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As the last post of this wonderful 2009, I leave The picture was moved, a story by Julio Cortazar that I love:

A cronopio will open the front door, and put his hand into his pocket for the key that takes is a box of matches, then this much and grieve cronopio begins to think that if instead of the key finds matches, it would be horrible that the world had moved at once, and maybe if the matches are where the key, it can happen that you find a wallet full of matches, and the full sugar money, and the piano filled with sugar, and the phone's full of music, and the closet full of subscribers, and the bed full of costumes, and vases full of linens, and trams full of roses, and fields full of trams. So this cronopio grieving horribly and runs to look in the mirror, but as the mirror is somewhat lopsided what you see is the umbrella of the hall, and its assumptions are confirmed and bursts into tears, falls to his knees and puts his little hands do not know why. The famas neighbors come to console him, and hope, but spend hours before the cronopio out of his despair and accept a cup of tea, which looks and looks a lot before drinking, not going to happen instead of a cup area is an ant or a book of Samuel Smiles.

Have a very good new year. See you in 2010.

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moved

Behind her eyes there a bag full of pigeons, a galley with chocolate bunnies and elephants of mint, a magic wand that turns vacant lots on roads and paths on routes that lead many sides . Behind their eyes is ludicrous prison caged lions, lions jumping hoops set on fire because they get bored if they do not. Behind his eyes with a thousand boxes are locks that keep pieces of women: beyond a torso, back legs, and there a smiley face, and none of these women is me, because I'm on this side, I am whole and I'm looking at what behind their eyes.

And I say, behind your eyes there are many more things that you put forward, and then he closes his eyes so I do not see it, but it's too late, because I saw what's behind your eyes and because I have many things behind my eyes.

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Carpets That *

The vagina was wrong and had told him. His mother had instilled from an early age. That does not play, he said. Why not say vagina , said that .

- not when I bathe? Candida asked, and the mother turned her face a slap, then taught to bathe with underwear on, so as to minimize any friction.

Candida's father was an important man who wore a uniform and weapons. The men who worked with him called him Colonel . His wife's mother, Candida, also called him. And thanks to a loving parental effort, Candida was allowed to call him dad .

had no brothers. Had, but not anymore. The largest was killed in a street fight for a couple of years while trying to fix a confusing matter of honor. The sister who was unable to tuberculosis who wore body and soul to make it a pitiful ghost counting the hours you were to close my eyes forever. The colonel and his wife looked Candida waiting for the moment to yield to a fever, colic or some of these diseases among women. But that was not the case, Candida was growing up, learning to swim alone, and wondered if the vagina is not never, ever played. And the mother corrected the slaps, because that was how it had been brought, and what had gone well, as straight, subtle and imperceptible that even a colonel had chosen as his wife.

When Candida turned fifteen, he was introduced to her husband. He was a soldier barely older than her, looking shifty and nervous hands. Candida did not want to marry this guy but with Peter, his friend who secretly gave him the colonel margaritas and stared when I thought that she was not looking, but no one asked, they would marry in the spring, and the party would be open the people, for people to appreciate the generosity of Colonel.

For the occasion, the mother of Candida her a sheet with a hole at the height of your belly.

"For your husband to consummate marriage without having to leave it exposed, it would be an unnecessary waste of debauchery, "he explained, dry and lean. Candida nodded, resigned, and the marriage was consummated, absurd and boring.

The husband was a quiet soldier, rough and strange. Candida months passed and not found out anything about him except that he could become very dangerous, with the danger of irrational, awkward teenager who is believed a man if she did not expect to have dinner ready. Candida wanted to know what things made them laugh, what was your pet, what he was afraid. The responses were dirty jokes, dog , to humiliation, but Candida do not know why the husband did not speak.

What I knew, because she told a neighbor, was that her husband liked to go to the brothel at the end of the street.

- And what is there?

-sleeps with women.

I do not understand. Are you going to that place to sleep? If at home we bed.

"No, not sleep. It is a manner of speaking. She sleeps with women. Have sex with women. Did you do that with you at night wedding.

Candida was surprised and felt no pain or distress or treason but curiosity. And that night her husband went to the brothel, and peered through the window of the street and saw what excited: her husband was naked, and he charged like a man possessed of a gorgeous woman. The woman was naked. That had to mean that the vagina, that it was not so bad. Candida returned home, heart and feet tapping in a hurry.

closed the door, undressed entire first time in his life and stood before the mirror. First we looked tits, they were not as great as those of women in the brothel but they seemed pretty equal. They were touched and felt tips, brown stuff, hardened as when it was cold, but Candida was not cold. Then he looked at the belly button and thought it was something attractive. Ideally word sexy , but Candida did not know that word. He turned and stared at her ass, was white, round and had two dimples in cheek. A Candida also liked her ass.

finally opened her legs and watched her vagina. First thought it was horrible. Then hesitated. To dispel doubts, dared to play. And I did not think anything horrible. He kept playing it, and whenever he liked best. And more. And more. And I wanted to tell her mother that she was wrong, that the vagina was not bad, could not be, something bad could not feel so good. But her mother did not understand. Then, in a second of boldness that made her laugh out loud, like an exorcism without demon, he knew he had to do. He dressed quickly and went looking for Peter.

had something to tell.

* This story and I XVI final results of the Short Story Competition Leopoldo Marechal, 2009.

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Years passed, yet not forgotten. That morning, Dad told me

"Today we go to Uncle Philip, because he has a new carpet.

I shuddered. I never liked Uncle Philip carpets.

Uncle Philip, once or twice a year, going to the forest and hunted animals. Then hang the heads of animals living in the wall, or used the skins to make rugs. Each time he returned from the forest, Uncle Philip was organizing a party, roasted deer and drank champagne, and the whole family was invited, and we had to go and say how much we liked the new puma squashed under the coffee table or the new head of a giraffe hanging above the fireplace. And me, I never liked the murders, I hated both dissected cadaver.

We arrived at noon, just when the deer began long grill smell of charred flesh. Uncle Philip came towards us shouting and gesturing a lot, and began handing out drinks and boring and frightening anecdotes about his latest stay in the jungle.

- Let's see the carpet! He exclaimed when he saw mom began to fall asleep, and took us to the living. A lion larger than my imagination carpeted floor. Uncle Philip was swelled with pride, accepted congratulations from Dad pretended not to see Mom's face of disgust, and asked me if I liked. I said more or less what I said was that the lion blinked, and I said no for two reasons: one, because they would not believe me, and two, because if I thought my uncle would grab the gun and would ensure the lion did not return to blink. I asked permission to stay in the living room while their parents ate deer in the yard, that I have no hunger, and so I could stay there, sitting on the floor, next to the new carpet.

"Hey," I said to the lion as soon as we were alone. The Lion opened his eyes and looked at me. Then he stood and shook like a dog when they wake up. For some strange reason, my uncle had not realized that the lion was alive and unharmed, for some even stranger reason, the lion was alive and unharmed. And I had to get him out.

opened wide the windows of the living mammoth, the lion had approached them and looked out.

"You will not get out, my uncle is in the yard," I said, trying to devise a plan to release the animal without noticing that my uncle, understand, I was a child.

But the lion should have known something I did not know, because I licked her face and flew out the window toward the unattainable sky, and faced the astonished gaze of my uncle, who had never suspected that lion, lion also was flying carpet.