'Time blossoms'; a story of Lucia Berlin

Cleaned houses, was a telephone operator, suffered scoliosis, survived alcoholism and the addictions, and wrote beautifully Story included in the book 'A n

'Time blossoms'; a story of Lucia Berlin

Cleaned houses, was a telephone operator, suffered scoliosis, survived alcoholism and the addictions, and wrote beautifully

Story included in the book 'A night in paradise' (Alfaguara), that will be published on the 8th of November

There it was again, the postman. After noticing it the first time, Cassandra began to see it everywhere. Like when you learn the meaning of "exacerbate" and then everyone starts to say it and until it comes out in the newspaper in the morning.

Down marching along Sixth Avenue, holding up much of the floor in their shiny shoes. A/two. A/two. In the corner of the calle 13 returned the head to the right, turned on his heels and disappeared. Was handing out the mail.

Cassandra and their two year old son, Matt, also played his route in the morning. The deli, the liquor store A&P, the bakery, the fire station, the pet shop. Sometimes the laundry. Go through the house to get the milk and biscuits, then back down, up to Washington Square. At home for lunch and take a nap.

When set for the first time in the postman, and how their paths crossed and crossing, he asked why I had not seen before. Does your whole life would have been altered by five minutes? What would happen if you altered an hour?

Then he noticed that the postman had the route calculated with such precision that during several blocks in a row followed by a walk on the other side of the street just when the traffic light is red put. Never deviated from its path, even the courtesies of rigor were manidas and predictable. Until Cassandra realized that theirs with Matt were too. At nine, for example, a firefighter went up to Matt at the truck or put on the helmet. At ten and a fourth, the baker asked Matt how he was today, hombretón, and gave him a biscuit of oatmeal. Or the other baker said to Cassandra, hello, precious, and gave her the cookie. When they came out of the portal and peered at Greenwich Street there was the postman, just across the street.

it Is understandable, he said. Children need rhythm, a routine. Matt was very small, he liked his walks, his time in the park, but at one point was put in a bad mood, he needed to eat and a nap. Even so she began to try to variarle the schedule. Matt reacted badly. Not keen to stay playing in the sand or amodorrarse in the swing until after the ride. If they would return home soon, he was too fast for napping. If they were going to the store after the park, gimoteaba, wriggling to get out of the stroller. So they returned to the usual routine, sometimes coming on the heels of the postman, other when I was just crossing the street. No one standing in his way or got pass you. A/two. A/two, then traced a trail straight down the center of the sidewalk.

One morning could not have crossed, if, as usual, had been entertaining for a while at the pet store. But in the middle of the shop there was a new cage. Mice dancing. Dozens of little mice gray-running around in circles, crazed. Had been born with a malformation of the eardrum, so I ran and ran as around. Cassandra pulled Matt from the shop and nearly collided with the postman. On the other side of the street, a lesbian, called out to his lover in the women's prison. He was there every morning at ten and a half.

On the Sixth Avenue stopped at the delicatessen to buy higaditos of chicken, and then to the side to pick up the clothes from the laundry. Matt loaded the shopping, she was pushing the laundry cart. The postman skipped a step to avoid the wheels of the cart.

The husband of Cassandra, David, came home to the six least fourth. Played three times on the intercom and she would answer with three beeps. Matt and she were waiting at the railing, watching him go up one, two, three, four flights of stairs. Hello! Hello! Hello! You hugged him and he entered. She sat at the kitchen table with Matt in the lap buckle of the tie.

- How has it gone? -wondered she.

"the Same", he answered him, or "worse". Was a writer, was about to finish his first novel. He detested the work that you did in the editorial, there was neither the time nor the energy for his book.

- sorry, David -she said, and prepared a drink for the two.

" What about your day?

- Well. We walk, we went to the park.

- Great.

- Matt slept the siesta. I've read Gide -(I tried to read to Grow; usually I read a Thomas Hardy)-. It turns out that there is a postman...

- don't tell me.

- I discourage that man. It's like a robot. All saints day follows the same schedule, is calculated up to the traffic lights. Makes my own life seem sad.

David was angry.

- Since, poor thing. Look, we all do things that we don't want to. Do you think I like to be in the department of text books?

- No I was referring to that. I love what I do. They just don't want to have to do it at ten and twenty-two. Do you understand?

- I Guess. Come on, wench, prepare me a bath.

Always said, in jest. And then she was going to prepare a bath and made dinner while he was bathing. Ate when I went out with the black hair gleaming. After dinner, David wrote or thought. She washed the dishes, gave her a bath Matt and read to him, sang to her Texarkana Baby ' and ' Candy kisses until he fell asleep, with a thread of drool dangling from her pink lips. Then Cassandra read or sew until David said, "Let's rest", and went to bed. They made love, or not, and they slept.


the next morning he stayed in bed awake, with a headache. Waited for him to say "Good morning, my sun", and what he said. When he left, she waited to kiss him and to be dismissed with a "don't do anything I would not do", and so it was.

On the way to Washington Square thought that a child was going to fall off the slide and cut the lip. Later, in the park, Matt fell off the swing and cut his lip. Cassandra squeezed the cut with a clínex, to hold back not to cry also. What is wrong with me? What else do I want? God, let me see the good things... He forced himself to look around, out of itself, and soon saw that the cherry blossoms were in bloom. Had been springing up gradually, but that day they were splendid. Then, as if it was because I had seen the trees, the source went on. Look, mom!, shouted Matt, and he started to run. All the children and their mothers were running to the source sparkling. The postman passed over as usual. Not seemed to notice that I was turned on, the water splashed. A/two. A/two.

Cassandra took Matt home to take a nap. At times she slept, too, but usually sewed or did what in the kitchen. He loved that time lazy day when the cat bostezaba and the bus went flying across the street, when the phones were ringing non-stop. The sewing machine rumbled on as the flies in summer.

But this afternoon the sun reflected in the chrome of the kitchen, the needle of the machine broke. From the street came in hard braking, it squeaks. The cutlery tinkling about the squeegee, a knife gritted against the enamel. Cassandra troceaba parsley. A/two.

Matt woke up. He washed his face, careful not to touch her lip. Took smoothies, waited with mustaches from chocolate to David to come home, to call three times to the intercom.

Cassandra wanted to be able to tell you that it felt horrible, but it was David who had a bad time working on that site, with no time for his book. So when asked what had gone the day, she said:

- it Has been a wonderful day. The cherry blossoms are in bloom and have turned on the source. It is spring time!

- Great-David smiled.

- The postman has moistened by passing -she added.

- don't tell me.


- Today we will not go to the store -he told Cassandra to Matt.

they Made cookies peanut butter and Matt the pricked one by one with a fork. Very well. She prepared sandwiches and milk, put some blankets and a pillow in the shopping cart of the casting. Were for a completely different road, going down Fifth Avenue, to Washington Square. It was nice to come face to face with the arch framing the tree and the fountain.

they Played together at the ball, Matt played on the slides and in the sandpit. To a Cassandra held out the blanket to make a picnic. They ate sandwiches, were offered biscuits to the people who passed by. After lunch, at first, Matt did not want to sleep, even with his blanket and his pillow, but she sang "She's my Texarkana baby and I love her like a doll, her ma she came from Texas and her pa from Arkansas", again and again until at last he fell asleep, and she also. Slept for a long time. Cassandra was shocked to wake up because he opened his eyes and saw the pink flowers with the blue sky background.

Sang back home, stopping in the laundry room to collect the laundry. On the way out, pushing the loaded cart, Cassandra was surprised to see the postman. He had not been seen all day. Reluctantly she continued walking behind him towards the zebra crossing. Then released the cart, let that rolled up to crash against her ankles. He hooked the foot in such a way that a shoe was left to him. The postman turned his head and looked at her with hatred, he crouched down to untie the shoe and to wear it again. She retrieved the cart and the postman began to cross the street. But it was too late, the light turned red when I was in the middle of the street. A van of delivery of Gristedes came around the corner and nailed the brakes to not be the postman in front. The man froze, terrified, then ended up crossing the street and lowered by the 13, running.

Cassandra and Matt followed right up to 14th street, and drove around the block to the building where they lived. It was a completely different way of going home.

David called on the intercom to the six less room. Hello! Hello! Hello!

" What about the day?

- the Same. And what about yours?

Matt and Cassandra are interrupted at every moment, talking to her about how I had gone to the picnic.

- it Was beautiful. We slept under the cherry trees in bloom.

- Great-David smiled.

She smiled also.

- Back to home kill the postman.

- don't tell me -David said, buckle the tie.

- David. Talk to me, please.

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Date Of Update: 30 October 2018, 07:01

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