The Whole Island: Six Decades of Cuban Poetry

No lo ven. No pueden verlo. Pero todos, ya fuera del tiempo, son figuras yacentes. Las animo a medida que desarrollo los angeles trama. —Señor—me cube el barbero—. Es su turno. —Señora—me cube el amante traicionado—, encomienda tu alma. —Señor—me cube el barbero—, ¿lo afeito? —Señora—me cube el amante traicionado—, voy a degollarla. Brota los angeles sangre de mi carótida, tiemblo como un poseso. —¿Se siente mal, señor? , me pregunta el barbero inocente. Perfectamente afeitado abandono los angeles barbería, y perfectamente degollado me llevan a los angeles morgue. Un mundo gelatinoso en el que resbalo a cada paso me envuelve en sus oleadas de realidad luminosas. El tiempo deja de transcurrir, aunque el sol se ha ocultado, y los angeles noche no existe. El barbero lee en su casa el periódico, 102  Virgilio Piñer a UC-Weiss-Text1_CS4. indd 102 8/28/09 4:23 PM Now the barber brandishes the razor, getting ready to shave the blind purchaser, who studies anything like an orgasm whilst the razor scrapes his adam’s apple. yet he’s a shopper, and the razor is innocuous. It won’t plunge into his jugular nor sever his lifestyles. yet me, I see rivers of blood, the barber as Jack the Ripper, the blind guy a femme fatale assembly her maker. The scene is so ideal, so propitious. the following the replicate multiplies passions and a barber chair is the mattress of concupiscence, this towel a torrent of tears. The betrayed lover brandishes the razor. One’s compelled to note the barber superimposed on a guy loopy with ardour, and a blind client on a courtesan with a slit throat. the substitute is fact, the minuscule’s the big. not anyone notices as I end remodeling the area. It’s mine by myself, open air of time. they continue to be intact. “Thanks,” says the blindman. “How a lot do I owe you? ” And the fool repeats: “How a lot do I owe you? ” And he laughs with no figuring out why. They don’t see. They can’t see it. yet them all, outdoor of time now, are mendacity down. I pull their strings because the plot unfolds. “Sir,” the barber tells me, “it’s your flip. ” “Madam,” the betrayed lover tells me, “better begin praying. ” “Sir,” the barber asks me, “a shave? ” “Madam,” the betrayed lover tells me, “I’m going to slit your throat. ” The blood sprouts from my carotid, I tremble like one possessed. “Are you okay? ” the unsuspecting barber asks. completely shaved I depart the barber, and I’m taken to the morgue, my throat slit completely. A gelatinous global the place I slip at every one step envelops me in its waves of luminous fact. Time stops passing, regardless of the hidden solar and nonexistent evening. The barber reads the newspaper at domestic, Virgilio Piñer a  103 UC-Weiss-Text1_CS4. indd 103 8/28/09 4:23 PM el mudo traga su bocado, el ciego se sumerge en el sueño, con sus alaridos puebla el idiota los angeles plaza desierta. Pero todos ellos, sin saberlo siquiera, siguen por una avenida mi cortejo fúnebre: soy una puta famosa que acaba de ser degollada. 1978 Isla Aunque estoy a punto de renacer, no lo proclamaré a los cuatro vientos ni me sentiré un elegido: sólo me tocó en suerte, y lo acepto porque no está en mi mano negarme, y sería por otra parte una descortesía que un hombre distinguido jamás haría.