Portraits from another Europe

Literary works

“The Mirror” by Martín Cid

Martin Cid

            Smiling, he takes the mirror, takes again and leave the town, as I can remember, as he can remember. Maybe.

            He takes a look for first time, while the light was so cleany, foggy and crowd…, the town was waiting, for him, for me, all of us.

            I can remember, when I was just a child, even a man. I was near river Liffey, near my mother and his husband, not my father, not for more. The house was a XIX typical house, rooms and corridors, that foggy light crossing the steps, wathing us, wathcing me.

            -He did it –my mother said, I couldn´t understand it, maybe I wouldn´t understand it at all, never.

            I ran downstairs to meet my sister. No, she was´t there, she won´t be there –here- never again. Not for more, not for me. He did it, said again, he did it. I could find my steps, while I got my future, while I was living, maybe into my broken soul.

            -Give me your hand

            She was –ever- just a girl, my sister. We came to Ireland. She was eleven years old, blue eyed, beyond me. He was in the room next door, wathing, always watching, worth, Liffey sang, just three words: He did it, lilt, silent, strongly, brief… music and holy water bathing his eyes, her smooth skin.

            I opened my eyes, while she was still life, while her eyes was still open. I wathched myself, on the mirror, on my own relfection.

He did t, you did it.

The mirror always speaks with silent words, nearly, hearing the water. I meet it, I meet me. I stick her head of the water, while I was still life, while the mirror, still, got back my soul, my reflection, still over the water, smiling.

Maybe he raise it.

Read more: http://www.martincid.com

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August 19, 2010 Posted by | Short Stories | , , | Leave a comment