STORY: 3155 OR THE NUMBER OF SADNESS

Nineteen seventy-six. Summer has ended. The dry cough of autumn was heard.

The city was filled with black carts, driven by shadows. The clocks took to the habit
to stop very early because the street and the night were an unthinkable combination. The
cries of souls trying to escape their pursuers were heard clearly, but
nobody had the attention to give them. Nor enough love to come to their aid.

The windows lost their main purpose: to watch life. And the whispers transformed into
a way of thinking. However, there were people who read stories.
There was a father...

Mine. His name was Andrés, and I don't understand how he seemed so old to me when he was only 23.

I kept their thoughts, the color of their eyes, and their photograph. But photographs have a...
tremendous problem: they do not change, they do not age. That's why today I am older than he was.
when he read me the story of Victor, the elephant.

-Have you gone crazy, Victor? -the lion asked, peeking its snout through the bars of its cage.
cage-. How dare you order something like that without consulting me? The king of the animals
it's me!

The elephant's laughter spread like confetti in the darkness of the night.

Now I have to go, said my dad - tomorrow we continue.

I asked him to read a little more, but he replied that it was getting late. I remember that, since
the bed, I saw my mom's wide and colorful pants, who was looking from the door of the
bedroom. She also didn't want him to leave.

My dad approached to give me an irrefutable explanation.

Did you see the story we just read?

Okay.

Did you like that elephant?

Ah. Above all, I liked the idea of laughter as confetti.

Well... Someone ordered that no one, ever again, can read that tale; that it must be removed from the
libraries and distance it from the houses and schools. Does that seem good to you?

I think it's wrong - I replied.

I think it's wrong too. That's why I have to leave.

Do you understand?

I understood more or less, but enough to resign myself. Dad left the book on the
nightstand
-I promise you that we will finish it tomorrow -he said, without the intention of lying.

Then I heard mom's clogs when she walked him to the door. And I heard the silence.
inconfundible of a kiss.♣
And there was a mother.

Mine. She was timid. Bad, no. Timid. That afternoon she came into my bedroom and started to
rearrange the shelves.

-Where did he/she go? -she said to herself.

-What are you looking for?- I asked.

That book they gave you for your birthday. The one with the elephant!

I knew that my mom couldn't be looking for the book to read it, because she always had things to do.
much more important things to do. Let's see if I was going to waste time on nonsense!

So, what was I looking for?

-Here it is! -he said. And he looked at the violet elephant in striped pants as if he were facing
to hell.

"What do you want it for?" I asked.

She answered me while leaving, that's why I thought she hadn't understood well. It couldn't have been.
said "to burn it." She couldn't have said that. I caught up with her in the kitchen and returned to my question:

Why, mom?
He turned around and looked at me with a stern expression.

To burn it, Mariana. To burn it.

Before asking anything else, I needed to understand. And the truth is, I couldn't do it. My
Mom only paused for a brief explanation.

-The government prohibited it. It cannot be kept at home, nor at school. Much less, read it! -and
I can't understand how your aunt gave you something like that.

-It's nice -I said-. There are many animals that want to be free again...
-Don't even talk to me!

Mom searched for the matches, in which three little ducks were lined up in strict formation, and walked
towards the courtyard. I followed behind. His determination was so evident that I didn't even dare to ask him
that I shouldn't do it. Why would they ban a book? Perhaps it was contagious with some disease. I spent
the hands under the skirt.

Meanwhile, my mom had placed the book in an aluminum basin. I would like to say that
his hands trembled, but the truth is that it wasn't like that. Neither the hands nor the eyes. Rather, I
it seemed that he felt important. He looked at his work for a while, and then he left. A phrase from the story struck me.
suddenly came to mind.

-What nonsense is this? To the cages! -and the whistling whips waved threateningly.♦

There was also a statue.

The statue that was in the fountain of the park in my neighborhood.

To shape a block of white marble into the form of a young lady is not without consequences, because
From so much chisel and hammer, the stone awakens. Someone pulled it from its dream to give it shape.
twisted hair to one side. And some thin and very long hands where they could perch.
birds of the park.

My cousin and I had the habit of walking every afternoon in the park. And almost always
we carried a book. We liked to sit by the fountain so that my cousin, three years older than
Hey, I will read aloud.

Sometimes, very occasionally, I had the feeling that the statue, behind us,
I paid attention to the reading. And I even thought that he liked some stories more than
others. Of course, I never told my cousin that because thoughts can often be embarrassing.
That afternoon we were reading the story of an elephant that wanted to go on a general strike at the circus.

We all know that an elephant takes up a lot of space. But that Víctor, a circus elephant, is
he decided once to think "of an elephant", that is, to have an idea as huge as its body...
Ah... some do not know that, and that's why I'm telling you.

We would have finished the story if it weren't for one of those sudden rains that only
They serve lovers, but not the children playing in the parks.

A drop in the middle of the page and my cousin, whose mission was to ensure my safety, decided that
We had to go back home. Before we parted, he promised me that the next day he would bring the same.
book.
I was happy for myself and for the statue. I was sure that it didn't like leaving a story without
to finish.

However, that time it was not possible to please him.

The next day my cousin arrived without books.

My mom says that I can't take the elephant book out to the street.

-Why?
Because it is forbidden to read it.

Did your mom prohibit it?

-No. The military.

What do the military have to do with storybooks?

I don’t know very well... It seems that the story is about a general strike, and that is not possible now.
to do.

Are all the stories forbidden?

Not everyone.

Why didn't you bring another one?

My mom said it's better not to carry books. Just in case...

I looked from afar at the fountain statue and shrugged my shoulders.

It was years in which the city swallowed itself, stuffed its fists in its mouth to avoid singing.
The days were like a poorly erased chalkboard, where loose words could be guessed: the n of no, a
minus sign. Strange things happened during those years.

An absence occurred. The one of my dad.

That night I fell asleep looking at the spine of the book that had been left on the bedside table. I
I was a child and I had no nightmares or intuitions. My dad had left many times, and he always had
returned.
I was awakened by familiar voices. I was happy even though I thought it was strange that my grandparents
They were at home early in the morning. I got up and went to the kitchen barefoot and in pajamas.

Without a doubt, my mom had set out to do something very different from what she actually did. I knew
as soon as she had intended to appear calm, and tell me that dad was already going to
to return, it was just a matter of making some calls, and that was it... But he couldn't. How could he?
Why, in addition to the pain, did I have to make the supreme effort of pretending? Today I thank him for that.
hug, and the deep sob that came from his heart to mine.

My grandmother gently separated us.

Come here, I'm going to serve you breakfast. After that, they'll go with us -he said.

I looked at mom, who nodded silently.

When it was time to make the bag, I put in the book that my dad had read to me the night before. And I thought
that an elephant took up a lot of space, but was also capable of fitting into a bag.

There was also a drawing. The drawing of the fire in my yard.

The book that my mother had burned in an aluminum basin was slow to give in. As if
the animals in the story would put up resistance and fight.

Bray! Meow! Bark! Growl!

Unfortunately, it was certain that the flames were going to emerge victorious.

Perhaps to avoid seeing the death of the story, I raised my head and followed the path of the smoke. Then I
I swear it wasn't like..., similar to..., in the shape of... I swear the smoke was like a
elephant, resembling an elephant, in the shape of an elephant.
Above my head was a huge, floppy-eared elephant. A real elephant. The fact that
outside of smoke, the essential did not change.

My mother called me from the kitchen.

The elephant turned its head to look at me, moved its ears, and walked away. Neither too high nor too low, towards the
horizon.

And a flight happened.

On maternal advice, my cousin did not bring books that afternoon. But she did bring two jump ropes. And with them
we went to the park.
When things are supposed to be there, we take time to notice their absence. As if it were about the
traffic light at the corner, of the building across, of the wardrobe. Things that have always been there, there
they must still be!

A statue, for example.

It was not until several minutes later, when I had already stumbled several times upon the
jump rope, that I noticed its absence. I stopped in the middle of a jump.
-He is not here -I said.

My cousin was jumping backward.

Who?

The statue.

She also stopped the game and looked at the fountain. The two strings fell to the floor, silently.

And we ran to see what had happened.

Nothing, apparently. The pedestal where the young woman with a small waist and long hands stood.
the birds from the park that would perch were neither broken nor torn.

Arrested near the fountain, an elderly couple was discussing the event.

-Vandals -said the man, with little conviction.

Under the table, my cousin gave me a definition of that word: they break everything.

Do you believe it? -the woman was not satisfied-. There is no damage. And a statue does not disappear.
just like that.

The old man had no better answer.

Who knows -he said-. In these times!

Husband and wife walked away slowly. Surely they weren’t going to return for a long time.
pass by the park, by the fountain, by the mystery.

The pedestal remained empty. And the case of the statue was lost among much darker matters.
That’s for sure... The birds moved to a different neighborhood.

They say that time changes things. But I, who could never forget that young statue of
marble, I don't think that's entirely true.

Over the years I learned that time needs to be wound up because, if not, it stops like a
tired toy.

On December 10, 1983, thousands of people went out to sing.

I went. And I carried my dad in my soul.

I wasn't there. But I'm sure the smoke elephant was among the crowd.
As for me... They wouldn't let me go because I was only fourteen years old. And since my cousin no longer...
She would spend the afternoons with me or with her boyfriend, so I decided to walk alone to the park.

So I saw what I saw.

She was sitting on a bench, holding a book in her hands. I recognized them immediately: the book was
he of the elephant Victor and she was the girl with a small waist and long hair, twisted to one side.
His hands, which had once held birds, now held a purple elephant.
I approached and sat next to him. Apparently, he had just finished reading a story because he closed the book and
he smiled at me.

He didn’t say 'hello', nor 'good afternoon', nor 'what a beautiful day'. Instead, he pronounced what I
I was starting to understand.

Did you see? Freedom also takes up a lot of space.