Unusually, during the History lesson, the teacher had dedicated himself to a novel: Mrs. BovaryFrom Gustav Flaubert. Nicolás, who had practically not intervened during the entire course, raised his hand when Estela invited the students to comment or ask. With a smile of acceptance, Estela gave him the floor.
– Even though I had already read the novel in Spanish – explained Nicolás – it was only in this second reading I dare to suggest that there is a misunderstanding regarding Madame Bovary. Several exegetes consider her an oppressed woman of her time. It seemed to me that she was bored, as happens to a good part of humanity; But instead of wondering what she could do for fun, she turns to mistreating her husband, who loves her.
The class burst into spontaneous laughter. Nicolás said he was silent, fearing he had made a mistake. But Estela quieted the noise with a wave of her hand and invited him to continue.
“In my house,” Nicolás explained, “it happened recently. an event that is the exact opposite of Madame Bovary.
“Go ahead,” Estela encouraged.
“No, no,” Nicolas took a step back. It’s too long.
“We have nothing else to do,” Estela insisted.
“My mother died a few years ago,” Nicolás resigned. In that accident my father injured his ankle. He never walked comfortably again. Doctors prescribed all kinds of exercises; Apparently, with rehabilitation he could walk normally again. But it didn’t happen. He raised me and my brother alone. The marriage to my mother, as far as I could attest, was a loving one. I saw them having fun, accompanying each other, loving each other. My father never married again.
This is how Lisandro and I arrived at youth. We are a group of three, very close. We are not the ones talking, but we are aware of each other. My father never knew how to manage the house or cook well. But with a maid, who seems like the queen of the house, we get by. Last year, due to a gas leak, our service was interrupted. Until you certify that you have resolved the issue, the company will not reconnect you. You have to do it at registered gas fitter.
We use all the telephone numbers we find on the web. None of them hit the mark. First they did the air tightness test, which costs a fortune. But they simply confirmed that there was a leak. We already knew it. It’s as if a philosopher told you that no one can prove whether God exists or not. For this it is not necessary to study philosophy. We spent a good portion of our repair budget on these fakes that confirmed the leak, but offered no fix.
Winter was coming and my father’s ankle hurt. One of the few things that gave him relief was his ankle next to the stove. In this regard too, the doctors could not provide anything better. One even went so far as to tell him: “It can’t be that your ankle hurts that much, nor can it be relieved by bringing it closer to the stove.” Not only did he not provide a solution: he denied the obvious. To hide his ignorance of him, he denied the problem.
When we were desperate for a gas connection and were thinking of buying a salamander, a wood-burning fireplace and some jugs, Quique appeared. We didn’t call him: he asked if we were looking for a gas fitter. We never really knew what he looked like. He didn’t charge little: but he didn’t do the leak test.
He simply made it clear that locating the loss would not be easy, but that the budget included what it would take to find it. She did not consider leaving without repairing the damage. You worked practically alone. On one occasion, when she had to carry tons of pipes, she turned to his son. The boy was also silent, like us and like Quique himself. The little he said was: “When the old man gets something into his head…”. For two months Quique worked tirelessly.
Nicola paused. The class was on hold. Estela watched him with a sort of infatuation. She begged him with a gesture to continue.
-After two and a half months, when the cold was already warming up, he announced to us that he had found and repaired the leak. But it doesn’t end here. You had to go to the company, present the repair certificate, meet the official supervisor and now carry out the air tightness test. Through Quique’s processing, the repair was confirmed and our connection was restored. He did it himself.
It was a procedure for which two previous technicians had told us about bribes. Quique solved it solely with work and dedication. I remembered this because my father was the one who suffered the most: not only from his ankle, but because he found it unbearable that my brother and I were not comfortable at home. Mr. Bovary tries to fix the foot of a boy suffering from a malformation; and when he fails, Ema mercilessly mocks her husband, despising him.
“It’s true,” Estela murmured.
“Before leaving,” Nicolás concluded, “Quique told my father how he should massage his foot, every morning and every evening, and in what position he should put it for walking, for at least three months.” Now my father walks perfectly. He no longer felt pain in his ankle.
There was a sigh of relief in the class, as if most of the students had been changed by that story. Estela’s eyes shone.
“Evil,” Nicolás reflected, “has no sense or justification.” It is not the time, nor the culture, nor the past of each one. Bad is bad We never heard from Quique again. We call it for other, small inconveniences. But he didn’t reappear. He didn’t answer. Just as he appeared without us calling him, he disappeared without us being able to recover him. Sometimes we just want to thank you just because, give you something. But it’s impossible to find. I have come to the conclusion that Good has no explanation either.
Source: Clarin
