I could put the dead, I could stay without writing these lines, some books; But here I am, typing, insisting, although it still does not abandon my fear.
Havana.-My neighbors say that I must be very grateful to life, even with those gods who, according to them, were protecting me. They also say, and they are not few, that it is a big miracle that today can make the story and that is alive, even with some joy. A slight turn, a casual movement, rather an unforeseen, even imprecise, saved my life; But in truth I think it was not only a matter of luck, it was not just that concurrent chance that Lezama Lima spoke “, that chance that the neighbors insist on making notice; again and again referring the miracle, and the hand of God raised, and saving me.
Many things say the neighbors who were aware. They determine to notice, everyone who agrees to listen to them, who was only a miracle, a resounding miracle, and that could even be magic, and wonder; There are even those who dare to make references to the power of God and their benefits. “The power of God intervening in the matter” and they even say that everything that happened was left from that concurrent chance that spoke, and very frequently, José Lezama Lima. Everything happened in a very short moment, without ads, without any other signal than that pertinazo rain.
Rather it was a fast turn, an unexpected somersault, which made me away from death, which made me get away from those ills that most of the time are usually the prelude to a resounding and painful death, as it happens so many times. Who does not remember in this city that balcony detached from an old building in Centro Habana, the one who claimed the life of “Three girls in flower”. Three young girls were then buried under those rubble left by that balcony in their detachment, in their willingness to win the ground, and later falling resounding, on the bodies of those girls in flower.
Three dead girls because of a government that neglects everything they should take care of, even the lives of three girls. Three girls in Flor lost their lives that time, and then other “accidents” would come, many more, almost all associated with the negligence of those communist authorities who do not usually pay the slightest attention to those who today, live in old and rickety solar that once were beautiful eighteenth -century palace.
I could put the dead, I could stay without writing these lines, some books; But here I am, typing, insisting, although it still does not abandon my fear. I confess that I am still scared, and I keep looking aside and then to another, always looking for the footprints of the many strips that Cuba made communism. I no longer reconcile the dream. I get up again and again, I walk through the house, I turn on the lights and turn them off soon so as not to see the breaks, not to see me, not to recognize fear, to put my anguish side. Will I get it?
