{
  "schemaVersion": 1,
  "id": "texto-susurros-en-la-oscuridad",
  "language": "en",
  "canonical": "https://paynalton.tech/en/works/susurros-en-la-oscuridad/",
  "title": "Whispers in the Darkness",
  "summary": "A room and its objects remember the Mexican Revolution.",
  "author": "Paynalton",
  "format": "fiction",
  "partial": false,
  "topics": [
    {
      "title": "Stories and narrative",
      "url": "https://paynalton.tech/en/topics/lectura-categoria-cuentos/"
    },
    {
      "title": "Story",
      "url": "https://paynalton.tech/en/topics/lectura-cuento/"
    },
    {
      "title": "Fantasy",
      "url": "https://paynalton.tech/en/topics/lectura-fantasia/"
    },
    {
      "title": "Historical memory",
      "url": "https://paynalton.tech/en/topics/lectura-memoria-historica/"
    },
    {
      "title": "Mexico",
      "url": "https://paynalton.tech/en/topics/lectura-mexico/"
    },
    {
      "title": "Justice",
      "url": "https://paynalton.tech/en/topics/lectura-justicia/"
    }
  ],
  "body": "By Paynalton\n\n> *\"If a log falls into a ravine and no one is there to hear it, it will make no sound. But if the past whispers in the oblivion, will we be able to remember it?\"*\n\nThe room without doors or windows in that old house is where time does not stop nor advance forward or backward. Timid seconds ask permission to enter and settle forever in hours, days, months. Sad years contemplate the darkness that imprisons them between the four walls and the light, faithful companion of the present, has already lost hope of returning to caress again those faded walls that serve as a bridge for the decades that age without ever dying.\n\nA long time ago the old wooden floor stopped accumulating dust and feeling the weight of that man who dreamed and waited. A long time ago it stopped creaking for something more than a memory trapped between its planks, trying to escape. Sometimes the sigh of yesterday cannot be contained and rises from its hiding place, proclaiming its memories with firmness. On those occasions, footsteps are heard entering through what was once a door.\n\nThose steps, sometimes calm and relaxed, were heading toward the chair with a newspaper or a book in hand, or simply seeking a quiet place to think and reflect. Those steps sometimes were fast and excited, bringing a bundle of letters freshly received from some very distant place.\n\nThen the wooden chair creaks and trembles at the imagined weight of his memories. The man sits on it for several hours reading the letters over and over to not miss any detail, to understand the philosophy and the reason behind the ideas of his old friend, now exiled in the north for his ideals of justice, reason, and freedom.\n\nThe dusty desk then begins to remember as well, recalling the strokes drawn on paper sheets that are set to dry and overlap one another in those endless replies. It can faintly remember the debates by mail about what is just, what is correct, what could be, and what is wrong in this country. Then the sheets are folded into an envelope that will travel north, beyond the border in search of its recipient, who with the same joy awaits its arrival.\n\nThe quill and inkwell awaken from their lethargy, reciting between sobs of sadness what they remember from the last letter written:\n\n> *-It is time- they are heard saying in a very low voice - Madero has called the people to arms, ¡It has begun the revolution we have long awaited!.*\n>\n> *Under the cry of \"Effective suffrage, no re-election\" the people begin to organize and rise up in arms, however I have realized that most people do not know for sure why they are fighting or what they will do once the dictator is overthrown.*\n>\n> *That is why you must return Praxedis, you must return from your exile in the north and join the revolution to advise and guide it along the correct path. I know your name is not very well known, but your ideas will be heard and will help form a new nation, finally we will be able to see the Mexico we have always dreamed of.*\n>\n> *I will be waiting here, when you and your troop arrive in Guanajuato, I will join you and follow you until the dictator is overthrown and the new government accepts the ideas we defend.*\n>\n> *Please friend, do not delay, I will be waiting for you-*\n\nHanging from the wall, two pistols and a cartridge belt patiently wait for the promise that was made the day they arrived in the room. With hope, they repeat among themselves the words of that man when he hung them from the wall, dreaming and waiting for that moment to arrive.\n\n> *-When you arrive Praxedis, with these pistols I will follow you to the revolution-*\n\nHanging also from the wall, an old photograph drowned in darkness has completely forgotten the faces and names of the people who were drawn upon it in the light. But it still remembers the firm hands that held it sometimes and carried it through the air. It remembers the face reflected on its glass that gradually filled with wrinkles with eyes that over time turned from hope to melancholy. The hands, once firm and determined, have become trembling and clumsy, so the photograph can no longer resist and lets out a cry of madness while repeating the same phrase that the man used before hanging it back on the wall:\n\n> *-Praxedis, where are you?-*\n\nThe air that longs for a gentle breeze, a simple sigh, that misses the wind, the rain and the light can no longer bear its loneliness and swirls around itself, hugging and rocking, lifting small specks of dust that it delicately places on every object in the room, waiting for one of them to come to life and play with it.\n\nThe floor, feeling stripped, wakes up between screams, flails itself, echoing with the steps of the last people who walked on it and left it behind forever.\n\nThen the air breaks into sobs, repeating once again that last conversation:\n\n> *-Praxedis died a long time ago, he was killed by the first bullet of the revolution-*\n>\n> *-And the others?... Are they still alive?-* \n>\n> *-Some of them are still alive. But most of us no longer remember because no one fought for whom Praxedis was-*\n\nThe walls then twist in agony, scream, weep, torment themselves remembering every partition, every spoonful of cement that sealed the only door, banishing forever all light and all memory, all reality.\n\nEveryone remembers the face of the man who gradually sealed the room, leaving a last trace of light that could not escape and died, plunging them into darkness. It was no longer the face of a dreamer, it had become, in the last years, the face of someone who had lost all hope; the face of someone who was surprised by old age in a waiting that was too long; the face of someone who wants to forget the past, leave everything behind, hoping that time will forgive him.\n\nA sudden knock silences the whispers of memory. It is a new sound, different, loaded with authentic reality.\n\nAnother knock and one more, the earth of the partitions flees trying to escape and runs across the floor where someone waits in awe and drowns their cry of pain when a wounded partition falls on top of them, unable to hold on to the wall anymore.\n\nA beam of light enters through the opening, returning a little of the color that they had forgotten to each object.\n\nThe stale, old air inside meets the wind, which brings with it the fresh, young air from outside. In whirls they greet each other, kiss, embrace, and make love following an invisible and silent dance.\n\nThe wood creaks as it feels for the first time the plastic sole of a sneaker. Both kids are amazed by what they find on the other side of the hole through which they have passed.\n\n-Heavens... all of this seems from the times of the revolution-\n\n-...-\n\n-Why did your grandfather seal this room?-\n\n-I don't know, when I was a kid and I asked him questions about that time for my school assignments, he would get angry and send me out of the house-\n\n-Who are those in the photo?-\n\n-One is my grandfather, the other seems to be Flores Magón, the third I don't know who it is-\n\nThe old air, loaded with moisture and memories, stops for a moment and in a faint whisper asks before heading toward its freedom:\n\n> *\"Has the Revolution triumphed? Is there no longer any person with a corrupt heart governing the Mexicans? Do people value themselves for who they are and not for the money they have? Do the rich no longer exploit the poor with unpaid debts? Is Mexico a free country where ideas can travel without fear of death?\"*\n\nBoth the wind and the fresh air kept silent.\n\n-We have to take everything out of here before the bank guys come to seize the house-\n\n-Do you think they'll give us anything if we pawn these guns?-\n\n-Not enough to pay the debt-\n\n**FIN**\n"
}