you? Great.
Look, theres been a little delay at the airport, so Ill be
getting there this evening. No, I don t know the reason. I
know... Its a bummer. Don t worry. I ll take a cab. See
you tonight. Give Lilly a kiss for me, ok? Bye."
She went straight outside the airport, took a taxicab to
the subway station, onto Constitucin. Then walked
twenty blocks up to San Telmo. The weight of the black
suitcase and the guitar on her back made it difficult for
her to walk fast, but she was determined to get there no
matter what, and she actually didnt have that much
money with her, so she was forced to walk. By the time
she reached San Telmo, she was extremely hot. She
stopped at a corner to catch her breath and saw herself
reflected on the glass window of a shop: the long braid
on her back was almost undone and most of her brown
wavy hair hung loosely and messily around her tired
face. She straightened her clothes and arranged her
hair the best she could and entered the district. She had
never been there before. Not on any of her trips to
Buenos Aires, though she had always wanted to. It was
such a beautiful place, and it took her by surprise when
she turned a corner. So much that she suddenly forgot
about her hurry to get to where she was going. She
noticed the narrow and crooked streets, its paving
stones shinning here and there under the summer sun.
Nina moved through the small crowds of people, many
of them tourists. She could hear several different
languages being spoken as she walked the streets. She
could hear music playing everywhere, especially the

traditional tango. Walking past an alley, she caught a

glimpse of a small band playing a mellow bossa nova.
Nina was enthralled by all of this. Everything had a
touch of melancholy; even the air had a romantic feel.
She breathed all of this in, and walked around gazing at
the people, the buildings, the objects, listening to the
music, smelling the archaic scents. There was
something that had changed inside her. It was as if, as
with the suitcase, she was finally interested in
something. She felt the need to see everything this
place had to offer. She wanted to find out everything
about it. It was as if she were waking up from a long
coma that had begun with the breakup.
Then she reached Defensa Street. She saw the sign on
the corner of the street and instantly remembered what
she was there for. She had been so hypnotized under
the spell of that mysterious place. She had forgotten all
about the suitcase. She froze. Now she was suddenly
scared. All kinds of doubts came to her mind and she
started thinking that maybe she shouldnt have gone
there. What if there was no such place? What if the
address on the suitcase was just an old scribbling and
not the owners home address? What if the owner was a
dangerous man and had planned everything to make
her go there with who knows what intentions? She
thought about this as she stood still on the corner of
Defensa Street, not able to move yet. She shouldnt
have been so impulsive. She should have let the airline
take care of everything, and she would be already
holding her niece in her arms by now. But no. She just
had to be impulsive and thoughtless and crazy. It was
just that the urge to get to the bottom of things had been
so strong. It had woken something inside her, something
that had been long asleep. Well, she was there now;

she might as well get to the place at once. She walked

along Defensa Street, looking at the old faded signs with
the houses` numbering, until she reached number 5412.
There it was. The place itself. It was a colonial building,
just as every other one on the block. She saw the great,
wooden door with a large sign on top of it: Begnini e
Hijos, Antiguedades. There was a golden, rusted bell on
the door, waiting to be rang. Nina stood there, hesitating
for a while. She raised her arm a few times to ring the
bell, but backed off when she was about to reach it.
Finally, she rang it. At the sound of it, Nina heard
movement inside the Store. Someone getting up from a
chair maybe, bumping into something hard; then the
jangling of keys against the keyhole. Her muscles
tightened with every sound. The door opened slowly.
Nina held her breath as she waited for the person
behind it to come out. Her heart beat faster and faster
against her chest as she got closer to finally meeting the
owner of the suitcase.
The person behind the door disclosed himself. It wasnt
him; it wasnt the handsome young man with hair like
coal and deep gray eyes. Instead, it was a small old
man, bald except for some white hair growing above his
ears, wearing thick glasses. His skin so wrinkled it
reminded her of crumpled brown-paper. He reminded
Nina of one of dwarfs from Snow Whites fairytale. She
sighed and dropped the suitcase heavily on the ground.
She couldnt hide the expression of frustration from her
face. The tiny man greeted her with a smile and asked
her in. She managed to mutter a weak "Hello" and went
into the store.
Inside, she was all eyes. The entire place was literally
covered, from wall to wall, with objects of all kinds,

mostly furniture and paintings. Some were toys, clothes

and even necklaces and earrings. Everything was
antique, of course. She was about to start talking about
the suitcase and how she didnt really know if it was his,
when the old man raised a wrinkled hand in front of him
and told her to wait a moment please, he had to go get
something.
Caught by surprise, Nina just stood there. So many
strange unexpected things had happened to her in one
day, that she was not about to start guessing what was
to come next.
Hello, a low, male voice said, and Nina almost
jumped to the ceiling. She turned around to find her
mysterious man standing in front of her, looking at her
with those piercing gray eyes, smiling a small smile. She
stood there not knowing what to say, staring at him as if
she had seen a ghost.
I am Pedro Begnini, he said, stretching his hand
in salutation. Nina shook his hand and noticed that hers
was trembling.
Hi, I think I have something that belongs to
you she said, pointing at the old black suitcase. I
think we bumped into each other at the airport, I guess
our tickets got mixed up or something sorry about
that, by the way. I suppose I took your suitcase by
mistake, and you She suddenly stopped. She had
noticed something about Pedros face when she
mentioned the word mistake. He had changed his
expression, as if he had been about to say something,
maybe to correct her.

Look, he said, in a serious tone. I dont want you

to worry or think Im crazy or anything Its just that
when I saw your face at the airport I need to know
your name, he said and stopped talking.
Nina felt uncomfortable under his stare. She didnt
understand what the man was talking about. She stood
there staring into his eyes, searching for an answer
there. She felt their strong magnetism and she couldnt
explain it. It was the same feeling she had experienced
when entering this neighborhood: being woken up,
shaken up. Before she could stop them, the words came
out of her mouth with a will of their own.
My name is Nina she said, surprised at herself.
Then, it was you. It was you all along, he said
almost in a whisper, never letting his eyes look away
from her. I knew it when I saw you at the airport, but I
didnt know how to tell you, see, I had never actually
seen you. He was getting closer now and Nina was
starting to become really frightened. She winced with
fear, but he remained calm, his voice reassuring. I think
you should sit down to hear this.
He drew an old chair closer to her and she sat down on
the edge, her legs tensed up, as if ready to run at the
slightest indication of danger. Pedro started to talk
again.
Look, I have been having the same dream for
weeks and weeks. I dream about a name; I dont
really see anything else or hear anything else. Only a
name. Its like I feel it in my dreams. Just a name.

Nina was already guessing what the name was, and she
felt equally disturbed and fascinated by the whole idea.
Well, of course, the name is Nina. But there is
something else. Im an artist, you see, a painter. And I
have been looking for inspiration for months and havent
found anything that moves me. All I can think about is
the dream, and it wont go away. I cant paint, I cant
explain it either.
Nina nodded. She knew all about lack of inspiration. She
had been so obsessed with losing her boyfriend that she
hadnt been able to write in months. She hadnt even
been able to sing either, really. She had proved her
parents right. The music industry was too unstable, and
she should pursue a more "serious" career. But from the
moment she had found the suitcase, she had been
feeling differently. She had felt there is mystery in life,
that there are questions yet to be answered. She had to
find the answers, and she would do it through her music.
She drew her hand close to her guitar still strapped to
her back and felt relieved to have it there with her.
So, one day, last week, I took this obsession of
mine, and painted it. And then I saw you, and realized...
Look, I thought I didnt believe in destiny, until today... It
is inside that suitcase. I think we should open it now.
Pedro stared at her, waiting for an answer.
Nina was sitting very still on her chair, and nodded
quietly. Pedro opened a drawer and took a golden key,
lifted the black suitcase and put it on the table. The key
went smoothly into the padlock and opened it. As he
lifted the lid, she could see a strikingly beautiful oil
painting of a woman, her wavy long brown hair floating

lightly, her big light brown eyes looking down, her long
lashes protecting them, smiling with her full lips and a
small brown mole on her chin. Pedro, who was standing
very close to Nina, looked at her with wide eyes. She
was bending over the picture, so close she could almost
touch it; her wide brown eyes very open, her long brown
hair hanging over her shoulders, her mouth half open,
her left hand finger touching the little mole on her chin.

IN HEAVEN
Marisol Mass
Marisol Mass is a new young writer who enjoys
reading and writing. Inspired by her desire to know what
the lyrics of the songs of her favourite bands said and
by the influence of one of her childhood English
teachers, she has dreamed of becoming an EFL teacher
since she was thirteen years old. Ever since, she has
done her best in order to accomplish her goal. Despite
the fact that she had never studied English before
entering college, she has made her way through her
studies without difficulties, proving how determined and
committed to her vocation she is. When she is not busy
with college, she relaxes by meeting her friends and
practising yoga. She has recently written her first short
story, in which she presents a woman who is facing the
loss of her mother and learns an important lesson from
an unexpected person.
It was 11 am and Claire was still in bed. Her puffy eyes
were fixed on the portrait of her mother, on the righthand side night table beside her bed. She contemplated
the photo in silence with an expression of fear in her
face, fear of ever forgetting her mothers face. A couple
of months before, her mother had died after a bitter
battle against cancer. Claire felt an aching emptiness in
her heart when she thought of everything she would not
be able to share with her mother, both her achievements
and her failures. And of course, she missed her
dreadfully; she needed her love and affection more than
ever.

Claire closed her dark-ringed eyes and pulled the

blankets over her head. She remained under the
blankets like a wounded animal in its cave. For a while,
she did not move a muscle. Her arms and her legs were
attached to the rest of her petrified body, making a
lifeless human shape. Her chest did not heave as she
breathed slowly in and out. A mummy she was, wrapped
in white soft cloths, silently complaining about what
could have been a happy life with her mother.
The sound of the doorbell ringing broke the endless
stillness of her body and forced her to face the
nightmare her life was. With a tremendous effort, she
pulled the blankets off her, stood up and got out of her
bedroom to get the door. She ached all over as she
shuffled across the living-room in her pajamas. She
opened the door, and found Kate. Claire had forgotten
that Kate had previously asked her to babysit her sixyear-old daughter, Polly. At first, Claire had not been
willing to accept this responsibility. Lately, she could not
even take care of herself. But she felt she could not
refuse to help her friend, though Claire knew Kate was
doing all this to give her some work to do and some
money since, after her mothers death, Claire was
supposed to work and support herself. When Claire saw
Kate on the threshold, her half-closed eyes suddenly
widened with surprise and embarrassment. She invited
her friend to come in and sit down, though there was
actually no place to sit down. Kate looked in horror at
the piles of clothes and boxes on the sofa and on the
kitchen chairs, the small kitchen table that was covered
with books, magazines, plastic bags and dirty utensils,
and the huge pile of dirty plates, cups, forks, spoons... in
the sink. As Kate came in, she could feel the rustle of

the bread and biscuit crumbs that were scattered all

over the floor on the sole of her shoes.
Hi, Claire... I guess you forgot I was coming,
didnt you?
Oh, yes, I totally forgot, Claire said with a
sheepish smile. She cleaned up the sofa briskly and
they both took a sit.
I see things have not changed much these days,
Kate commented bitterly.
Well, I still cant find a job, you know, and I dont
have the strength to take my books and start studying
again.
I know it is not easy. Nothing has been easy for
the last six months. I dont want to sound bossy, Claire,
but you know that sleeping the whole morning and
waiting for time to pass quickly is not a solution.
Claire took a deep breath as she drew her fingers
through her untidy hair.
My life is such a mess you are right. Everything
you say is true. But Im not sure Im strong enough to
get over this. Im sick of feeling this way. But I cant help
it, she said, and her weary eyes filled with sudden
tears.
I know, thats why I asked you to watch over Polly
for a couple of hours. Im pretty sure you two will have a
good time together. Polly really likes you, you know.
Kate went to look for Polly, who was outside in the car.
As Kate and Polly came into the house, Polly came
running to kiss Claire.
Aunt Claire! the little girl shouted in delight.

After Kate left, Claire put a jumpsuit on and Polly made

herself at home, playing with her pet, a milky white
rabbit. Polly played in the living-room beside a low-slung
sofa with pyramids of old-fashioned clothes and opened
boxes filled with yellowish family photos. She squatted
down in front of the dumb animal, the victim of her every
whim.
This is aunt Claires house. We are going to play
here, but you have to behave yourself, the little girl
explained to the poor animal, pointing a warning finger
at it, or else aunt Claire will get angry and mom too and
Ill have to punish you for being disobedient.
Claire was in the kitchen, getting ready to do the dishes.
She had already put an apron on.
Its OK, Polly. I dont think he can untidy anything.
The room is already a mess, Claire jokingly remarked,
smiling widely for the first time in days, in months.
Claire wearily plodded across the living room to clean up
the mess of clothes on the sofa so Polly could sit down
there. In so doing, she crouched down beside Polly,
stretched her right arm down to touch the rabbit, and
with her skinny pale fingers, she caressed the back of
his stiff neck.
Whats his name? Claire asked Polly, unable to
shift her eyes from his glossy hair.
Hes Hairy! the girl said cheerfully as she sat
down on the carpeted floor, Hes my best friend! He
came home yesterday. Mom bringed him because

Snowball disappeared and didnt come back again. Her

radiant face looked grave now.
Who is Snowball, sweetheart?
He was a rabbit like this one. Mom says Snowball
died. An angel came at night and took him. Now,
Snowball is on the moon, in the sky. The moon is his
house now and he lives there with other rabbits that died
too. The moon is full of white rabbits. Her face lit up
with an angelic smile. Thats why the moon is so white
and bright! she said enthusiastically.
Amused by the logic of the childs argument, Claire
smiled and laughed under her breath. Her eyes were
fixed on the girls sweet face for a moment. Deep down,
Claire secretly envied the child, her blissful ignorance of
death. Claire wished she could be a child again, and
forget, and escape from the unbearable emptiness of
her life. Claire nodded, listening attentively to the child
imparting her wisdom on the subject.
My granny died too. But she is in heaven. Mom
says that the same angel came and took her to heaven.
There, she lives with God and other grannies. Did you
know about that?
Claire lowered her eyes. An unutterable sadness came
over her. She wondered whether it was true that there
was a place called heaven somewhere in the universe,
and whether there was a God. She struggled to silence
the voice in her head, but she couldnt. Does God really
exist? Why has this God, who is said to be love, stolen
my mother from me? Why her? Why now? Why?
Yes, of course I did, Claire sighed.

Mom says that in heaven you can play whenever

you want to. You can eat all kinds of candy, you can
have ice-cream whenever you want to... cos its always
summer in heaven.
Claire had a lump on her throat. She was stupefied by
the girls conviction.
Your mom is right, Claire said softly as she
placed her hands around her face, shifting the weight of
her head to her hands. Suddenly, it downed on her that
maybe it was true. Maybe there was a heaven where
people lived an even better life than the one here on
earth. Probably there was a God up there too, taking
care of both the living and the dead. She felt a
comforting feeling. Maybe this life is the hell we all fear.
My sorrow, my hell. Her features started to soften and
her mournful expression changed to resignation. A
single tear rolled slowly down her cheek, paving the way
for a flood of tears.
No! You cant cry! the girl shouted with worry. If
my granny sees you crying, she will be sad too. She can
see everything from heaven. Do you want her to see
you crying?
You are right, she said, and this time Claire really
meant it.
Polly dried Claires tears with her little fingers. Polly
hugged her tightly, as her mother used to.
You have to promise that you wont cry again,
Polly said softly. Claire smiled. The painful truth of death
had been just revealed through the eyes of the purest
creature on earth.

Claire stood up firmly, determined to clean up the entire

house. She started with the kitchen, by washing the
dishes. She vigorously rubbed the surface of each plate
with a scourer, using water and washing-up liquid while
Polly waited for the plate to dry it up with a clean white
towel.
Claire knew that something would always be missing,
the love and the support of her mother, and that the
anguish she felt would not be easy to wash away. But
now she knew that she could not let this pain grow and
devour her. She discovered she was the owner of her
suffering and her happiness.

ON THE MERRY-GO-ROUND
Soledad Mercado
Soledad Mercado was born and raised in Mendoza. She
is currently pursuing her university studies, having
chosen the English-teaching career. In her spare time,
she enjoys listening to music, taking walks, reading and
writing. Even though she is reflexive and quiet, she has
plenty of things to say in her story. She became actively
involved in the adventure of writing a very deep short
story which, in an extremely appealing way, presents
the story of a young medical student whose sister died
when he was only five. Nick had struggled to hide his
pain throughout his life, but when he learned of a little
girl who reminded him of his dead sister, he was forced
to confront his sorrowful past and his overprotective
parents.
Why do you study medicine? a girl asked
spontaneously as she sat in front of him in the school
cafeteria. This was the hardest question for Nick to
answer. He wanted to say: Id like to treat people, to
make them feel better. But the words that came out of
his mouth were: Well, you know doctors are very
popular among women.
The girl replied with a nervous giggle. Uh huh, the
typical reaction to my clever remarks, Nick thought. He
was looking at the girl nowexamining her, rather. At
first, she had appeared attractive to him. She had a
narrow waist and large blue eyes, but beyond that she
was an ordinary girl. It was obvious that she didnt take
care of herself: not a drop of make up on her face and

she needed to pluck her bushy eyebrows urgently! He

kept playing with his meatballs. He had served himself
only two when most of his friends had three or four
meatballs floating in their soups. Not that he was putting
on weight, but he had to be careful with that white coat
he had bought especially to combine with the medical
school uniform. It was white and white made him look
kind of fatty. He paid attention to the conversation going
on now. His friends, most of them women - generally he
got on better with girls as men were sort of distant
toward him, they were probably jealous that he got more
attention. Was it his fault to be blond and have
penetrating green eyes? - were talking about the
following week, in which they would start their medical
residency. Coincidentally, Nick had been assigned to the
same hospital where his father worked. Nick couldnt
wait for it either. He was anxious to have patients he
could help. He pictured himself at the intensive care unit
giving an injection to a thin pale little girl, curiously
similar to Sophie, his little sister who had died when she
was three years old. Nick barely remembered her
actually. He had been only five the day his father had
finally given consent for the doctors to perform the
unsuccessful operation. It had been a useless surgery
anyway; his parents had waited too long and the
leukaemia had grown too acute. Nick knew that it would
have been better to have done it before, but his parents
were afraid of something he couldnt recall. Why had his
father, being a specialist himself, decided to wait? Even
now, after all those years, whenever Nick tried to ask
anything about Sophie his parents would avoid the
subject. His mother would stop doing whatever she was
doing and pick up the phone and call her friends with
some silly excuse or go out shopping for some new
expensive clothes or jewellery. And his fatherWell,

Nick hadnt really tried to talk about this with him. The
only time he had attempted to bring up the subject, his
father had given him a dreadful look, put on his
extremely white coat and left for the hospital.
It was unusual that he had thought of Sophie. It had
been years since the last time he had spent more than a
minute thinking of her. Long before, Nick had given up
on the idea of reconstructing Sophies face or voice, or
laughter, or crying. There were no tracks of Sophies
existence in Nicks house, no pictures, no drawings, no
clothes, no toys, no memoriesThe only image that
remained on Nicks mind was that of the last time he
had seen her at hospital. She was lying on a white cold
bed, too big for her small fragile body. Nick had only
been able to catch a glimpse of her from the door before
her mother took him away from the room. A pale small
face with shut eyes under blonde curls was the only
memory Nick had of his sister. He had not been at her
funeral either. Children dont go to funerals, his parents
had said. Shortly after the ceremony, his mother had
redecorated the entire house and turned Sophies room
into a huge dressing room. His father decided to get a
job in a different hospital and he stopped performing
operations on children. They had started a new life and
Sophie was never mentioned again at the Richards
house.
What a handsome young man we have here to
accompany us for lunch, Rita! exclaimed a very old
nurse with thick blue eyeliner, violet eye shadow and
bright red lipstick that went beyond the edges of her
mouth. Nick almost lost his appetite at her sight, but he
was polite and remained seated while the two women
struggled to place their broad hips on the narrow chairs.

Are you one of the new boys? the one called Rita
asked, grinning widely.
Yes, Im starting my residency today, Nick
answered in a serious tone. Sometimes, only
sometimes, he wished he would not call womens
attention so much. He could not even walk in front of a
secondary school without annoying teens following him
each time he wore his sport black sleeveless T-shirt.
Luckily, the security guys at the gym did not let anyone
without a membership card enter the building. Yet, he
could not really blame those girls. After all, there was
only one, unique, tremendously sexy Nick Richards in
the world, as he often told himself.
Have you seen that little girl that has just been
transferred, the one with leukaemia? asked the nurse
with the thick blue eyeliner. Its such a pity, shes so
little. I hope she can make it, poor thing.
No, not really. She must be somebody elses
patient, Nick answered, trying to sound detached.
Poor girl, I feel so sorry for her. Its not the first girl
with leukaemia I see, but I think its been a long time
since the last time I saw someone so pale and so
lifeless! Shes so thin. The parents are from a very small
village and they didnt know her daughter was sick with
cancer. They waited too long to bring her here.
Nick wished they would talk about something else. The
idea of a pale sick little girl reminded him of Sophie and
this was a happy day and he did not want his happiness
to be spoiled. He had never wanted, as a matter of fact.
He finished his lunch quickly, said good bye politely to
the old nurses and continued working and meeting new
patients.

However, his happiness would not last long. That same

night he dreamt about Sophie. He was five years old
again. He could tell because he felt too short and his big
manly hands had become small and chubby. He was
seeing a merry-go-round in front of him when Sophie
took him by the hand and led him towards it. It was the
same one to which his father used to take him before
Sophie died, although she had never had a chance to
accompany them. Sophie looked gorgeous. She was
wearing a white dress with a pink ribbon around the
waist and her blonde curly hair made her look like a little
angel. She tried to climb onto a horse but Nick stopped
her because it was too tall for her. Instead, he sat her on
a small elegant couch. She did not say anything, but
looked at him with a broad smile while he sat on a horse
in front of the couch. Suddenly, the mesmerizing music
stopped, and so did the merry-go-round. Nick fell from
the horse and hit his head badly against the platform of
the machine. Then, he touched his forehead and
discovered that he was bleeding. When he raised his
head, there was Sophie. He heard her say in a high
sweet voice Does it hurt? Its alright. You can cry. I
wont tell anyone that you fell. After he heard her say
that, Nick woke up in the middle of the night and cried
and cried and cried until it was daylight. That day Nick
did not drive to the hospital; he stayed in bed pretending
he was sick. After all, he would not need to be paid
much attention as he could treat himself. In the
afternoon he felt better; he washed his face and
watched some TV. Later, he called his friends and
arranged to party that night. He decided that he had
cried enough. However, what was supposed to be a
regular Friday night turned out to be a real mess.
Determined to cheer himself up, Nick had drunk too
much beer and his friends had had to drive him home.

Luckily, his father did not notice that he had come home
with a torn shirt and that he had spent a hundred dollars
on alcohol.
By Monday, everything was over. Nick had spent all
Saturday sleeping and all Sunday on the beach with
some friends. He went to the hospital and he thought he
would have a normal day helping other surgeons and
studying cases. He had managed to keep Sophie out of
his mind until lunch time, when the old nurses met him
again. This time the news they brought was even worse
than before. The only chance the little child with
lymphocytic leukaemia had to survive was a bone
marrow transplant. She had been put first in the national
list of organ transplantation. When Nick heard the news,
he felt the urgent need to see the girl. He was about to
get up, with a weight on his chest choking him, when the
nurses looked at him and asked him what he thought.
He could only say that he was very sorry and that he
hoped the girl had some relative who could be a suitable
donor. After that, they started talking about their sons
and daughters and ex-husbands. Nick deliberately took
part in their conversation and gradually his chest felt
released. However, later, when he was looking for a
doctor, he entered a mistaken room. It was the little sick
girls room. The sight of the small defenseless child in a
huge white bed with lots of catheters coming out of her
thin pale body broke Nicks heart. Sophie, he
whispered slowly. Then he closed his eyes tightly and
fought warm tears back. He swallowed the lump in his
throat, looked down and silently left the room. All the
way back home, he thought of Sophie lying on the white
bed, the blonde curls on top of her eyes, the extremely
pale skin. More memories came to his mind: his parents
arguing the day after the operation; the sound of his

fathers crying; his mother dressed in black and leaving

him with an aunt while she left for Sophies funeral and
him running after her... He felt too full and heavy as if he
were a lead statue drowning slowly on a deep black sea
of sorrow.
When he got back home, his mother was watching TV in
the living room. Nick decided he should insist on talking
about his little sister. Sophies words echoed in his head
incessantly now: Does it hurt? Its alright. You can cry. I
wont tell anyone that you fell. He sat on the couch next
to his mother and said: Mom, do you have a minute?
Theres something I need to talk to you about.
Suddenly, it seemed to him that this was the first time in
his life that he sounded serious when he talked to his
mother.
Hi, honey! How are you? I didnt hear you get
home. The maid told me that youve been ill, Im so
sorry I was away! Do you feel better now? Do you want
me to tell Theresa to make some hot tea? You look
terrible darling. You must be worn out!
No, mom. Its alright, that was last week. I feel
much better now. Listen, I need to...
Are you sure? I dont want my little boy to get ill
again.
Mom, Nick said, lowering his voice and
searching for his mothers eyes. I I need to I need
to talk about Sophie.
His mothers eyes were wide open in surprise. She
seemed speechless for a short moment. Then she
turned away her face to look at the clock and said as
lively as she could, What time is it? Oh, it is pretty late

now. Im sorry darling, but Ive just remembered I have

to get up early tomorrow so I cant talk now.
Mother, this is very important to me, Nick told her
while he searched for his mothers hand. She had a
worried look on her face and she could not take her
eyes off her diamond ring. The ring she had bought just
after Sophies death.
I need to know. Please stop avoiding the
subject, Nick pleaded. Ive been thinking about Sophie
a lot lately. Something is telling me that all this has to
stop. We have to talk about it. Therere things I need to
be told, explained. Please. If you really love me, tell me
the whys. Why dont we ever mention her? Why did you
and dad take all of Sophies pictures? Why did dad
change to another hospital and stopped operating on
children? Nicks voice was turning into a desperate sob
now. And why didnt dad tell them to operate on her
earlier?
Nick buried his face in his mothers bosom and wept
openly for Sophies death for the first time in his life. His
mother remained silent and hugged him very tightly with
both of her arms. After a short moment, Nick raised his
head to look at her in the eye. She finally said, in tears,
Im so sorry, Nick. We hoped you would forget
everything. We didnt want you to suffer as much as we
did. You were so little and we were left with just one
child. We just wanted to protect you. As soon as she
had uttered those words, Nick took his mothers arms
away from his body, stood up and shrieked with a deep
furrow between his eyebrows: To protect me? To
protect me from what? From mourning my sisters
death? From feeling naturally sad about it!
Nick, please try to understand. It devastated us.
We didnt know how to deal with it. It wouldve been

even worse for you! his mother answered weeping

while she tried to grab her sons hands. But Nick pulled
his hands free and growled: Leave me alone. Im not
your baby anymore! I hate you. You hear me? I hate
you! Then, he ran up the stairs and slammed his
bedroom door while his mother still sobbed
uncontrollably: Im so very sorry. We did know you
remembered things so well, Nick, Nick
Once he was alone in the darkness of his room, Nick
flew into a rage. He picked up his swivel chair and
hurled it into the wall. Then, he kicked his bedside table
repeatedly until his foot was sore. After that, he slid
slowly along the only dimly lit wall of the bedroom, his
face buried in his hands. It was a quiet moonlit night and
the only sound to be heard was Nicks soft whimper. The
window was open and a faint song reached his ears:
Hush now baby, baby, don't you cry
Momma's gonna check out all your girlfriends for you
Momma won't let anyone dirty get through
Momma's gonna wait up until you get in
Momma will always find out where you've been
Momma's gonna keep Baby healthy and clean
Oooo Babe
Oooo Babe
Ooo Babe, you'll always be Baby to me
Mother, did it need to be so high?5
As he heard the song more tears streamed down his
cheeks. Could he blame only his mother and father for
being overprotective or had he had some responsibility
as well?
5

Pink Floyd. Mother. Dark Side Of The Moon.

The following day, Nick went to the hospital. His eyes

were still swollen and reddish. The first thing he did was
to try to contact his father in order to raise the matter
with him now. However, he was told that Dr. Richards
was in a very important meeting that would last several
hours. But Nick could not wait for his father: he had his
own patients to attend now. Later, as usual, Nick had
lunch in the hospitals cafeteria with the old nurses.
While they had their large meals, he asked about the
little girl with leukaemia. They told him that Dr. Richards
had refused to operate on the child himself. Even
though he was a consultant and researcher, he had
been asked to do so because, suddenly, a bone marrow
donor had appeared and both of the surgeons in charge
were on sick leave. They had called two substitute
doctors but they would arrive within two days. According
to the nurses, if the little girl waited that long she might
die; it was better to do the transplant as soon as
possible. Nick knew this too. He got up from the table
abruptly and headed towards his fathers office. He did
not even knock on the door; he just stomped in.
Dr. Richards looked at his son with a startled
expression on his face and asked: What are you doing
here, Nick?
Im gonna ask the questions, said Nick, his voice
rough with indignation. Why dont you operate on that
little girl? Shell die soon if you dont!
Calm down Nick, Dr. Richards replied coldly.
You dont understand how things work yet. Sometimes
we come across cases like this; its heart breaking at
first, but we are doctors and we dont let our emotions
interfere. It could lead us to make mistakes.
I dont care at all. There is a donor. What do the
parents say?

They agree, of course. But there are no doctors to

perform the surgery.
You can do it. They asked you to. Why dont you
do it, damn it?! Nick shouted in exasperation.
Don't take that tone with me, young man! Youd
better calm down or else Ill call security! Nicks father
shrieked, shooting his son a severe look and getting up
of his chair.
That wont work dad. Im not a child anymore.
Nicks voice dropped suddenly now.
Dr. Richards stared at his son for a moment and seeing
that Nick fixed him with a defiant glare, he understood
that his son had grown up.
So? Im still waiting for your answer. You must
know the child has very few chances of surviving until
the substitutes come, Nick added.
Im very sorry for that little girl, but I cannot
operate on her myself, Dr. Richards answered quietly
as he sat down again. Its been years since the last
time I performed a surgery on a child.
And what is your suggestion then? Waiting and
letting her die as it happened to Sophie? Nick said, in a
sarcastic voice.
What! What are you talking about? How dare you
talk to me like that! Dr. Richards said, deeply shocked.
Stop it! Stop pretending she never lived. Mom told
me you were trying to protect me and that thats why we
never mention her, but I do remember her. I remember
everything now! said Nick angrily.
You say you remember it, his father told him,
trying to sound cold. What do you remember? You dont
know what it was like. It was too much for us. We
decided to bear it ourselves and keep you away from

that hell. It was for your own sake that we did what we
did.
Oh, really? Well, thank you then. But Ive been
living in a private hell of my life. Ive got this terrible
wound in my heart that you and mom never let heal!
Nick screamed, pounding his chest.
You have a wound that never healed? Dr.
Richards cried out. Let me tell you about my pain too.
He left his desk and taking Nick by the shoulders said:
You dont get it! I was one of the consultants, I had
decided to wait. It was my own daughter I let die! Dr
Richards broke down in tears and fell to the floor.
Nick was aghast at his fathers unexpected behaviour.
He swallowed the lump on his throat, composed himself
and tried to reassure his father.
Dad? Listen. It wasnt your fault. Im sure you did
your very best, said Nick quietly. He then placed his
right hand on his fathers shoulder as smoothly as he
could. Seeing that he did not push him aside, Nick
lowered himself to the floor and hugged his father.
After a while, his father mumbled that Nick had been the
donor to Sophie, but the probability of success had been
too low, only fifty per cent. Sophies blood was a rare
type and it had seemed pointless to risk Nicks
wellbeing. They had hoped that a more suitable donor
would appear soon, but by the time a donor appeared
Sophie was too weak to endure the surgery.
Fifty per cent is not zero per cent. It could have
been enough, Nick, Dr. Richards sobbed.
I dreamt about Sophie the other night, Nick said,
with a dreamy gaze into space. She was beautiful and

happy like a cherub in heavenTheres nothing we can

do for her now, dad. But we can still help this other child.
Lets do it, please. Ill help you. After all, Im a surgeon
too.
What? Dr. Richards answered, wiping his face
with the cuff of his coat. I dont know. Things may not
work. Its been such a long time. And you have very little
experience.
Those things you dont forget, dad. Your talent is
still there. Im sure. Besides, do you want to make the
same mistake again?
No. Of course not. Alright, lets put on our gowns,
said Dr. Richards as Nick helped him stand up.
After they had had some water and washed their faces,
they headed for the little girls room together. The nurses
and other doctors were astonished to hear Dr. Richards
order to send the girl to the operating theatre. Once they
finished, Nick and his father shook hands with broad
smiles on their faces. This was the first time Nick saw
his father smile with genuine happiness.
That night, after the Richards family had had dinner
together and seen old pictures of Sophie and
remembered the things she did and said, Nick dreamt
about his little sister again. He was on the merry-gorounds platform once more, with an injury to his
forehead. Sophie bent down and kissed him near the
damaged skin. The bleeding stopped and she said, her
face lighting up, Youve healed. You dont bleed
anymore!

WHEN THE CURRENTS FLOW

Mara Alejandrina Petra
Cheerful and lively, Mara Alejandrina Petra has always
been fond of sports and outdoor activities. Even though
as a child she never felt attracted by the world of
literature, she now admits to have been captivated by
the beauty and power of the written word as a means
both to speak her mind and to discover herself. At the
age of 21, she is for the first time going through the
wonderful experience of writing her own piece of
literature. Inspired by moving personal experiences, in
When the Currents Flow she attempts to show how
modern busy life is leading many people to be trapped
in their own worlds and prevents them from enjoying
beautiful little things that give real sense to our lives.
It is true what people say about how time can erode our
memories like a rock is eventually turned into sand. But
even when they get eroded, these pieces of memory are
always present somewhere inside us. So present that in
the most unexpected moments, they are stirred up by
daily experiences that have the power to revive part of
our past and open up our eyes in times of darkness. I
understood how true this was not long ago, when many
things I had forgotten came flooding back to my mind
and I realized how wrong I had been.
After my father died when I was seven, it was my
grandpa who took up his role in my life. Every day, he
picked me up at school and then took me for a walk
around the park where we spent hours playing together,

not aware of how strong the emotional bond that we

were forging was.
One of those days I will never forget. I had already left
school and was trying to find him in the crowd of parents
who were waiting for their children, when I spotted
Grandpa standing by his car smiling at me. With my
eyes set on his, I ran towards him and jumped into his
arms, clinging to his neck with childlike enthusiasm.
That Friday afternoon after school, Grandpa and I went
for a walk in the park. It was an autumn day. Some
beams of sunlight filtered dustily through the clouds that
were still covering the sky, gleaming on the crystal-clear
waters of the river that flowed alongside us. From the
distance I got sight of two rocks placed at the side of the
riverbed where mothers used to sit and talk for hours
while their children played in the water, shrieking with
laughter and splashing around. But this time there was
nobody in there. So I broke into a run cheerfully,
heading for that place so that I reached it before
anybody could occupy it. When I was there, I jumped
onto the rock and standing on top of it, looked at
Grandpa agitating my arms in the air.
Here I am Grandpa! I enthused. He was
coming in my direction trying to speed up his slow pace.
His eyes were full of life and his radiant face beamed
with pleasure. Hed always been the kind of person who
finds delight in little things. Listening to me calling him
Grandpa or looking at a smile on somebodys face were
the kind of things that made him happy.
Dont hurry! Ill wait for you here! I yelled.

And as I waited for him to reach the place where I was, I

sat down on the rock and observed the treacherous
currents flowing steadily along the river, tumbling over
some rocks, swirling around in eddies, and then
following the current and continuing downstream. I was
almost hypnotized admiring the patterns that the water
drew in the river when I heard dry leaves cracking
behind me as somebody stepped onto them. I turned my
head around to see who it was and I squealed with fear
and surprise when I got Grandpa with his hands almost
on my back, pretending he was about to push me into
the water. Then, we looked into each others eyes with
an amused expression on our faces and fell about; not
even knowing what was so fun about all that. Shrieking
with laughter, Grandpa held onto my shoulder to support
himself and lowered to sit down next to me. He breathed
deeply to recover his strength and then took a piece of
paper out of his pocket and started to play with it, folding
it once and again.
What are you doing Grandpa? I asked,
enthralled by the slight quick movements of his old but
steady hands.
Its a magic trick I learnt to do a long time ago
when I was your age Daniel, he answered, his eyes
dancing with amusement. Youll see how I can make a
boat from this little sheet of paper now
And while he was concentrated on his task, I stared at
his hands expertly running over each crease and
admiring how each fold shaped the piece of paper into
new forms. For a couple of seconds I saw Grandpa
folding it endlessly and then, all of a sudden, as if by
magic, he had made a beautiful little boat. To see how it
floated, we squatted down by the riverbed and gently

placed the boat in the moving waters, letting it be carried

away from us. The little ship was pushed forward by the
strength of the current, tumbling and tossing all about
and finally sinking into the depths of the river. After
having lost sight of it, I stood up quickly and eagerly
looked for another sheet of paper so that we tried with
another boat. Aware of the fact that this time the boat
would also sink, Grandpa said with a gentle voice,
If you want we can try Daniel, but most probably
the boat will sink again. The current is very strong today,
dear.
Lets try again! I said with childlike insistence. If
we make a bigger one now, it wont sink Grandpa! My
innocent comment made him chuckle. Looking at my
eyes almost begging him, Grandpa took another sheet
of paper to try again. But he was right. As we placed the
second paper boat in the waters of the river, it was
swept away by the strong current. Following the ship
with my eyes, I said with disappointment,
We should come one day when the waters are
calm Grandpa! but he didnt answer. Then, I raised my
eyes and saw him fix his gaze on the river, staring at it
with a reflexive look.
You know what? Sometimes when we grow up,
we are like paper ships which are pushed forward and
swept away by the current, he said, almost murmuring
to himself, without even noticing that he was putting his
thoughts into words. Not really knowing what he meant
with this last comment, I extended one hand to help him
get into his feet and excitedly ran towards the swings as
he followed me with slow steps.

For many years I thought I would never be able to live

without him because more than my Grandpa, he was my
father figure, my mentor, my bulwark, the single most
influential person in my life.
But at that moment I didnt know how the effect of time
sometimes is stronger than the deep emotions one can
feel towards a person.
Years passed and, at the age of nineteen, I started
studying Architecture at college and entered a
completely new world, the world of adulthood, Grandpa
would say. I remember how excited I was with my new
life. Although days were long and more tiring now, I
enjoyed getting up very early in the morning, while my
mom was still asleep, and get ready to go to work. After
work, I devoted my evenings to attending subjects. I
used to arrive home at night, when mom was already in
bed, and stay up late, drawing up plans and studying for
exams. In my free time, I played tennis with one of the
few friends my hurried life allowed me to have. Although
at the beginning I just played for fun, tennis eventually
became somewhat of an addiction. I started to train hard
and play in tournaments as I studied and worked
simultaneously. As I was so busy with my activities and
responsibilities, my visits to grandpa dwindled down and
little by little my interest in him faded away.
But Grandpa was always trying to rekindle the close
relationship we used to have in my childhood. I
remember one day he paid me a visit after a long time
without seeing each other. I was in my room, listening to
music and working with a scale model I had to present
for one of the subjects at College. Then, I heard
Grandpas voice echoing in the living room talking to my

mom. They had just arrived home and were shattering

the peace I was so delightedly enjoying in solitude.
When I heard from a distance my grandpa asking about
me, I turned off the music and closed the door to my
room. I hid there, waiting for him to leave while I kept on
working on my building model. I was inside my room,
trying to make as little noise as possible, when I heard
somebody knocking at the door.
Who is it?
Daniel? he asked as he opened the door gingerly
and peered inside. He kept on calling me as if I were the
child he used to play with fifteen years ago. Then, he
slid into my room and noticing that I didnt answer, he
continued as you dont have time now to pay a visit to
me, then I decided it was me who should come to see
you.
I raised my eyes, and greeted him with disdain, trying to
fake a smile.
Hi grandpa, what has brought you here? I asked
halfheartedly as I looked away from him and set my
eyes back on my model, keeping my attention on what I
was doing.
I was going for a stroll around the park, he said
with his usual patient tone of voice. I was wondering if
you if you wanted to come along. I remained in
silence for a while. The truth was that I couldnt stand
the idea of going for a walk with Grandpa. Now that his
pace had become sluggish and unsteady I had to wait
for him every three steps I took because he always
dropped behind. While I was trying to work out how to
reject his invitation so as not to sound so tough, I kept
on working in my desk unwilling to meet his eyes. But as

I tried to avoid looking at him, I saw him reflected on the

glass cover of my desk. He was standing next to me,
dull, impassive, observant, wearing his usual pale pink tshirt rolled up to his elbows and a pair of old faded gray
pants. His eyes were looking straight at me as if they
were penetrating my nape.
I think I have a lot to do grandpa. Why dont you
ask mom if she wants to go with you? I said, rubbing
my temple, trying not to show the anxiety that his
sluggishness had begun to cause in me.
But if you need to stay home to finish that,
maybe I can stay too and help you with the scale
model.
I wondered why he always wanted to lend a hand when
nobody had asked him for any help. I knew that when
people got old and started to feel useless, they began to
stick their noses in other peoples business, but never
imagined it would bother me so much. I gave him a
couple of cardboards to cut into squares, thinking that
maybe that would stop him from talking incessantly as
he used to do. But I was wrong. As soon as he started
doing the task Id asked him to do, he began recalling
moments of his youth.
When I was your age, things were not the same
as nowadays. Life has changed so much I knew he
was talking, but I couldnt listen to him anymore.
When an hour had passed I asked, Grandpa, its
getting late. Shouldnt you be leaving?
I think you are right, he answered, noticing that
his presence had already started to make me nervous.
Then, I walked him to the door and said good bye
to him. When I closed the door, I leaned against it and

breathed deeply trying to relax after all the anxiety

Grandpas visit had produced in me. With my eyes set
on the ceiling, I lowered down, sat on to the floor and
murmured to myself not even aware of what I was
saying, At least hes already gone.
Not that I didnt love my grandpa as before, but
sometimes life itself forced me to speed up to be able to
keep up with it. As years went by, some of what had
made our relationship special seemed lost and I feared
that it was not only the fact that my Grandpa was getting
older but that I too was changing.
Things were getting worse not only with Grandpa but
also with mom. Quarrels with her had become more and
more frequent in the last months. Some weeks after
grandpas visit, we had an awful fight. That day, I was in
my bedroom lying sprawled down in front of the
television when I heard my mom calling me from the
other side of the house.
Daniel! Please, come now. Supper is ready.
I wont have supper, I answered offhandedly.
I heard her heavy steps reverberating along the corridor
as she walked towards my room. When I turned my
head to my door, she was already there, leaning against
the doorframe, frowning at me.
Why Daniel? You should have something before
going to bed
Mom please, dont start with the sermon about
what I should do and shouldnt do. You know I dont
have time for long after-dinner conversations as you like
to have. Please, this is the only time I have for myself,
let me enjoy it! I said to her as I kept on channelhopping.

I really dont know whats happening with you

Daniel. You dont give a damn about anyone except for
yourself. What about your family? What about your
friends? You dont even receive your grandpas phone
calls anymore! You cannot be so absorbed in your own
world! she shouted scowling at me.
Stop saying Im absorbed in my own world, mom!
Dont you see that everything Im doing now is to be
somebody in the world? Some day you will die, grandpa
will die too and Ill have to find my own way to survive.
My priority is my future, and therefore my job and
studies come first. Now, could you please leave me in
peace?
Dont dare to speak to me like that again! she
shouted. Fighting back her tears, she stormed out of my
room slamming the door as she left.
After that I didnt talk to her for months. Although I tried
to seem nonchalant, at times I felt I was dying inside for
how Id been with her. But those feelings of guilt faded
away when I returned to my routine and got trapped in
my world again.
In my fourth year of college, I felt really fulfilled. I was
about to finish my major, and by the end of the year, I
was already enlisted to participate in one of the bestknown tennis tournament. However, while some things
seemed to be going perfectly, others started to worsen.
After three years of hard work and study, the busy life I
led brought its consequences. A chain of physical
problems started to affect my health. I began to feel a
persistent sharp pain in one of my eyes which made its
vision blurred. This seemed to have begun to affect my
reflexes too. When I played tennis I found it more
difficult to coordinate my movements. I also felt weaker

now. My muscles had lost their strength and moved

slower than they used to a couple of months before. I
had constant headaches and every day that passed it
required more effort to concentrate either while studying
or doing sport. There was no pill that could calm the
pain I had started to feel. After three long months of
medical examinations for three long months, I went to
see the doctor to get the results. I was sitting outside the
office in the spacious ill-lit entrance hall when I heard
the voice of the doctor echoing through a door calling
my surname.
Mr. Johnson, the doctor called me from the door
of his office. I got up and walked towards where he was
standing, feeling nervous. I entered his office and in an
instant I was sitting in front of the doctor on the other
side of his desk.
Well Mr. Johnson, he said in a matter-of-fact
way, pushing his glasses up and rubbing the bridge of
his nose. He slid the medical files out of a folder and
continued, Ive been looking at the results of your
analyses and things are not as good as we expected.
Your studies reveal a number of complications that will
affect directly the life that youve been leading until now.
Your nervous system has been damaged and as a
consequence your body will stop responding to some
signals sent by your nerve cells. So youll start to find it
difficult to do some activities that require good reflexes
or steady movements such us making scale models or
doing sport
As I listened to him, I started to feel sick in my stomach.
My heart began to beat fast and my hands began to
quiver. In my mind, images of my life were reproduced in
the form of a film as I tried to figure out what would

become of me from now on. I had lost track of what he

was saying when I heard him telling me, your entire life
will be altered. You just need to face it.
It was then that I felt that my whole world was
collapsing. It was as if everything that I had devoted my
life to, everything that Id achieved until that moment had
tumbled down with the news of my illness.
When the appointment was over, we shook hands. I
stepped out of the office and headed towards the exit
door of the clinic. On my way home, I felt a strong force
pressing my breast that didnt allow me to breathe. All at
once, my whole life seemed to be losing its meaning as I
died inside. Lost in my thoughts, I walked through the
bustling streets of the city. I observed the faces of
crowds of rushing people coming and going from
different directions, looking burdened and lifeless. With
images of my past messed up in my mind, I kept on
walking until I reached the park where once I had spent
an afternoon with Grandpa playing with the paper boat.
When I saw the river where he and I had tried our paper
boat; memories of my childhood came flooding back to
my mind. Those waters reminded me of my Grandpa, of
the long hours we used to spend together when I was a
child. I remembered the afternoons I sat in the security
of his lap listening to his made-up stories of cowboys
and heroes, about the nights I spent in his house when I
came into his bedroom in fear after a nightmare and
curled up next to him in the warmth of his arms. I
pictured him teaching me how to tie a necktie, how to
shave myself, how to work hard and fight for what I
wanted. Overwhelmed by these memories, I felt a
sudden need to find my grandfather and talk to him and

let him hug me in his arms as he did when I was a child.

But it was too late. Hed died of a heart attack the year
before while I had been trapped in my own world
thinking of my needs only. I hadnt felt his death so
strongly until this day when I felt my own death so near.
I walked towards the rocks alongside the riverbed and
kneeling there; I closed my eyes and tried to shut out my
world for a while. I began to think of the strong and
treacherous current that flowed along the river that day.
And I thought of how quickly it flowed and how the paper
boat had been swept away and finally got lost in the
unforgiving waters. In the silence of my loneliness I
remembered that it was there where grandpa had once
taught me a lesson I hadnt understood until that very
moment when I heard a voice in my mind saying
Sometimes when we grow up, we are like paper ships
which are pushed forward and swept away by the
current. With his words in my mind, I saw now what
Grandpa had wanted to tell me. Maybe he had wanted
to teach me that life is like a river and we like little paper
boats because it's easy for us to get caught up in the
day-to-day craziness of life and let ourselves get carried
away by the current. And when the river is swirling
swiftly and the current is strong, we may forget to stop
every now and then on top of a rock to admire our
surroundings and enjoy the beauty of the journey, the
little things that life offers to us.
After a while, I opened my eyes again, the dazzling
golden sun blinding me for some seconds. Then, I
looked at the river flowing in front of me and saw that
this time it wasnt hurried. The waters flowed calmly,
caressing the rocks like a summer breeze. And sitting
next to the river, all alone, I slid my hand into my pocket
and found a piece of crumpled paper. I took it out and

straightened it with my fingers. Then I started to fold it

expertly, just as Grandpa used to do when I was a child.
With slight quick movements I shaped the piece of
paper into the paper boat he had once taught me to
make. I knelt by the riverbed, and placed it in the waters
letting it flow along the river. And this time it did not sink.
It floated gently on the water flow. Looking at how it
disappeared in the distance, I got up quietly and slowly
walked towards my house, where mom was surely
waiting for me.

A VALUABLE FRIEND
Ana Paula Riveros
Paula Riveros has always wanted to be a teacher and
still recalls how much she enjoyed playing to be one
when she was a little girl. When she was fifteen, she
decided to combine her passion to teach with her love
for English. It was as if everything clicked, she says.
Something similar seems to happen to the character in
her first short story, A Valuable Friend. It is a touching
story in which she explores the value of friendship in the
context of difficult childhood experiences.
It was a summertime Monday morning, the hot sun
could already be felt but a cool summer breeze had
come up creating an ideal atmosphere for five fourteenyear-old teenagers to meet up in a park and play the
usual Sunday-morning football match. Of course, there
was the normal tension that comes in football games.
But with Walter in the team, that tension was much
higher.
Hey Paul, what are you doing? If youre gonna
play like that, you better not play. You definitely are a
bad player, said Walter shouting. You Paul go to the
goal and you Martin play in his position, he bullied.
After several similar interruptions with Walter bellowing
here and there and after several brief scuffles between
them, one of the boys tried to deliver a long ball to the
central striker, Martin, but he failed. The ball soared
through the bright blue sky until it fell to the ground.
Perfect! Thats all I needed. I better pick it up myself in

case one of the boys loses it, he said to himself

haughtily. The ball had landed in the front yard of a big
red-bricked house which had just been occupied by its
new owners. As he shambled along the green grass and
across the street towards the house, the boys continued
playing. From outside the house, he heard what seemed
to be a crowd of people. He was just able to hear them
laughing and chattering. He pictured them seated at a
rectangular wooden table sharing a family potluck lunch.
On the table, he pictured different kinds of delicious
dishes. He also imagined kids scampering around the
house, occasionally attracting their mothers attention to
say phrases like Mum, look what Im doing or Mum,
the mean boy hit me in the head. Their mothers paid
just half attention to their children as they were also
trying to listen to the conversation among the grownups. Grandfathers talked about their past experiences
with a touch of nostalgia and a great deal of enthusiasm
while he imagined grandmothers sharing their best
dessert recipes with a joyful and gratifying expression. A
timid blush spread over their faces as they received the
compliment they desired. Walter could not help getting
closer to spy through the window. He was not at all
mistaken. Sunlight streamed through the windows
illuminating their smiling faces. The family was large and
they were sharing a meal. What he had not anticipated
was, that sitting in the corner of the table, was a
teenager boy in a wheelchair. He was wearing a green
T-shirt which matched his bright green eyes. There was
a beam of satisfaction in his face, and those who were
seated next to him, looked at him attentively and
laughed as he told something that seemed to be
appealing but still inaudible to Walter. Walters big round
eyes were fixed on the boy in the wheelchair for a long
time. He kept looking at the way he was dressed, his

relaxed and friendly manner but most importantly, his

smile. He had a sudden urge to stand up, enter the
house and tell stories to the people who were lending an
ear to the boy in the wheelchair. But he took a deep
breath, turned around and returned to the park.
When his friends saw him approaching, they stopped
and waited for him to join them to start again. The game
continued normally but, after some minutes, the boy in
the wheelchair slowly drew near them and watched
them play. He must have been there for about five
minutes until Walter noticed his awkward presence. He
tried to concentrate on the game but his eyes were
riveted on the boy. He wondered what he was doing
there. He kept on playing but after two missed goals and
a twisted ankle he gave a grimace of disgust and limped
towards the boy. The rest followed him as an ant troop
heading to do the foraging.
Who are you and what are you doing here? he
said still puffing from the last run.
Im Sebastian. Im new around here. We just
moved in. Just wanted to see what you guys were
doing. You know, meet new friends. Can I stay and
watch you play?
We do not need new friends. We are enough.
Even less a guy like you, he snarled as he looked him
up and down. Lets go guys.
The rest of the boys just followed him but only Walter
turned around to meet Sebastians eyes. His eyes
reflected maturity and patience and he did not seem
resentful for what had just happened. Before turning his
eyes to the front again, Walter had an eerie sensation.
As eerie as it was, he could not figure it out. But it left

him a heart-breaking feeling hard to put into words.

Anyway, he just purged himself of all unknown feeling
and continued to walk behind his friends who were
already ahead of him. He and his friends went on
playing football until sunset. Then each headed home.
As he reached the front steps of the apartment where he
lived with his young mother, he came across several
cockroaches crawling out from their hidden place in the
dirt. Disgusted as he always felt by the sight, he climbed
the stairs to the first floor. As soon as he entered the
small living-room, he felt the gloomy, muggy
atmosphere. He looked at the curtains of the only
window of the living-room and, as he expected, they
were drawn. As he made his way to the shelter of his
bedroom, he looked at the greyish, unpainted walls that
he was forced to see every day as he entered his room,
which was not in better shape but he tried hard to keep
clean. He also noticed his mother, who was cooking
dinner, and greeted her with affection. His mother said
dinner would be ready in a few minutes.
After dinner, he walked into his small room. He lay on
his back staring into space for a while. A disquieting
thought crossed his mind. He remembered when as a
child, he would eat alone with his mother in their grubby
kitchen, wondering why they were alone. He had felt so
unprotected like recently-born cubs left alone in the wild
by their mother. Sunk in his thoughts, he fell asleep.
The following day he got up early as usual ready to go
and meet his friends. He looked out of the open window
and saw that the sky was not clear yet so he hurled
himself on the bed again staring up at the peeling
ceiling. A heavy scent of damp air wafted in by the hot

summer breeze hit his nose, so he stood up to close the

window. He looked down and saw a man walking down
the sidewalk holding hands with his son. It was then
than the same thoughts that had crossed his mind the
night before popped into his head. But this time he felt
something that perhaps he had never felt. He realized
he had been trying for a long time, or rather, forcing
himself for a long time to put memories behind. He cried
and cried until he almost fell asleep again. A distant
sound suddenly interrupted his thoughts. It was his
mother knocking at the door and opening it afterwards.
Darling, why havent you come down for
breakfast? she asked. Then you can go and hang out
with your friends outside.
I miss dad, he said blankly. Why did he have to
leave me, us?
Standing in the doorway, his mother winced. She slowly
turned around and banged the door shut behind her.
Puzzled by his mothers reaction, he stayed in his bed
while he heard his mother bumbling around in the
kitchen. A few minutes later, he heard her return to his
bedroom. He was still lying in bed when his mother
entered his room.
Son, I think its about time you knew the truth.
Your daddy did not abandon you. He would have never
done such a thing. He loved you and.... your brother.
she said sobbing.
My what? My brother? he jerked out.
Yes, Nick. You had a brother; he was eight years
older than you. Your dad and your brother would always
go fishing together. It was always very early in the
morning when they got ready to go, she said sniffing as

she spoke. That morning was different. As they rode

along the road a car with four drunk teenagers crashed
into the front of the car. Your dad and brother died
immediately. Sorry I did not tell you. I did not want you
to suffer.
I was three months pregnant when they died.
she added forlornly after a few seconds
Walters eyes kept looking at her. Tears where coming
down his cheeks and he did not move. At first he could
not say a word. He felt unable to speak, to open his
mouth and say something to her. Then he felt like
running away, but he was unable to move his feet and
legs. He just stayed there, staring incredulously at his
mother. But he knew it was time to deal with his feelings.
You didnt want me to suffer? he said sharply
and startled as he heard himself confront his mother.
Not telling me the truth? What were you thinking? Are
you out of your mind? he said as he stood up and
walked quickly towards the door. Just before coming
through it, he added just for you to know Im suffering
more than ever.
In the street, his legs were shaky and his hands sweaty.
The gray, cloudy day did not help. He could not believe
what he had just heard; he could not believe that the
only close person he counted on had lied to him. He
walked and walked without paying attention to the
people that walked past him. He was furious with his
mother for not telling him the truth. All my life thinking he
had left me, he said to himself. In the distance, he saw
his friends were talking to Sebastian. They were all
seated in a circle throwing the ball at each other. Walter

let out a heavy whine which quickly turned into a cry of

anger and fury.
What is he doing here? I told you I didnt want you
guys talking and playing with him. Go away, he heard
himself say.
Whats the matter with you? Dont you see hes
harmless? You better let him stay with us. We all want
him to be here, Paul, the youngest, snapped.
Or what will you do? I dont care if hes a good
boy or not. I dont want him to be here. Get it?
Ok if he goes, well all go too. he said as he
stood up and looked at the rest, yet none of them dared
to stand up. Guys? he repeated, defiantly.
Paul waited for a few seconds and started walking away.
Still not sure, the boys stared at each other and, then,
one by one stood up and followed him. Sebastian told
them to go ahead that he would join them shortly after.
Walter, in the meantime, had pulled a wry face but he
did not do anything to stop them. He knew his acts and
words were wrong but it was hard for him to leave his
pride behind.
Do you mind if I stay here for a little while? asked
Sebastian but Walter did not answer. So Sebastian
finally firmly said Whats wrong with you? Tell me.
Nothing. Leave alone, he shouted
You dont want me here just because Im in a
wheelchair. Let me tell you Im perfectly normal, just like
you. I know I cant run or do many things you do but let
me feel like one of you at least. Whats wrong with you?
he said as he looked up at his eyes which were puffy
from crying.

Nothing. Go away. Dont make me repeat it, he

said looking down, avoiding his look, trying to stifle his
weeping.
Just as Sebastian was starting to manoeuvre his
wheelchair to join the rest of the boys, Walter cried out,
letting out a cry My life sucks. Just hate my mum.
Thats all. I wish I had a family like yours.
Hmm my family? I guess you have a lovely family
too. Its just that you dont see it. Whats wrong with
your family? he said, soft-spoken, as usual.
Walter, who was beginning to loosen up, sat down on
the grass. He noticed his friends were standing with
their backs to them in one of the corners of the park.
They seemed to be waiting for them to talk. Sebastian
carefully turned the wheels of his chair so that he faced
Walter.
I live with my mum and shes a liar. No father, no
brother, all dead. Im all alone now.
That seems really bad but Im sure your mum
loves you. You have to be grateful for what you have, of
the good things of life. said Sebastian confidently but
Walter did not react for a while.
Why are you in a wheel chair? he finally asked
I had a car accident. My dad was driving me to
school when a car appeared out of nowhere and hit my
side of the car. Luckily nobody died
Luckily? and what about you? I mean look at you.
You cant walk.
I cant walk but Im alive and trying to have a
normal life. I would love to walk again but I cant so I just
go ahead.

Walter was quiet for a while pondering over his own

selfish behaviour as memories of a lonely childhood
flashed through his mind. After a brief silence he came
to understand.
Im, Im sorry said Walter patting Sebastian
gently on the back. Sebastian smiled with forgiveness,
understanding him.

GILAD
Anita Voloschin
Anita Voloschin was born and raised in Mendoza.
Among many other hobbies, Anita enjoys painting and
reading literature. At a very young age, she discovered
her passion for the English language, which she
decided to combine with teaching. That is why she is
currently studying to become an English teacher at
Universidad Nacional de Cuyo. Last summer, she
visited Israel and she was impressed by the stories that
her friends told her there. Inspired by her experiences in
Israel and attracted to short story writing, she wrote this
marvelous story which reveals the experience of a
young soldier, Gilad, as he joins the Israel Defense
Forces.
To my beloved fiends and brave members of the Israel
Defense Forces (

) Ilai, Alon, Rodrigo and
Alejandro, who fight to defend my Israel.

Gilad had waited for this day to come for many years;
his mother, his father and his great-grandparents had
been in the army as well. When he was a little child he
loved to hear his father telling him tales about his
grandpa Itzjak during the War of Independence. He had
grown up knowing that when he turned eighteen he
would have to become a soldier, and he was proud of it,
as most of his friends were. He was proud because he
knew he was going to defend his country, he was going
to fight for his Israel as many others had done for many
years. He had been notified that he was going to be a
member of the Ground Forces, of the Armored Corps.
He was going to drive a tank, the tanks which lead the
ground Forces at the front, the ones that become the

deciding factor on the battle-field. When he thought

about this he felt small, he felt insignificant but at the
same time, he shared a connection to the earth on
which he was going to fight, that every Israeli shared,
fighting for their home.
He opened his eyes and looked around his room, his
uniform was hanging on his door- knob, his mother had
washed and ironed it very carefully the day before. Gilad
was lying there unable to move a muscle of his body.
After some minutes, he got up and looked out the
window; the city of Tel Aviv was bright and the sky was
so clear that he could almost see as far as Yafo. He
reached for his green metal box and took out his talit
and his tefilims. He finished his morning prayers and put
the box inside his backpack. He took a shower and
suddenly he was confronted with the uniform, this green
piece of cloth which, from that day on, would turn into
his skin, his shield. It was cool and it hung on his
shoulders lightly; he turned around and faced the mirror.
He saw his own big black eyes shining, looking back at
him. For a moment he thought that the person reflected
in the mirror was not him, that person seemed much
older than him; he was a stranger.
It was 6:30 am and he had to be at the bus station at 8
am. He walked down the stairs and went into the
kitchen. His parents were standing there, waiting for him
to have breakfast together. There was a strange silence
suspended in the air, his mothers eyes were full of tears
and his fathers mouth was curved in an encouraging
smile. He knew that his mother was worried; they had
seen so many injured and even dead soldiers. He was
certain that his mother did not want to see him go away
from her. He could sense how his parents feelings were

a mixture of pride and sadness. He could feel that his

own heart was divided, one side of it wanted to get on
the bus that would take him to the military base where
he would spend most of his days for the following three
years, the other side just wanted to stay home, to wake
up in his own bed, to see his friends every day. They
arrived at the bus station just in time. Gilad embraced
his mother and father for what seemed to be an eternity
and all of the sudden he was sitting on the bus being
driven away from Tel Aviv, driven away from home, and
found himself next to a boy he did not know. He
examined the bus, the people on the bus, the boy next
to him and he was amazed. They were all so young,
even the commanders and the officials were young,
maybe two or three years older than him. He was
bewildered. They were so young and they were going to
a military base, they would have to abandon their youth
to become adults. He stared through the window; they
were already outside Tel Aviv. He saw the houses
passing by, then the trees and bushes and finally, after a
couple of hours, they were in the desert and he could
only see sand passing by.
It had been a long day and Gilad felt extremely tired so
he placed his head gently on the window and closed his
eyes. He had an uneasy feeling he could not fully
understand and for a split second he was not even sure
if he was awake or in a dream. This puzzlement was
abruptly interrupted by a yell; Gilads commander was
standing next to him, bawling at him.
Hey boy, where do you think you are? Going on
vacation? You are in the army, kid, so wake up!

He was shaken by the scream but not surprised, he

knew that the first eight months in the army would be
tough, after all he was going to be trained to be a
soldier, trained to resist and to fight.
As hours passed, Gilad started to remember his
grandfather. He had been in Auschwitz and had arrived
at the land of Israel in 1946, when it was still called
Palestine. He had reached Israel holding a sack with a
few clothes and a little money, his whole family had
been murdered in concentration camps. Gilad could still
hear and see his grandfather telling him about how he
had worked with the other Jews that had come from
Europe to build a country out of a desert, to build up a
new life in the Promised Land. But what he recalled the
most was when his grandfather fought in the War of
Independence. He was only 16 years old when the war
started in 1948, and even though he was exhausted and
shattered for having suffered so much, he enlisted in the
army determined to fight for his ideals, to defend Israel
and to achieve peace. Gilad had the same ideal, he
wanted to protect his country and his people and he felt
proud of being a soldier. He looked outside the window
and saw the clear sky and the huge sun blazing upon
the desert. He smiled and he was sure that he wanted to
protect this piece of the world, his piece of the world. It
was not just sand for him. Each grain of sand seemed a
good reason to fight against the hatred of the world he
was a part of.
They finally arrived to the military base which was
located outside the city of Eilat in the South West of the
country in the Neguev desert. Gilad and all the kids
were led to the barracks where they were going to live.
The place was extremely tidy and clean, with several

bunk beds lined against the walls. Gilad had chatted

with the boy who was sitting next to him in the bus. His
name was Amir and he was from Ashdod. They decided
to share a bunk bed and they left their backpacks on
them. Gilad observed the place and saw that everything
was green, the uniforms, the bed covers, everything.
This was the first day of an eight month training course
that would prepare Gilad and the other boys to be
soldiers. At first it was extremely hard, they had to
exercise, to run under the scorching sun of the desert,
they were yelled at; the exercise was harsh because
they had to be tough, they had to be prepared to resist
in the extreme circumstances of a battle. A few days
after he arrived, Gilad had to wear his fatigues. It was
heavy, not light like the one he had put on several days
before when he left his house. This uniform weighed
around 20 kg. He had to carry the helmet, boots, an
M16 rifle, bullets, grenades, a bulletproof vest, nightvision goggles, binoculars, maps, first aid kit, and two
bottles of water. He wondered how he was supposed to
run and even to move with all those things on. Amir told
him that they would get used to it, that they were going
to get used to everything in the army.
The training period ended and Gilad was promoted to
commander because of his excellent performance. He
was thrilled; he could not believe that he was going to
be a commander; he was going to be in charge of a
tank, he would be the one to give orders. A new period
began for him. He had been inside tanks during the
training course, but now it was different, now it was real
and he was the boss, the authority. There were four
people in the tank: the commander, the driver, the
shooter and the one who reloads the machine gun.
Gilad was happy because Amir had been placed in the

tank he was going to command. He was glad because,

even though he was going to be the one in charge, he
was still going to be among friends and he felt
comfortable.
They were called in for a mission in Gaza; a missile had
exploded in an Israeli field and the soldiers at the check
point had been ambushed. There were two people
dead, an Israeli soldier and a Palestine. This was the
first time Gilad was confronted with a real life situation
and he was scared. They were inside the tank and he
felt the air was heavy. He looked around him, he looked
at Amir and he noticed that his hands were shaking; the
rifle seemed to be too big for him. He started to feel
dizzy, his mind was floating around the tank and he felt
anxious and confused. When they were reaching Gaza
he realized that he was responsible both for the lives of
the three boys who were with him in the tank, and for
the lives of the people in Gaza. Were they all terrorists?
He did not know, he did not think so. He felt sick, he felt
heavy, he was burning inside the uniform and he could
feel his heart beating fast inside his chest, he felt that he
needed air, he needed to breathe. They got to Gaza and
he saw the destruction. Everything was dull and sad,
there were people running and screaming all over the
place, there was chaos everywhere. From the inside of
the tank he saw the corpse of the soldier lying on the
dirt, the cadaver of the Palestinian was next to it. Gilad
was petrified, his eyes fixed on the terrible scene. He felt
that he was imprisoned inside that huge, green, metal,
beast of a tank and he wanted to get out, to hold those
bodies, but he could not. He leaped from the tank and
when he hit the ground, he took a deep breath and felt
the smell of blood, gun powder, and death permeate his
lungs.

He was the commander and he was the one in charge,

the boys inside the tank were waiting for him to react.
He came to his senses and crawled back inside the
tank. He wiped his eyes, cleared his mind and he
strained to remember all he had learned, all the training.
There was someone shooting a machine gun from a
building. He had to decide what to do, he thought for a
second and finally, he did what he had to do, what he
was taught to do. He ordered Amir, the shooter, to open
fire against the building. There was a shower of bullets
and the sound seemed to crash Gilads head, and
suddenly everything was silent, as if the world had gone
mute. They saw a body falling from the building window.
It was over, the man was dead and he had killed him.
They arrived at the base late at night and Gilad was
exhausted. He felt as if he were drunk, he could not
understand what had just happened. Had he killed a
man? This man was shooting at him, he or his friends
could be dead now, and there was a dead soldier. He
closed his eyes and tears started to run down his
cheeks. He was perplexed. He undressed, looking
longingly at the button his mother had sewn on to his
shirt that was coming loose again after having survived
until today, holding on by the last thread. Cool, after
having undressed, he went to bed. He took a deep
breath and tried to calm himself down, he had done
what he had to do, he was being attacked and he had to
defend his fellow soldiers. He remembered the desert
and the sun, how he loved the water of the Red Sea. He
fell asleep thinking that next weekend he was going to
be on leave and that he was going to go to Eilat with
some friends. For a weekend he would return to the

youth that he had lost the second those men shooting at

him stole his innocence.
***
It was a Sunday afternoon and he was smoking a
narguila with friends at the bank of the Red Sea when
he saw her standing motionless against the red
mountains, her perfect figure reflected on the clear
water. He had seen so much darkness in Gaza that now
he felt blinded by so much brightness. When he saw
her, two images came to his mind. First, he remembered
the stones from Petra with its thousand colors melted in
one huge and perfect piece of art, extremely delicate
and strong at the same time. Then he thought of
Tuscany, he had never been there, but it was the place
he had always dreamed of going to when his time in the
army was over. He imagined Tuscany to be a kind of
paradise, quiet and serene, just the way this girl looked.
She was still standing and he was still admiring her. Her
hair was long and soft, the color of the chestnuts he
loved to buy in the shuck of Jerusalem. She was
braiding her hair with such a gentle touch that her hands
seemed to be moving in slow motion. After some
minutes, she turned and her eyes looked at something
he could not see, but he was able to witness for the first
time the incredible beauty of those eyes. They were as
blue as the water of the sea and as clear and infinite as
the sky of the desert. She started to walk into the water;
his eyes followed her, his body seemed to be unable to
move. She truly looked like an angel, or a nymph, he
could not make up his mind. She was floating on the
water with such peacefulness that he felt he needed to
rush to her to be able to get some of it to take with him,

a piece of her to carry within his heavy uniform. He

impulsively reacted and walked behind her. He got into
the water clumsily and stood next to her. She turned and
faced him, looked at him straight in the eyes and smiled.
Shalom! she said, isnt the water perfect?
He was staring at her, he knew that he must have
looked funny; he opened his mouth and mumbled what
seemed to be a greeting.
Im sorry, Shalom! Gilad said laughingly. She
smiled back at him.
She told him her name was Liat and she was from
London. She was vacationing in Israel with friends. She
asked him what he was doing in Eilat.
Im a jaial, a soldier, Im on leave for the
weekend.
She became very still, her big eyes fixed on him; she
seemed to be scanning him.
Thats interesting, Ive never talked to a, a, a
soldier before. Id like to ask you some questions!
He could not believe it.
Lets go have a drink then.
They walked through the beach and sat on a small bar
table on the sand.
Whats that scar on your arm? Liat asked.

Gilad looked at his wrist and was all of the sudden,

again back in Gaza. He was, one more time, surrounded
by shadows.
Its from
Gilad paused, disturbed by the memories crashing on
the shores of his heart like the waves of the sea on a hot
summer day.
Its a wound Last week we, we had a mission
and we went to Gaza I scratched myself with the side
of the tank when I jumped down from it.
Liats eyes grew wider, surprised by what Gilad was
telling her. He stopped abruptly, raising his gaze to meet
hers, trying to lose himself in the serenity of her beauty.
They talked for hours, she was inquisitive and extremely
curious, and she asked him about the life in the army. It
was the first time he spoke about this issue with
someone who was neither an Israeli nor a soldier. He
asked her why she had a Hebrew name. She smiled
again:
Im Jewish, thats why!
When the sun had hidden and the moon was shinning
bright and immense above them, Liats eyes became
sad and serious. She looked at him somberly.
So. can I ask you a question?
Sure, you have asked so many already! Gilad
said smiling at her.

Have you killed people?

He was astonished, he felt that the moon had fallen on
top of him and that he was choking because of its
weight. He did not know what to say. He was paralyzed.
Ive killed terrorists, murderers. He felt he could
not breath; he wanted to shout, to cry.
Well they are people Her eyes set on his.
His eyes filled with tears and his throat closed. He
looked at her incredibly blue eyes and tried to find
comfort in them one more time. She could sense his
sadness; she knew he was feeling miserable. He closed
his eyes, he opened them up and looked at her.
I know they are yes, I have killed people, but I
have to think they were terrorists its the only way I
can keep on being a soldier. Actually, its the only way in
which I can keep on living.
Liat held his hand and she noticed that he was shaking.
She stood up and hugged him. He was sobbing and he
held her close to him as if he were holding to life itself.
She held his head inside her hands.
Yesterday I went to the Wall of Lamentations. Do
you know what I prayed for? I asked God to protect all
the Israeli soldiers, to give them strength to be able to
fight against everything to protect our beautiful Israel.
Im so proud of all of you! And do you know what? Im
not afraid of anything; I dont fear that someone or
something is going to destroy Israel, because I know

that all the soldiers are out there fighting to defend our
State and above all, to defend all of us.
He blinked several times to clear his sight. He had found
peace in her words, in her gentle touch.
I wish I could take you with me tomorrow.
He knew he was not going to see her again, he had to
go back to the base and he would have to be there for
two full weeks.
I know, I would like it as well Im going back to
London this week but Im coming back next summer,
Im going to live here, you know
***
He was sitting on the highest part of the tank
surrounded by people, screams and sand. He was
holding his green metal box; everything in the army
seems to have a green shade: pale green, dark green.
He was sitting covered by his talit, protected underneath
it, and he was putting his tefilims on. His father had
given him that little metal box some days before he left
his house to join the army. He remembered how young
he was at that time, only 18 years old; he had been a
soldier for two years now. That night, two long years
ago, his father told him that in that box he should carry
bits and pieces of his life in order to never feel alone.
Inside the box he had packed his talit, his tefilims, a
small prayers book and some pictures. He had closed
the box, he had thought for a moment, he had opened
the box again; there was something missing in it. He
added two more things, a key and a toothbrush.

The key was his house key. When he was packing his
belongings he had packed the key without thinking
about it. He was so used to carrying it in his pocket that
it would feel empty and bare without its weight. Many
times he had grabbed that key as if he were holding his
mothers hand, his fathers arms, but this sunny morning
he needed them more than ever. He was sitting on the
highest part of the tank and he felt homesick, he felt the
sky was hanging heavily over him, the sun blinded his
eyes and the sand seemed to laugh at him, showing him
how far away he was from home. He held the key tightly
in tired and dirty hands. He looked inside the metal box
and searched for the toothbrush. When his hand found
it, his eyes filled with tears and his mouth curved into a
sad smile. He closed his eyes and he was suddenly in
Liats apartment again and he could clearly see her
sleeping peacefully, waking up and yawning, brushing
her teeth, being as beautiful as ever before. That
morning he had laughed at her because of the
toothbrush since it was bright pink and had pictures of
the Disneys princesses. He remembered how happy
they were, how she had laughed, how she had given it
to him with a smile and a kiss, he heard her voice inside
his head.
Take this with you, in that way youll be able to
come back to this very moment anytime you want to.
He opened his eyes and looked around him, the dream
was over and he was sitting in the highest part of the
tank. He folded the talit and put off the tefilim. He put
away the key and the toothbrush and he wondered
about how such simple objects were so important for
him. He climbed down the tank and looked for his

backpack; he placed the metal box safely inside it and

took a deep breath. He felt as if his life were now a
blend of plastic and metal, a toothbrush and a key.
Gilad remembered the day when he met Liat and what
she had told him. He always recalled her words when he
felt lost in an ocean of sand. After two years of being in
the army he had understood, he knew that many times
he would have to do things he did not want to do, he
knew he had to obey orders, but above all he knew what
he was fighting for, and he was never going to stop
fighting to defend his Israel, Liats Israel.
Gilad jumped down from the tank and loaded his rifle.
They had been attacked a few hours earlier and the
place was a mess. Doctors were running around and he
could still hear screams inside his head. He walked
around looking for Amir, but he could not find him. He
was heading towards the infirmary when the alarm went
off. There was a huge blast and everything turned black.
There was silence. Gilad opened his eyes and saw the
immense blue sky. Tears started to stream down his
face and he heard Amir yelling at him, he heard his
voice fading and the sky drifting away.
Amir found Gilads metal box a few meters away from
where the explosion had been. He opened it up and
took the talit and the tefilim that had to be buried
together with Gilad, in a coffin sheltered by the Israeli
flag.

THE ENTERTAINER
Valentn Cappadona
Valentn Capaddona is a young creative artist. This
twenty-year-old devotes most of his time to developing
his innate artistic talent. In his spare time, not only does
he take dance and drama classes, but also teaches hiphop. On weekdays, he attends the EFL Teacher Training
College at UNCuyo, where he has also developed his
artistic creativity and his language skills to the fullest
through the writing of two lyric poems. In his
autobiographical poem To Whom It May Concern,
Valentn gives us a vivid account of his personal life as
a young adult, while in his poem entitled The
Entertainer, he presents an optimistic view of himself in
his role as an artist.
I am a blessed unfortunate soul
and a magician of tricks as effective as old;
a clown that serves his most desired drink with cold
trembling hands,
a child whose reflection in the mirror cannot withstand;
a shadow that will soon fade away into the mist
as if tired now to resist,
and it desists.
And Ill jump out of a gable,
Ill finally abandon this old cradle,
leaving a scream echoing in the ears of time,
so loud that it will surpass the sublime.
Ill finally make my own way,
hoping you could understand me some day
not asking me to stay.

Ill jump, run, dance, be free,

smiling back to the happy faces Ill see.
In my life itll be a whole new page,
when Im performing on a big stage.
Ill take a bow at the end,
and I know the minute I bend
will be the best Ill have ever spent.
Right before the curtains fall,
many memories I will recall.
All those folks Ill have left behind,
will never be off my mind.
I hope the dance steps Ill take
remove from their souls all aches,
those that make their hearts break.

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN

I was asked to write a poem,
and theres so much Id like to say.
It is so knotty a problem
that with words Im gonna play.
Now to see him Im not able,
sweet man, poet of my life.
My father, my guardian Angel,
now Im guardian of his wife.
At least I can hug and kiss my little bird
my niece, the one my sister gave me,
she makes my eyes get blurred,
when she smiles, she can enslave me.
My siblings, my friends dear,
they are always in my mind.
they make me lose all my fears,
theyre the best treasure Ill ever find.
When bright colours fill the panorama
of costumes and music that sounds better,
with a little bit of dancing and another bit of drama,
thats the perfect atmosphere in my own special shelter.
Papers, OPs and college
deserve a whole new stanza,
thanks to stress I gained some knowledge,
and some weight like Sancho Panza.

Other things Id like to mention

should be packed in just two verses,
grandmas food and her imagination,
my job and all my newly coined curses.
Its so hard to recall everyone and everything I know
that my brain is about to burn,
so these lines Im gonna show
to whom it really may concern.

THE LESSON
Mara Mercedes Crayon
A lover of nature and animals, Mercedes Crayon is a
current student of English at Universidad Nacional de
Cuyo. She describes herself as a very lively and happy
person. She has lots of energy and plans for her future;
among other things, she would like to be an interpreter
and a college teacher. As all good poets do, Mercedes
releases her emotions through writing. In The Lesson,
Mercedes advises her readers to follow her motto of
living life with intensity and never stop learning. Her
other poem He Was and He Is a very touching one
- is dedicated to her father, who passed away when she
was still in secondary school.
Learn that love and hate
are two sides of the same coin.
War goes with calm hate,
and peace goes with killing love.
Learn that helpful and harmful people
are always there around the world.
Respect and admire the helpful,
and to the harmful do not say a word.
Remember that crying and laughing
are real expressions of your heart.
Laugh till your cheeks hurt
and never cause somebody harm.
Learn to think and then talk,
train yourself as a sport.
Talk only to construct

never do it without thought.

Take risks and try new adventures
that will enrich your soul.
Dont forget to learn from mistakes
that will keep you on the correct route.
Remember to live life fully
to enjoy each unique day.
Be cheerful and grateful,
No regrets, no complaints.

HE WAS AND HE IS
Different life was,
when I was younger.
He Was
the tender sunset in the
morning
the warm Sun at noon,
the sweet soft breeze in
the evening,
the wonderful dawn in
the afternoon.
He Was
the lovely birds singing
on a cloudy day,
the calmness of a lake
in a marvelous
landscape,
the sparkling light
reflected on my face,
the cozy welcoming
shelter on a rainy day.

Different life was,

when I was younger.
Now, He Is
the yellowish falling
leaves from the sky,
the cool and fresh air
that always stays,
the delicate perfumed
roses in summer time,
the amazing colors of
beaches that are not
fake.
He Is
the lively white butterfly
of each day,
the breathtaking star
that never fades,
the powerful memory
with first and last name,
the daunting challenge:
a proof of my faith

He Was,
He Is,
And He Will Always Be,
in my heart
My Loving and Devoted Father.

OH GRAVE INJUSTICE!
Brenda Guardatti
Brenda Guardatti is an English student at Universidad
Nacional de Cuyo. She discovered the pleasure of
reading in English at a very young age, when she was
attending English classes at A.M.I.C.A.N.A. Since she
has always found in poetry a way to express her
feelings, at the age of ten, she started writing poems
just for pleasure. At high school, she won the second
place in a poetry contest. As a university student,
Brenda writes about the injustice people encounter daily
in Oh Grave Injustice! and about falling in love for the
first time in My Beloved Man, inviting the reader to
reflect upon these two appealing themes.
You, dreadful sister of the blind justice
You are the enemy of fair people
You are always injuring peoples souls
You take advantage of the spirit
Of those who are ambitious
You flirt shamelessly with them
And capture them like birds
Which are later placed in a cage
Oh sorrowful misery! Dont you have dignity!
Why is it that you cover the truth with your shadows?
You are the reason why people kill each other
You are a disgusting seductress
That poisons your victims with your needle-shaped nails
Your gory lips show the disgrace of the world
Your eyes are traps that have a devilish look
Your hair is like a spider web that traps the feeble
people

Oh sorrowful misery! Dont you have dignity!

You dont care to perform actusreus6
You are an adept seductress who knows what you are
doing
Your cacophonous voice is a magic spell for the fragile
ones
Who dont dare to intervene in your rages
This is the secret of your immortality
That takes away the generosity and kindness of
peoples souls
And replaces these good intentions with misery and
tormented feelings.

Actusreus is a term of art in criminal law. Literally the Latin

phrase means bad act.

MY BELOVED MAN
How splendid you were that night when we first met
Your eyes were as shining as the starts in the immense
sky
Your lips as red as apples, a delicious temptation for
mine,
demanded to be kissed
Your hands like a warm breeze on a summer night
Touched sweetly my silky face and caressed my soul
Your heart was an open door to paradise
That hypnotized my heart
Your soul was an invisible power
That held me close to the secrets of your eyes
Oh! Please, never close your shining eyes
If you do it, my life will be immerse in darkness
You are the only shining sun in my life
You are my life, my religion, my hope
You are my heart, my beloved man.

EARTHQUAKE
Samanta Heras
Samanta Heras was born in Mendoza and is now taking
the English Training course at UNCuyo. She likes
dancing, traveling and enjoying the simple things of life.
She has experimented with poetry for the first time. In
these poems the reader will find a door to Samantas
sensitive heart.
An unexpected earthquake
The moment when it all starts breaking up
Shaking
The entire world upside down
And next to mine
Your eyes are far away
Impossible to reach
Like mermaids in an ocean that dont even exist
The earth has broken up between us
And under my feet
The only thing to see
Is a terrifying emptiness
Devouring with its claw
My lungs,
My kidneys,
My heart,
My blood is running fast
The world is now all red
And I cannot escape this moment
The anguish in my veins, my throat, my chest
And yet
All earthquakes will pass in the end
As nothing lasts forever
Not even earthquakes
Or pain.

A BOY
From the grimy window
Of a public bus
In the deepest darkness
Of a voracious night
I see
A boy
Tired hands, soiled clothes, lonely eyes, famished soul
Selling cards no one wants
He is just one
There are so many more
That had been left out
Of the grace of the world
With a bare stomach
He will go to bed
On a pile of rubbish
He will try to rest
People will avoid him on their way
As its inconvenient to see him there
Like a stone in your shoe
Like a fly in your soup
Like misty clouds over your head
On a sunny sandy day
Too uncomfortable to bear.
A boy
Screaming through his eyes

Abandoned under the vast solitude of the sky.

SWIVEL
Graciana Lupari
Graciana Lupari was born in Mendoza in 1989. At the
age of thirteen, wishing to learn English, she enrolled at
a language school. As time passed by, she discovered
she really loved teaching and decided to become an
EFL Teacher. In her spare time she enjoys listening to
music and meeting friends. She believes that creating
poetry gives you the chance to write more freely and it
is a good means of transmitting your emotions and
worries about life. She has recently written her first two
poems in which she explores universal themes.
Someone took me out of the cradle,
when down I was, I crawled around
and left the place safe and sound.
I walked on all fours,
and my palms and knees
got hurt with little stones.
I came across a step
and grinned as I stood up
knowing as I toddled, how pleasant walking was.
I then did a jaunty walk
but stumbled and fell on the floor
my shoelaces had come untied
which annoyed me and made me cry.
I didnt know which path to take,
and on the sidewalk I remained.
I stood up and went back and forth
till I thought I should move on.
Though where should I go?

Here or there?
Im a teen! Its not fair!
A way, a road, a path, a street
There should be one!
Not many
Like these!
Then briskly I walked
suitcase in hand, walking the land
of the dogged and strong,
deep in thought.
Finally I had
some sense in my life
some courage to move on
determination in my soul
I wanted to share all!
but I was all alone,
just kids passing by
I was definitely on my own.
I set off walking again,
this time slowly as my walking stick wouldnt help,
and soon I found out
what the journey had all been about.
The crawling, the toddling, the walking
mincing and slow
couldnt compare to the joy in my soul.
A cradle I found and was able to see
how a cute little baby was gazing at me,
I touched his little hand and he gently smiled back,
then took him out of the cradle
which he then left behind.

ALIVE THE WAY NO ONE COULD BE

Since the mists of time shes done her job,
immersed in pain, tired of so much work.
Night and day
Are all the same
No matter what
For eternity shes awake.
As she works, shes able to find
not one but many people
not yet ready to leave everything behind.
She is said to be the worst when she works,
though no witnesses are there to say so.
Man, woman,
Naive or bold
Child, elder
Defenseless or strong
She is said to be the worst when she works,
though no witnesses are there to say so.
The more she works,
the fewer lives there are,
all human beings seem to realize.
Her touch could
cease your heart beats,
inhale your breath,
release your soul,
soothe your pain,
though no one could say after that it is the same.

ONLY YOU
Celeste Martini
Celeste Martini was born and raised in Mendoza. She
had her first encounter with poem writing at the age of
22 when she was studying English to become a teacher
at Universidad Nacional de Cuyo. She describes her
writing as very fancy, romantic, expressing gratitude to
life, and she considers poetry one of her best ways to
transmit what she goes through in her life. In the
following poems, Only you and What is life?, she
hopes readers will share her view of life and reflect on
how much we can be thankful for and, mostly, how
important it is to have a positive view on life in every
difficult situation we may find ourselves in.
Lying under a tree I feel
The sweetness in your hands stroking my skin.
The voice in your ears has reminded me
That in no better place I could ever be.
The sun is concealing behind the blue sky
But youre still here next to my side.
A whole silence pervades my soul. But I hear you
I feel you, I think of you.
Because even in my solitude I feel youre with me
Like a guide to a person who cannot see.
The glitter in your eyes has confirmed me
That your tender-hearted presence is a haven for me.

WHAT IS LIFE?
Life is a baby smiling with joy
And a very young girl crying for a boy.
Life is a mother cuddling his son
And two people bickering but not conversing at all.
Life is a sunset in the middle of a storm
And a tree crying for being sawed.
Life is an earthquake we always lament
And a beautiful forest blossoming again.
Life is a moment we sometimes regret
And a man forgiving his very old friend.
Life is grinning, sobbing and grinning again,
Accomplishing, enduring and accomplishing once again.
Life can have misery, it can have sorrow,
But we always will have a tomorrow.

THE HUMBLE QUEEN

Mariana Obredor
Mariana Obredor was born in Godoy Cruz, Mendoza, in
1988. She discovered her passion for the English
language at a very early age when she started taking
classes at an Institute where her mother took her to
study. Mariana likes reading and staying indoors while
enjoying the company of her family and friends.
Marianas poems effectively transport the reader to a
world full of beauty and intimacy.
A humble Queen,
pure as a white flower,
a lady, a maiden she is,
a perfect creature.
She wears a crown
beautifully decked with jewels,
twelve stars that shine
are the adornment of her head.
Her clothes are fresh
and her willing hands
are together in prayer.
Her face is calm,
her smile is gentle,
her eyes are kind,
her heart is tender.
There is nothing in the world
that could corrupt her:
full of ineffable love

her chaste heart is.

She endured pain,
the Lady of Sorrows,
Seven Swords hurt her heart
but full of joy she is
since the reward for her obedience
she received.
She fell asleep,
And was taken
to the place where slowly
and smoothly
her soul had to go to.
Dressed in white,
their faces forever happy and dazzled,
their hearts shrouded in love,
blessed beings welcomed her and
escorted her to the throne
of the King.
The three lovable Persons
were expecting her to arrive.
Her modest heart full of love,
finally found quietness,
indescribable joy and happiness.
She was crowned.
Three everlasting couplets
she received.
Daughter, Mother and Spouse,
the humble Queen.

HIDDEN
Waiting and hidden
(sleeping to the heedless eye)
colour, smell and life.

LIES, CRY, GOODBYE

Andrea Politino
Andrea Politino was born in Mendoza. She is currently
studying to become an EFL teacher at UNCuyo. She
likes reading and, particulary, writing, so much so that
she is planning to carry on with it in the future. In her
poem Three Fish on my Desk, she compares her busy
life with the life of three fish she actually keeps on her
desk, which just swim in the fishbowl free of all cares. In
her poem Lies, Cry and Goodbye, she takes the
reader along the path we may walk through when
someone is deceived.
I was the girl who believed in your lies,
How fool of me! You didnt fall from the sky.
Your deceptive words made me blind,
And what was light became night.
You dont deserve my silent cry,
And to forget you Im obliged.
Maybe perfection lived in my mind
How nave! Just like a child!
Now vanished the butterflies
The truth Im able to realize,
This deception made me wise;
Once bitten, twice shy.
Memories left behind
And dreams together aside,
One day Ill be ready to face life,
And finally, and forever say goodbye.

THREE FISH ON MY DESK

Three fish
I have on my desk. I
like to watch them, when I am upset.
Two are orange and one is gold, they stare
at me when I am bored. Fake lively plants, sway
peacefully at the bottom of the tank. In a never-ending
dream, faded rocks lay which once belonged to the
sea. Thousands of bubbles come out laughing
all together loud, soothing my worries
and cheering me up. The three
fish swim free
in the
fresh water
Id like to feel. If I
were a fish and in the fish tank
I could swim, Id have problems
no more, but instead of
three, we would
be four.

LITTLE WARRIOR
Alejandra Palleres
Alejandra Palleres was born in Mendoza, Argentina, and
is now taking the English Teacher Training course at
Universidad Nacional de Cuyo. She loves childrena
feeling that can be seen in her poem Little Warrior.
She also likes dancing tango and writing poetry. In her
poems we find themes that are of utmost importance to
Alejandras life, such as love, fidelity and childhood. By
sharing personal experiences with readers, Alejandra
allows us to delve into her sensitive soul.
From the other side of the world
She appears nonchalantly
challenging the sadness
that for years invaded my soul.
She seems to be the warrior
I can not yet become
Although I am kind of old
And shes just been born.
God has sent her to me
As if she were the sword
that I will wield
Till I am called by our Lord.
So overjoyed I am, so overjoyed I will be
Forever let her be, Oh God,
the vanquisher that has defeated
the blues that a for long time invaded my soul

MISTER, MISTER
Mister, mister
Please dont whisper
Those words that make me fly away
`Cause they may be for her as well
Mister, mister
Keep a distance, if you dont
I will run away
from all those lies, those lies
that make me feel so well
Mister, mister,
master of manipulation,
Spare me a bit of time!
so I can get all those words
that keep spinning around my mind!