The Lisbon Syndrome by Eduardo Sánchez Rugeles

Author:Eduardo Sánchez Rugeles
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Turtle Point Press

“‘No empire justifies breaking a child’s doll. No ideal merits the sacrifice of one toy train,’” Moreira recited sadly. He poured me a glass of wine and put something to eat on the table before sitting down. “Don’t think for one moment, Fernando, that a humble man like me, of modest intelligence, can polish words to embellish the most atrocious realities. They weren’t my words. They were Senhor Pessoa’s, who had the strange habit of changing his name and wandering through life with a suitcase full of masks.” Jacobo’s murder reinforced my self-destructive tendencies. I couldn’t get out of bed again. I was paralyzed by a sense of futility, poisoned by emptiness. There was no point in going on or even trying to. I wasn’t cold or hungry, even though I had stopped eating for days and the perpetual fog brought icy breezes that froze the room. Principal Monagas put the final nail in my coffin. One afternoon, he left a message on my phone: they would be closing down Promesas Patrias. We wouldn’t even get to finish the third term. However, by ministerial decree, the senior year students would be awarded their high school diplomas. The situation was untenable, said the principal. We had no logistic or financial means to keep the school open.

Boredom and listlessness drove me out of the house, leading me to wander the streets like a down-and-out bum. Familiar faces were lined up in front of a broken-down garbage truck. I walked past them, indifferent to their shared humiliation. My neighbors’ misfortune barely drew my attention. We had all hit rock bottom. With no expectations, with no emotion, I made my way toward the Centro Polo, meeting the contemptuous stares of the diners at the Cine Cittá. Moreira gave me his condolences. The death of the funny-looking boy who had moved him in Richard III kept him awake for several nights. He poured two glasses of wine and opened a tin of olives. “If you don’t mind, I will go on with my story, so that you can forget your troubles for a little while. You don’t look well, dear friend. You need to get things off your chest, stop wondering what would have happened if this or that had been different. Listen quietly. If you’re bored, be patient. I will say it again, there are invisible threads weaving together our fates, and some of the things I went through may help you to regain your lost faith. Despite everything, Fernando, despite what happened in Lisbon, despite those fiends’ brutality in killing their own people, I believe in the goodness of God. I am sure that all lived experiences are part of a plan that we cannot understand. Don’t lose heart, friend. Come with me to disembark at the Port of La Guaira and to unravel the threads of our parallel lives. Let’s make an effort to understand the impossible.

“The trip to Venezuela took two weeks. Agustina stayed silent the whole way there. She refused food and even water.

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