He opened his eyes, he could see perfectly fluffy clouds that were moving ... I could feel lazy as the sun warmed my face. Where was I?
A deafening silence around me ... and then I realized I could not remember ... In my hand clenched tightly, almost desperately, a yellow button, which of course, did not belong to anything you wear.
A new state of consciousness? A new sensation? A myriad of new sensations little crowded into my interior and it was impossible to measure, translate. I do not know if I was happy in that silent moment ... Perhaps the best word to describe me was new. That is, I felt new, but something happened, something had lived my mind did not come to glimpse from the memory.
I felt more relaxed breathing, decided to get up and change my face in surprise at a more inquisitive, I decided to walk to find something that sounded to me known, or find a friendly face, a good coffee in a place open and crowded. But I knew my right hand had fastened securely response ...
After crossing the avenue, adorned with lights off and announcing Christmas, I came across the "New Mexico." Some unknown force urged me to enter. I said hello, but nobody waved back, not even the bartender, though, his eye had crossed with mine for a few seconds. While waiting I serve the coffee they had asked, I decided to flip through the newspaper. Then, suddenly, I knew I had been before in this place. I knew the look sullen waiter named Carlos. At that time, someone on the TV was reporting that three English have been kidnapped in Mauritania. Apparently, they were part of a convoy carrying food to Senegal. Carlos, behind the bar, screaming, shouting against blacks, and the Moors, and Zapatero, and the priests ... Who is that Zapatero?, I thought.
was when the man entered the bar. Carrying several plastic bags in which they accumulated their miserable possessions. The deposited next to the bar beside me, and went to services without greeting anyone. Something inside me warned me that I knew that man and should keep their distance from him. Intuitively I knew it was a dangerous guy.
"Dear God, I heard yelling at Carlos, and here it is again ... You see how I Legionnaire leaves
services ... then I was gradually recovering memory. He was aware that the Legionnaire, this rough-looking beggar, was an unfortunate soul. Everyone in town knew him. His home was the streets and many mornings went to "New Mexico" to despair Charles. They drank coffee, had their needs and would wash a little. I remembered that people had at some distant time, avoiding the consequences of forgotten crimes, had been enrolled in the Legion. The ship that brought him back from Africa, when he graduated, he tied in Algeciras. There he took a night express guided by the desire to get to Madrid. Somewhat earlier, however, that the train was sighted Córdoba reviewer discovered without a ticket. Warned the two issues of the Civil Guard who were guarding the convoy and they forced him to get off that had once been mythical city of the caliphs. It was thus bound by the laws unfathomable chance, the Legionnaires had settled in the gardens and streets of Cordoba.
Was he still in service when I started to hear screams in the street. Outside, on the other side of the square, had formed a mob of people. - What will happen? I thought. Carlos by then I had not yet served the coffee. I was going to claim it when I beheld, dominated by the wonder that several police officers entered the "New Mexico." They noticed the plastic bags that the beggar had left on the floor and crossed to Carlos a few words I could not hear. At the time, gun in hand, walked to services. From there, pulled the Legionnaire. He was taken handcuffed and held at gunpoint. As he passed by me, directing his gaze to empty it, I realized that beneath his ragged coat wearing what looked like an old military jacket, possibly a vestige of his shipwreck in the waters of the Legion. The jacket was buttoned with yellow brass buttons.
Attracted by the growing buzz of coffee I forgot that Charles had failed to serve and went outside. A group of about ten or fifteen people, on the other side of the avenue, next to the gardens, swirled. An ambulance and several police units were stationed with lights flashing on. I crossed the street and approached the group. A man steeped in his own blood, lay on the ground ...
"It was the beggar," said someone. Without a word has nailed a huge knife ... then, he has thrown the weapon at the grove and went away ... We have seen that entered the "New Mexico." Just stop there.
I approached. Horrified, I look closely at the man lying on the floor. His chest was pierced by what appeared to be a CETME bayonet (1). The doctor who attended him, he turned his head
-just died he exclaimed, as he closed his eyes with his hand of man. Has in its hands a yellow button-advised the police. Probably snatched it to his murderer ...
was at that moment when I felt an immense light out of the body and wrapped me in a dizzying spinning ...
- Lord, I thought, this man killed me ...!
Dominated by a sense of anguish ever known, I felt the light was mistress of me and moved me with her ... In a few moments I felt far, far away ... Who knows where I lead?
1) - CETME: assault rifle gun. Weapon used in the English army at the time of Franco. Everything suggests that the Legionnaire, when he graduated, failed to return his bayonet regulation.
Antiqva
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