Spanish
Dos jóvenes tomados de la mano no dejaban de prometerse amor mutuo, él con ojos tan negros como la noche y ella con ojos y cabello tan rojos como la sangre misma. Solo se podían detallar los aspectos de aquel chico y de ella, aunque misteriosamente oculta, solo se podía ver algo borrosa la silueta. Estaban tan cerca que sus narices eran capaces de tocarse mutuamente mientras parecían a su vez estar escondidos, ocultos para que solo ellos pudieran vivir ese momento, sonando de la nada ruidos fuertes y balas…
De manera algo alarmada, Clara pegaba un salto fuerte mientras se componía con su entorno el salón de clases. Ya había pasado muy seguido en los últimos días que simplemente parecía soñar despierta con escenarios y algo que quería descifrar. Casi que de inmediato Clara procedía a anotar de nuevo lo soñado en su pequeña libreta; quería tener un respaldo de todo. Sentía que cada detalle sería una pista, mientras sus amigas la veían preocupada; incluso una de ellas se acercó en plena clase para preguntarle si estaba bien mientras le ofrecía algo de agua.
"Clara, tienes que contarnos qué está pasando; no pareces ni te ves bien. Si estás en problemas, solo dinos".
"Estoy bien, no pasa nada, está todo en orden", decía Clara mientras seguía escribiendo.
"Clara, mírate, te ves muy pálida en serio, tú no eres así", replicaba una de sus amigas tomando sus manos.
"Chicas, solo he estado con unos pendientes, pero prometo que está todo bien. Por cierto, ¿han visto al profesor de labora… digo, literatura?
"El profesor de literatura…" Se veían aquellas chicas entre sí: "Escuchamos que tomó algunos días libres y que al parecer no se encuentra nada bien; incluso hay quienes afirman que es la primera vez que pide días y que no se sabe cuándo volverá".
"No volverá…" decía ella mientras sentía una leve punzada en su pecho. Era algo que no conocía, una sensación de angustia mientras automáticamente se dirigía a los laboratorios. Ella necesitaba saber a dónde iría o dónde estaba.
Y esa sensación se haría más fuerte al llegar a los laboratorios y no ver nada. Busco en la biblioteca, esperando encontrarlo leyendo con esa voz melodiosa, pero no fue así. Recorrió cada lugar y simplemente no estaba; su corazón estaba a mil y simplemente se sentó en un pequeño banco mientras no sabía qué hacer. Ciertamente no quería ver con todo lo que estaba pasando, pero simplemente algo en ella la hacía no dejar de tener su mente tranquila.
De pronto lo recordó; en dos ocasiones él había mencionado un nombre: "Esmeralda…", susurró mientras de pronto aquella marca en su frase, esa por la que el profesor había evadido su pregunta mostrando curiosidad, comenzó a doler y no era un dolor fuerte, pero sí suficiente para hacerla incomodar. Aquella era una marca de nacimiento bastante inusual, pero que, más que hacerla querer taparla, para ella simplemente le daba igual; estaba formada por patrones de líneas que semejaban un corazón. Incluso no era la típica marca o lunar que tuviera un solo color; este era más que todo rojizo, pero tenía algunas partes oscuras.
Nunca antes había solido ni nada; incluso los médicos habían dicho que no presentaba problemas, pero en ese momento ese dolor punzante la hizo querer apartarla mientras pasaba de nuevo... Volvía a soñar despierta. Esta vez había fuego por todos lados, personas corriendo, y ella parecía tener una apariencia distinta mientras no dejaba de correr, huyendo de algo. De pronto lo vio; era él, pero parecía asustado, parecía nervioso y simplemente se acercó a ella. "Esmeralda, rápido, tenemos que vernos en la azotea. "Tranquila, yo me encargo de todo".
Una brisa fría la hizo volver a la realidad mientras pensaba en esa azotea, quién era Esmeralda y por qué siempre veía a ese profesor con apariencia distinta. Por un momento se preparó para marcharse a casa, pues allí era muy tarde, pero al dar unos pasos, de nuevo lo escuchó: "Tenemos que vernos en la azotea"…
En la universidad no había cosa así más que un pequeño edificio, bastante algo que usaban muchas veces como sitio de esparcimiento, mas sin embargo solo se podía subir hasta la mitad; no estaba permitido ir más allá, pero ese día ella sin pensar fue. Solo tenía algo en su cabeza: si no encontraba nada o no pasaba nada, dejaría de pensar y buscar algo sobre lo que estaba pasando. Era arriesgado, pero toda la duda la tenía muy mal. Llegó hasta el lugar y subió hasta el piso de intermedio y dudó, dudó totalmente para seguir subiendo, pero lo hizo y no paró hasta llegar al piso más alto del lugar.
Pero apenas se adentró, pudo ver que era un lugar amplio, era de color vino, parecía bien cuidado; incluso cualquiera diría que todo ese gran salón parecía estar en funcionamiento y, al caminar, más pudo detallar pertenencias: una cama, eh, incluso ropa en percheras bien colocadas. ¿Acaso...? ¿Alguien vivía allí? Su corazón comenzaba a latir de susto; capaz simplemente no debía estar allí, por lo que rápidamente se dio la vuelta para irse y...
"Vaya, parece que me ha estado siguiendo, señorita Clara". Era el profesor; estaba ante ella, pero estaba pálido, parecía no poder estar en pie y de sus labios parecía correr un pequeño rastro rojo.
"Pro-profe, no sé qué hago acá yo solo… ¿qué le pasa? ¿Por qué está así? ¡¡¡Profe!!!"
Aquel profesor caía desplomado ante ella; parecía que estuviera agonizando mientras Clara trataba de ayudar. Como pudo, lo llevó a esa cama, pero una vez acostado, colocó su mano en ella y esta era la cama más helada que había tocado. Buscó asustada por todos lados hasta que consiguió unos pequeños paños, agua y una estufa y con cuidado calentó agua y colocó el pañuelo, acercándolo luego a él para que estuviera caliente, pero aun no parecía volver en sí.
Decidió dejarlo descansar un poco y estuvo explorando el lugar. Pudo haberse ido, pero algo en ella no lo permitía. Fue a una pequeña mesa con una silla muy simple, pero linda, y se sentó. Estaba llena de hojas de fórmulas, poemas y, entre tanto, un cuaderno grande de cuero que, al abrir, hizo que sus ojos se agrandaran por completo... Era el diario que tanto buscaba. Lo contempló mientras veía cada carta, cada letra y, entre ellas, una pequeña foto salió.
Al tomar la foto en sus manos, pudo ver que era una pareja que sonreía plenamente y, al detallar, era él, tal cual como lo veía en esos sueños, y ella era la chica que tanto veía y, sin más, dejó escapar de manera firme... "Esmeralda".
"Han pasado varias décadas desde la última vez que estuvimos juntos en este lugar…"
Continuará…
Hola a todos de nuevo. Acá les traigo una parte más de este relato; espero pronto poder traer el desenlace de la historia, pero digamos que cada vez hasta yo misma me adentro más en querer explicar más y más. Sin más, espero les guste mucho y muchas gracias por leer.
English
Two young people holding hands kept promising each other their love, he with eyes as black as night, and she with eyes and hair as red as blood itself. Only the details of that boy could be made out, and of her, although mysteriously hidden, only the somewhat blurred silhouette could be seen. They were so close that their noses were able to touch each other's while they seemed to be hidden, hidden so that only they could experience that moment, loud noises and gunshots ringing out of nowhere…
Somewhat alarmed, Clara jumped sharply as she composed herself with her surroundings in the classroom. It had happened often in the last few days that she seemed to simply daydream about scenarios and something she wanted to decipher. Clara almost immediately began to write down her dreams again in her small notebook; she wanted to have a backup of everything. She felt that every detail would be a clue, while her friends looked worried; one of them even approached her in the middle of class to ask if she was okay while offering her some water.
"Clara, you have to tell us what's going on; you don't look or feel well. If you're in trouble, just tell us."
"I'm fine, nothing's wrong, everything's fine," Clara said as she continued writing.
"Clara, look at you, you really look very pale, you're not like that," one of her friends replied, taking her hands.
"Girls, I've only been wearing a few errands, but I promise everything's fine. By the way, have you seen the lab teacher... I mean, literature teacher?"
"The literature teacher..." The girls looked at each other: "We heard he took a few days off and apparently he's not feeling well at all; There are even those who claim it's the first time he's asked for days off, and that it's unknown when he'll be back.
"He won't be back..." she said, feeling a slight pang in her chest. It was something unfamiliar to her, a feeling of anguish as she automatically headed for the labs. She needed to know where he was going or where he was.
And that feeling would only get stronger when she arrived at the labs and saw nothing. She searched the library, hoping to find him reading in that melodious voice, but he wasn't. She looked around every room and he simply wasn't there; her heart was racing, and she simply sat on a small bench, not knowing what to do. She certainly didn't want to see what was going on, but something about her simply kept her mind at peace.
Suddenly she remembered; he had mentioned a name twice: "Esmeralda..." she whispered, as suddenly that mark in his sentence, the one the professor had evaded her question about out of curiosity, began to hurt. It wasn't a severe pain, but it was enough to make her uncomfortable. It was a rather unusual birthmark, but rather than making her want to cover it up, she simply didn't care; it was made up of patterns of lines that resembled a heart. It wasn't even the typical mark or mole that had a single color; this one was mostly reddish, but it had some dark spots.
She'd never had a solid mark or anything before; even the doctors had said it wasn't a problem, but at that moment, that stabbing pain made her want to push it away as it passed by again... She was daydreaming again. This time there was fire everywhere, people running, and she seemed to have a different appearance as she kept running, fleeing from something. Suddenly, she saw him; it was him, but he looked scared, nervous, and he simply approached her. "Esmeralda, hurry up, we have to meet on the roof. Don't worry, I'll take care of everything."
A cold breeze brought her back to reality as she thought about that rooftop, who Esmeralda was, and why she always saw that professor with a different appearance. For a moment, she prepared to go home, as it was very late there, but as she took a few steps, she heard him again: "We have to meet on the rooftop."
At the university, there was nothing like that, except a small building, quite something they often used as a recreational area, but you could only go halfway up; you weren't allowed to go any further, but that day, she went without thinking. She had only one thing on her mind: if she didn't find anything or nothing happened, she would stop thinking and searching for anything about what was happening. It was risky, but she felt bad about all the doubt. She reached the place and went up to the intermediate floor and hesitated, completely hesitated to continue climbing, but she did it and didn't stop until she reached the highest floor of the place.
But as soon as she entered, she could see that it was a spacious place, it was wine-colored, and it seemed well maintained. Anyone would even think that the entire large room seemed to be in operation, and as she walked, she could see more belongings: a bed, uh, even clothes on neatly arranged hangers. Perhaps...? Did someone live there? Her heart was starting to pound with fear; maybe he simply shouldn't be there, so she quickly turned to leave and...
"Oh, it seems you've been following me, Miss Clara." It was the teacher; he stood before her, but he was pale, seemed unable to stand, and a small red trail seemed to run from his lips.
"Prof-teacher, I don't know what I'm doing here all alone... what's wrong with you? Why are you like this? Teacher!!!"
That teacher collapsed before her; he looked like he was dying while Clara tried to help. As best she could, she carried him to that bed, but once he was lying down, she placed her hand on it, and it was the coldest bed she had ever touched. Frightened, she searched everywhere until she found some small cloths, water, and a heater. She carefully heated the water and placed the handkerchief on it, then held it close to him so it would be warm, but he still didn't seem to come around.
She decided to let him rest a bit and explored the place. She could have left, but something in her wouldn't let her. She went to a small table with a very simple, but pretty, chair and sat down. It was filled with sheets of formulas, poems, and, in between, a large leather notebook that, when she opened it, made her eyes widen... It was the diary she'd been searching for. She stared at it, looking at each letter, each letter, and among them, a small photo appeared.
As she took the photo in her hands, she could see it was a couple smiling broadly, and as she looked more closely, it was him, just as she'd seen him in those dreams, and she was the girl she'd seen so often. Without further ado, she firmly blurted out... "Esmeralda."
"Several decades have passed since we were last together in this place..."
To be continued...
Hello everyone again. Here's another part of this story; I hope to share the ending soon, but let's just say that even I find myself wanting to explain more and more. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy it, and thank you very much for reading.
