Paco knows Death

Paco knows Death


“My mother told me that I cried in her belly.
She was told: She will be lucky.

Someone spoke to me every day of my life
To the ear, slowly, slowly.

He told me: live, live, live!
It was death. "
Jaime Sabines

Paco knows Death

For me it had never been so real that the death they talked about so much and that so many people feared or worshiped at least once a year. It seemed to me, rather, a decorative figure, a protagonist of horror films, even the ideal pretext to wear a good costume. Nothing is further from my poor concepts.

I think that my first close encounter with death had to do with "the Duke", a Pekingese puppy that already existed in my family. I don't know how long before I was born and to which I saw "old man" die, according to my mother. The one who hurt the most was Sebastian, my brother four years older and the only one as far as I know. And is that "the Duke" was his pet since before he learned to walk.

My mother tells me that he was such a smart dog that when he played with Sebastian in the yard or the garden of the house, he helped him form the plastic carts in an Indian row, but that on one occasion it occurred to my brother to try the hose with him and wet it completely, "the Duke" simply devoted himself to take one of the many carts formed, and after chewing and leaving it as what the insurance companies call "total loss", he approached the line again and left it right where I had taken it, but with minor modifications to the body. I remember that the death of "the Duke" did not overwhelm me as much as seeing my brother cry before his body. My brother who looked like a monolith, whom I had never seen before crying and who, to date, I think I can count on the fingers of one hand the times I have seen him like this.

Then death came relentlessly, as it usually does and ripped from my side the first living being with whom I had established emotional ties, of course at 6 years I did not know that; I had to learn it several years later and not precisely in the most delicate way.

For now, I couldn't stop seeing with an ever experienced sadness how Sebastian, my mother's eyes were squeezed and when I began to see blurry I knew that mine also joined the funeral box.

Why didn't the news on TV move me? "Dozens of dead and many more injured was the balance that threw a car bomb in Palestine ...". Of course, how could I feel it if I didn't even know where that place was and it had nothing to do with the victims, besides, the only thing I heard always say was: "... poor people, look nothing more how they were ...". It wasn't a duel, it was morbid.

How could he feel more the death of an old Pekingese in the face of hundreds of human beings? I didn't have an answer for that.

But seeing the crying flooding the eyes of those you want and knowing that it is caused by the irreparable loss of someone you love is the origin, no doubt, of the first prick to the heart, at least when you are 6 years old and many things are incomprehensible.

Thus I learned that death hurts a lot, but only when that thread is broken that joins the one who stays with the one who leaves; although now I know that it does not break at all. It suffers breakdowns and can lose several fibers that thin its thickness; However, it only breaks when oblivion cuts it forever.

I am glad to know that the thread that joined me to "the Duke" was not broken since otherwise I could not tell you this.

[to be continue…]

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