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Matílde
Let's talk about her, the woman who does not leave my head, and not precisely because of love, although I do love her, no, at least not as more than thirty six years ago, but because I never understood her, and although she is half crazy, with her complexes and that fear of the outside, which is known as agoraphobia, and which has kept her locked up in that house, even so, I worry about her.
It is about Matílde, my longtime girlfriend, although she is over fifty, she looks so young, as if her self-confinement had not allowed her to grow old, since that bomb fell in the middle of her living room, killing her entire family, less she, who was in a coma for more than two months.
After the reconstruction of that house, she asked to move there, never to leave again, it seemed that she was punishing herself for having survived that fateful day by herself. Since that event, Matílde shut herself up in that huge grandfather's library, apparently this was a very cultured man, concerned about his family studying.
In this reading room we could walk through authors such as Shakespeare, Marcel Proust, Homer, Dante Alighieri, as well as classics such as Seneca, Aristotelés, Plato, Socrates, there was also a good number of books on fauna and flora, and a collection of magazines from scientific knowledge, and modern literature, modern for the time of the old man, of course.
On the ceiling of that library there are some drawings in the style of the Sistine chapel, only with passages from Greek mythology, that place was really beautiful.
That room had a very heavy air, and an aroma between knowledge and humidity, although the strongest smell it had was that of her hair, Matílde despite her madness, washed her hair daily, as a ritual between her and her mother, although she had already died for more than three decades, she continued to do so until today, only that I must provide her with everything she needs.
In the center of the room there was a painting by Pablo Picasso, a kind of miracle that had survived the bombing, and that his father had given her, days before the tragedy, in which Matílde would stop and spend hours contemplating it, this happened to daily, it was a ritual, which I never understood, but always respected.
This is how all these years passed, until a few days ago when everything changed.
I went like every morning to bring Matílde some bread and fruits, and I found her as always in the library, but this time I arrived without her noticing, I cornered behind a wing of the living room and I dedicated myself to observe her, to see what she did.
That's when I saw her, she picked up the Picasso painting from where it always was, and behind it I could see a small door, and although Matílde was already quite adult, her slim figure easily entered the little living room that I later knew was there. There was also a beautiful Victorian jewelry box, which she opened and began to play with the grandmother's jewels that were still there, she put them on and began to comb her hair while singing a crazy song, about Samson and Dalíla, something like he had long hair, because he was homosexual and that he lost his strength when Dalíla discovered him, a crazy thing.
She stayed like that for a while, then she saw the time and closed everything, placed the painting where it was, and stopped short, in front of it to wait for me to appear, (she was not so crazy after all).
That same morning, after feeding Matílde, I began to ask her questions about the painting, but she, although she never spoke again, did not want to respond with her usual signs, but if she got very nervous, she really got scared.
The next day, i arrived even earlier, i hid again and again the same situation exactly the same, i returned to observe her and she did exactly the same as the day before.
On Saturday, her niece came as usual to help her do the laundry like every week, only this time I told her to please take her to the patio of the house, that I was going to fumigate the library and this could affect them both.
They did so, and I had the opportunity to freely approach the painting and the mechanism that it had, I was trying to open it for a while, but the key was missing so it was useless, although I could see a lot of light between the cracks of the box and a current of air that came out of that place, that intrigued me so much that it no longer let me sleep.
I put everything as it was, and I waited until they returned, she stopped in front of the painting and immediately turned her gaze towards me, with some terror, after that, she never left me alone in the library and I was still intrigued, to know that was what happened behind that little door, and what was its great mystery.
So I came up with a plan to get to the bottom, I told his cousin Cárol that on Saturday when he went to do the laundry, she would keep her busy as much as possible.
When Saturday dawned, Matílde was already waiting for her cousin, I bought her essential soap, shampoo, conditioner and how much hair product I could get, that way they would give me more time to get to the bottom of it all.
I looked for a locksmith who quickly made me a key to the small door and once he left, when I was about to open that lock, I saw Matílde pouncing on me, trying to take the key that I had in my hand, I was struggling with her for a long time, until I managed to calm her down, only when I finished fighting, the library was destroyed, all the volumes of the Larousse encyclopedia, the English classics and some maps that the old man had on the shelves were left on the floor. scattered throughout the room, and the collection of old cars that was scattered all over the place in a thousand pieces, as well as the fragments of the old Chinese vase, which survived the bombing and had remained unscathed for almost a hundred years in the Matílde family , and that if the old man had seen him, he would have died again.
We put a sedative on her and she fell fast asleep, so I proceeded to open the lock and went in almost leaving the ribs on the edges, despite being a little skinny, it cost me a lot to get inside.
Inside was a fairly spacious basement. I took out my lighter and with the dim light it produced I could distinguish in the center of the room, a small bedroom with a bed and a comb, in it all kinds of wigs, jewelry and a chilling find, in a corner of the room, you can see a baby's crib and in it a small skeleton the size of a newborn child, which rested on the sheets, you could see that they had dressed it a short time ago, as if it still lived, you could Look, I took care of all that time, with all the dedication of a mother.
That's when I remembered everything, in those years when I became Matílde's boyfriend, she gave herself to me, a short time before the war broke out, and she had told me that her body was changing, that she was very afraid that her father would discovered her, for that reason she locked himself in that library all that time.
I imagine that when his father found out, he ordered her to keep the baby a secret by hiding it in the little library room, it was when that bomb fell that destroyed the house, killing them all, except Matílde.
I left there with a lump in my throat, the next day I bought a small urn and took the little one to the family pantheon, she watched the whole ceremony without saying a single word, it seemed that a huge burden had been lifted from her and she sat down to observe me with a slight calm in his face and a great feeling of peace.
When I finished I sat with her, I noticed her calm, although even after everything that had happened she did not say a single word to me and went to sit again in front of the picasso painting, but she was only there for five minutes, then she got dressed , she combed her hair, went to the door and left, she only turned to look at me and I could hear a word, the only one she spoke to me in those almost thirty six years in which I was taking care of her:
"Thank you"
She came out and I saw her walk away down the alley, in the middle of the rain, to lose herself and disappear forever, in the streets of that city she never knew.
Fin
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