lunes, 22 de agosto de 2011
La Maestra.
Había una vez una niña que vivía en una casita en el centro de Londres. Helena era una niña menuda, con una melena que llegaba hasta su cintura y unos ojos azules que lo observaban todo con curiosidad.
Sin embargo, la pequeña Helena nunca había salido de su habitación en la casa. Desde que era muy pequeña, acarreaba una enfermedad que la impedía salir de su cama. La enfermedad de la pequeña Helena era muy contagiosa, por lo que apenas recibía visitas, disfrutando la compañía del doctor Wright muy de cuando en cuando.
Helena era una niña encantadora, ingeniosa y dulce. Pero se sentía sola, tan sola que apenas quería vivir.
Un buen día, mientras jugaba con una de las decenas de muñecas que tenía, oyó como la puerta se abría y cerraba apresuradamente. Dejó el juguete, y se asomó.
Era una doncella muy joven, de no más de dieciséis años. Era alta y delgada, y el sencillo vestido blanco denotaba que no tenía muchas formas.
Pero era la mujer más bonita que Helena había visto nunca, si bien era cierto que apenas había visto a ninguna, salvo aquellos difusos recuerdos que guardaba de los ojos de su madre, azules como los de ella, o de los brazos de su niñera, antes de que cayera enferma.
La doncella se giró, y sonrió a la niña. Esta frunció el ceño a toda respuesta:
-¿Quién eres?
La doncella volvió a sonreír:
-Me llamo Claire. Voy a quedarme contigo durante un tiempo, Helena.
-No puedes quedarte aquí. Estoy enferma. Tú te pondrás enferma también.
-Ya lo estoy. Por eso me han enviado aquí. Para eso, y para que te enseñe.
La rubia dama se sentó al lado de la pequeña, y la miró con dulzura con sus ojos de color de miel. Era muy blanca de piel, y tenía las mejillas plagadas de pecas.
-¿Enseñarme qué?-preguntó Helena.
-Me han dicho que nunca has salido de esta habitación, que nunca has ido a la escuela.
La niña asintió.
-Pues yo te voy a enseñar todo lo que allí se aprende. Antes de enfermar, yo iba a ser maestra, ¿sabes? Iba a enseñar muchas cosas a niñas como tú en un internado en Oxford.
-¿Y qué me vas a enseñar?-insistió la pequeña.
-Aún no lo sé. ¿Qué sabes hacer?
-Una vez, cuando tenía cinco años y la enfermedad no estaba muy avanzada, vino una doncella que me enseñó a escribir y a leer. A veces el doctor Wright me traía libros y plumas para que practicara, pero no sé hacer mucho.
-Bien-dijo Claire-, entonces te enseñaré inglés, aritmética, y dibujo. Y si quieres puedes aprender algo de francés, también.
-¿Y los juegos?-preguntó la niña, con cara de disgusto.
-También habrá tiempo de jugar.
Helena sonrió, prácticamente por primera vez en su vida.
-Me alegro de que estés aquí. Ya no voy a estar sola nunca más.
-Claro que no.-respondió la joven-¿Cuántos años tienes?
-Nueve. Pero llevo enferma desde los cuatro, o al menos eso me han contado.
-Yo tengo dieciséis.
Ambas sonrieron, Helena feliz de tener a una amiga, y Claire por poder compartir con alguien sus conocimientos y su enfermedad.
Los días comenzaron a pasar con rapidez para ambas. Inglés y aritmética por las mañanas, luego la comida (que recibían por un pequeño montaplatos situado al lado de la cama) y juegos. Por la tarde, dibujo y francés.
Antes de dormir, a Helena le gustara que Claire le contara alguna historia.
La joven aprendiz de maestra era una magnífica cuentacuentos. Partiendo de un caballo de madera con el que la niña jugueteaba, podía crear la historia de dos jinetes que habían corrido mil y una aventuras en las montañas de Escocia. Al ver las muñecas, imaginaba el cuento de una princesa que se había enamorado del hijo de su lacayo, y que había muerto de pena cuando él se casó con la costurera de su madre. Le contó incluso la historia de la niña que se había perdido en el bosque, y que se había criado junto a los lobos.
Helena escuchaba todas y cada una de las historias con los ojos muy abiertos, mirando fijamente a los labios de la doncella mientras imaginaba que ella era el jinete, que ella era la princesa enamorada, que ella misma se había perdido en el bosque de los lobos.
El tiempo se escurrió entre sus dedos, y pronto había pasado un año desde la llegada de la joven Claire. Y con ella, otro año en la enfermedad de ambas.
Helena apenas había notado nada, seguía igual que siempre. Pero Claire cada día estaba más cansada, e incluso a veces
-Claire, tú… ¿Me dejarás algún día?-le dijo un día Helena, durante la clase de aritmética.
La niña, que ya había cumplido los diez años, había hecho grandes progresos en todos los campos. Su escritura y fluidez al leer inglés eran ya magníficas, y tenía un especial talento para el dibujo.
-No, cariño. Siempre me tendrás contigo. ¿Por qué me preguntas eso?
-¿Cuánto nos queda de vida?
Claire la miró, y bajó la vista al suelo.
-No lo sé.-respondió, con franqueza-Los médicos… Los médicos nunca son exactos. Nuestra enfermedad es muy rara, en Inglaterra nosotras somos de las pocas que la tienen. De todos modos, Helena, eres demasiado pequeña. No lo entenderías…
-¡No soy pequeña!-estalló la niña, ya harta de mentiras y de que esquivaran sus preguntas-Yo también estoy enferma, yo también sufriré las consecuencias de esta enfermedad, al igual que tú. Sólo quiero saber…-retomó su tono dulce y paciente habitual, al darse cuenta del daño que le estaba haciendo a Claire- Sólo quiero saber si algún día moriré. Eso es todo.
Claire la miró, suspiró, y la abrazó.
-Lena…-dijo, intentando contener las lágrimas-Yo no lo sé, ni si quiera el doctor Wright lo sabe. Puede que muramos mañana, o puede que nos quedemos aquí durante el resto de nuestras vidas. Pero lo importante, cariño, es que estemos unidas. Te quiero muchísimo. Lo sabes, ¿verdad?
Helena asintió.
-Anda, vamos a jugar con esa muñeca tan bonita que te ha traído el doctor de París.
La niña sonrió, y estiró el brazo para alcanzar la muñeca.
Días más tarde, Helena se despertó sin Claire a su lado. Gritó su nombre por toda la estancia hasta quedarse afónica, pero la joven seguía sin aparecer. No volvió por la tarde para las clases, ni al crepúsculo para contarle una historia para que se durmiera.
Aquella noche, el doctor Wright fue a visitarla, y le explicó que no volvería a verla nunca más. Claire había pasado a mejor vida aquella misma noche, justo después de contar su última historia.
Helena no volvió a hablar con nadie en sesenta años. Dedicó su vida a enseñar a niños sordomudos, a comprenderles como Claire la había comprendido a ella. Cumplió el sueño de su maestra, y publicó todos sus cuentos.
Murió sola en su casa de Londres, en la misma habitación en la que se había criado.
En su lecho de muerte dejó una carta en la que hablaba de aquella misteriosa doncella que siempre mencionaba, pero de la que nunca contaba nada.
“Desde que descubrieron su enfermedad, Claire decidió dedicar el resto de su vida a enseñarme, para que algún día pudiera ser lo que soy hoy, una mujer de provecho. Ella me enseñó a sumar y a restar, a leer, a dibujar y a hablar francés e inglés. Pero hubo una cosa que Claire me enseñó, aunque ella nunca lo supiera, puesto que murió antes de que yo me diese cuenta. Claire me enseñó a tener esperanza, a disfrutar cada día como si fuera el último. Claire me enseñó la lección más valiosa que hay: me enseñó a vivir.”
lunes, 15 de agosto de 2011
Autopromoción ( Potterfics :B)
Como me da pereza pasar las cosas nuevas de papel a ordenador, y últimamente tengo muy abandonado el blog, pues voy a hacerme un poco de autopromoción con cosas que ya tenía de antes (esencialmente los fanfics de Potterfics). Pues bien, el segundo que hice, y el más popular hasta ahora, es "La Leona y la Serpiente". Teniendo en cuenta lo abundante y visitado que es el genero de Dramione (Draco Malfoy + Hermione Granger), casi 9000 lecturas es poquísimo (los hay de 50000 o más), pero para mí fue la leche. ^.^
La historia la terminé hace tiempo, consta de 19 capítulos (no demasiado largos, aunque depende del que leas) y se sitúa al principio del todo, en el primer año en Hogwarts.
He aquí el link al índice de capítulos:
"La Leona y la Serpiente"
También tengo dos historias de MMAD (Minerva Mcgonagall/Albus Dumbledore). La primera, "Historia de un amor", fue el primer fanfiction que publiqué y se me ocurrió escuchando la canción del mismo nombre de Ainhoa Arteta. He escrito cosas bastante mejores (hay que tener en cuenta que esto tiene un año o así, y he practicado mucho), pero al ser el primero me hace ilusión.
"Historia de un amor"
El segundo de MMAD, que aún no está terminado, es una traducción del foro http://admmfics.proboards.com. Me gustó, y me apetecía hacer algo de traducción. Me faltan cuatro o cinco capítulos por traducir, pero lo voy terminando.
"Un día, una noche, un momento"
Y esto es todo lo que he escrito de Harry Potter hasta el momento... Estoy preparando alguno más, pero estoy dudando en si publicarlo o no.
¡Hala, ya valió de hacerme publicidad! :D
Daliá♥
La historia la terminé hace tiempo, consta de 19 capítulos (no demasiado largos, aunque depende del que leas) y se sitúa al principio del todo, en el primer año en Hogwarts.
He aquí el link al índice de capítulos:
"La Leona y la Serpiente"
También tengo dos historias de MMAD (Minerva Mcgonagall/Albus Dumbledore). La primera, "Historia de un amor", fue el primer fanfiction que publiqué y se me ocurrió escuchando la canción del mismo nombre de Ainhoa Arteta. He escrito cosas bastante mejores (hay que tener en cuenta que esto tiene un año o así, y he practicado mucho), pero al ser el primero me hace ilusión.
"Historia de un amor"
El segundo de MMAD, que aún no está terminado, es una traducción del foro http://admmfics.proboards.com. Me gustó, y me apetecía hacer algo de traducción. Me faltan cuatro o cinco capítulos por traducir, pero lo voy terminando.
"Un día, una noche, un momento"
Y esto es todo lo que he escrito de Harry Potter hasta el momento... Estoy preparando alguno más, pero estoy dudando en si publicarlo o no.
¡Hala, ya valió de hacerme publicidad! :D
Daliá♥
Giffoni Experience '11♥ The very best.
Sé que ha pasado más de un mes, pero ahora que tengo todo el tiempo del mundo aquí en el cámping (el León), al fin he conseguido vencer la pereza... Y además, más vale tarde que nunca. ^.^
También sé que suena a anuncio si digo que es una experiencia única, pero cuando lo vives es lo mínimo que se te ocurre.
He aquí, lo más memorable de...
Giffoni Film Festival
Capri
La Costa Amarfitana
Demasiado en tan sólo once días. Ahora sólo nos queda esperar a poder volver dentro de dos años...
También sé que suena a anuncio si digo que es una experiencia única, pero cuando lo vives es lo mínimo que se te ocurre.
He aquí, lo más memorable de...
Giffoni Film Festival
- Mi familia, que a los pocos días ya parecía la verdadera.
- Mis amig@s: Anna, Giulia, Maria Antonietta, Francesca, Alessia, Morena, Micaela, Luca, Nanni, Delphine, Berthille, Elisa, Maria, Annie, Marco, Elena, Gianluca, la otra Alessia, Marialuisa, Maite, Karina, Lucy... Y toda la gente maravillosa que conocí, pero de la que no me acuerdo... xD
- Ponerles motes a los monitores.
- Sacar el Ipod disimuladamente en los debates.
- Poner a parir a la gente en español en su cara sin que se enteraran.
- Competir a quién acaba primero las Pringles.
- Las noches de DJ visitando a nuestras amigas de la Coca-Cola cada diez minutos
- Acordarse de toda la familia de la de los Chupa-Chups cuando no le quedaban
- Ir a rellenar la botella de agua al baño, y que te mirasen mal.
- Llamar "guarras" a las organizadoras.
- Las pizzas y los helados de Giffoni.
- Cantar las canciones de Mamma Mia con Elisa y Berthille.
- Enseñar insultos a la gente.
- Dormir en las butacas del cine.
- Sacar fotos a traición con el "Modo Inteligente".
- Reírnos de las desgracias de Andrea.
Capri
- El viaje en barco.
- Las vistas.
- Bajar por una montaña ayudados de un cable oxidado.
- Bañarse en un agua limpia y con olas.
- Los de Palestina tocando las narices.
- Subir medio kilómetro en cuesta y con 40 Cº.
- "Absorber" tres botellas de 2L de agua en un cuarto de hora.
- Pagar 7 euros por una pizza quemada.
La Costa Amarfitana
- El Balcón de Europa.
- La mojadura que pillamos con los aspersores de Ravello, que nos prestó por la vida.
- Caerme por las escaleras en Ravello, y adquirir el sobrenombre de "la arrastrada"
Demasiado en tan sólo once días. Ahora sólo nos queda esperar a poder volver dentro de dos años...
domingo, 10 de julio de 2011
Blanche's
Este relato fue uno de los que escribí para el concurso de relatos organizado por "Everest", relacionado con "Canciones para Paula" (libro que, por cierto, recomiendo) y "Starbucks".
*******************************************
La cafetería estaba abarrotada, para variar, y Blanca no daba a basto con las cuentas.
Menos mal que al fin alguien había respondido al anuncio.
Tan sólo unas horas antes, un chico de unos 20 años la había llamado, preguntando si la oferta estaba aún en pie.
“Claro”, había respondido ella, sorprendida (y deleitada al mismo tiempo) por la masculinidad y seguridad de su voz: siempre le habían gustado los tipos así.
Acordaron que comenzaría su período de prueba aquella misma tarde, a las 5.
“No tardará mucho.”, pensó la mujer, de 43 años, casi 44, mientras cobraba a un cliente, y se servía a ella misma un café bombón. Pero minutos pasaban; y mientras llegaban las cinco y cuarto, el no hacía lo propio.
Blanca cada vez se impacientaba más, y en la taza iba quedando el rastro del café que tanto le gustaba. Pero cuando ya había perdido toda esperanza de que viniera, cuando se deleitaba con los últimos toques de la leche condensada, le vio aparecer.
Su cabello negro (ni muy corto, ni muy largo) se veía azotado por la brisa de la tarde, mientras sus ojos de color azul se cerraban para ver mejor, probablemente intentando localizar a la dueña de “Blanche’s”.
La vio avanzar hacia él con paso seguro.
-Tú debes de ser Sergio. Yo soy Blanca, la dueña del bar.
-Encantado.
Blanca sonrió. Sus sospechas sobre la edad de Sergio se veían ahora confirmadas, pero no era eso lo único que se confirmaba.
Su encanto era más que notable, y no sólo en su voz, sino también en su mirada y en su postura.
-Pasa a la cocina, ahora mismo voy. Es al fondo, detrás de la barra.
Blanca observó cómo el muchacho se dirigía hacia el fondo de la cafetería. De algún modo, se quedó embelesada, y no despertó de su trance hasta que el viento le golpeó su pálido rostro. Con paso firme, su paso, se dirigió hacia la cocina, donde la esperaba Sergio.
-Bien, comienza por probarte ese delantal, creo que es de tu talla.- ordenó, señalando un delantal blanco que había colgado del perchero- Perfecto. Empezarás por llevar esto a la mesa 3, aquella del fondo.
Sergio cogió una bandeja con dos capuccinos, y, con una elegancia que Blanca no veía desde hacía muchos años, la llevó hasta la mesa 3.
-Muy bien, veo que esto se te da bien. Veamos qué tal te va el resto del día.
Ambos sonrieron.
Pero, en el camino de Sergio hacia la barra, su rostro y el de Blanca se encontraron a tan sólo unos centímetros.
Aliento contra aliento, el atractivo que Blanca sentía por el chaval empezó a aumentar más, y más, y más…
-Ups, perdona, Blanca.- se disculpó Sergio, apartando sus ojos de los de Blanca. Aquella situación le había resultado un tanto incómoda.
-No pasa nada.- dijo ella, con un ligero tono de desilusión, que afortunadamente Sergio no notó.
Por un momento, había pensado que algo iba a pasar entre ellos.
Por un momento, había albergado aquella nimia esperanza.
Dalià♥
*******************************************
La cafetería estaba abarrotada, para variar, y Blanca no daba a basto con las cuentas.
Menos mal que al fin alguien había respondido al anuncio.
Tan sólo unas horas antes, un chico de unos 20 años la había llamado, preguntando si la oferta estaba aún en pie.
“Claro”, había respondido ella, sorprendida (y deleitada al mismo tiempo) por la masculinidad y seguridad de su voz: siempre le habían gustado los tipos así.
Acordaron que comenzaría su período de prueba aquella misma tarde, a las 5.
“No tardará mucho.”, pensó la mujer, de 43 años, casi 44, mientras cobraba a un cliente, y se servía a ella misma un café bombón. Pero minutos pasaban; y mientras llegaban las cinco y cuarto, el no hacía lo propio.
Blanca cada vez se impacientaba más, y en la taza iba quedando el rastro del café que tanto le gustaba. Pero cuando ya había perdido toda esperanza de que viniera, cuando se deleitaba con los últimos toques de la leche condensada, le vio aparecer.
Su cabello negro (ni muy corto, ni muy largo) se veía azotado por la brisa de la tarde, mientras sus ojos de color azul se cerraban para ver mejor, probablemente intentando localizar a la dueña de “Blanche’s”.
La vio avanzar hacia él con paso seguro.
-Tú debes de ser Sergio. Yo soy Blanca, la dueña del bar.
-Encantado.
Blanca sonrió. Sus sospechas sobre la edad de Sergio se veían ahora confirmadas, pero no era eso lo único que se confirmaba.
Su encanto era más que notable, y no sólo en su voz, sino también en su mirada y en su postura.
-Pasa a la cocina, ahora mismo voy. Es al fondo, detrás de la barra.
Blanca observó cómo el muchacho se dirigía hacia el fondo de la cafetería. De algún modo, se quedó embelesada, y no despertó de su trance hasta que el viento le golpeó su pálido rostro. Con paso firme, su paso, se dirigió hacia la cocina, donde la esperaba Sergio.
-Bien, comienza por probarte ese delantal, creo que es de tu talla.- ordenó, señalando un delantal blanco que había colgado del perchero- Perfecto. Empezarás por llevar esto a la mesa 3, aquella del fondo.
Sergio cogió una bandeja con dos capuccinos, y, con una elegancia que Blanca no veía desde hacía muchos años, la llevó hasta la mesa 3.
-Muy bien, veo que esto se te da bien. Veamos qué tal te va el resto del día.
Ambos sonrieron.
Pero, en el camino de Sergio hacia la barra, su rostro y el de Blanca se encontraron a tan sólo unos centímetros.
Aliento contra aliento, el atractivo que Blanca sentía por el chaval empezó a aumentar más, y más, y más…
-Ups, perdona, Blanca.- se disculpó Sergio, apartando sus ojos de los de Blanca. Aquella situación le había resultado un tanto incómoda.
-No pasa nada.- dijo ella, con un ligero tono de desilusión, que afortunadamente Sergio no notó.
Por un momento, había pensado que algo iba a pasar entre ellos.
Por un momento, había albergado aquella nimia esperanza.
Dalià♥
viernes, 8 de julio de 2011
Alla mina bästa år♥A fairytale life|How to fall in love (Part 2)
-Well, so, here we are…
-Yes.
Frida smiled, sweetly.
They were one in front of another, next to Frida’s house. It hadn’t been a bad night, actually.
In fact, it had been a great evening, one of the best she had ever known.
After having that delicious dinner in “Luigi’s”, Ragnar had taken her to the best disco in Eskilstuna, “Lugna”. They had had a lot of fun, and Frida could forget for some minutes all her worries.
But now, everything was back again. Including her worries, and her fears…
-It has been a very good night, Ragnar. Thank you so much.-she said, after a long silence.
-Thanks to you for coming.
They smiled again.
-Well…I think it’s time for me to… To go home. I would invite you, but…
-It’s late and your grandmother is in. Don’t worry. I just wanted to…
-Yes?
She looked at him, with her mind full of doubts.
What was she supposed to do?
Was she supposed to enter the house?
Was she supposed to smile at him?
Was she supposed to…?
An unknown sensation stopped her feelings.
It was… Warm. She liked that sensation, she really liked it. Kisses were much better than she had ever imagined, really.
He took her waist, she didn’t stop him.
They separated slowly.
-See you tomorrow?-he said, looking at her, and evidently more relaxed.
-Yes… Yes.
They smiled, sweetly. Ragnar took her hand, and kissed her again.
-Dream with angels.
-Good night, Ragnar.
She smiled, and entered home. Ragnar sighed, and went away.
Inside the house, Agny had watched every second of the scene.
She sighed, and, after Frida had gone to her bedroom, went upstairs.
After all, her little girl wasn’t a child anymore.
Dalià♥
martes, 28 de junio de 2011
Mil días en Venecia.
“Conocí a un hombre que decía: Algunas personas maduran y otras se pudren. Algunas veces crecemos, pero no cambiamos jamás. No podemos. Nadie cambia. Somos como somos, y nadie puede cambiar a nadie, ni si quiera a sí mismo.”
Mil días en Venecia; Marlena de Blasi
Dalià♥
domingo, 26 de junio de 2011
Alla mina bästa år♥A fairytale life|How to fall in love (Part 1)
-Wow, you are… Beautiful.
Frida smiled, and noted how her face turned red.
She was dressed in a short green dress, with a lace on its waist.
Her hair was falling on her shoulders, hiding the pearl earrings. She had put a little make up,, only a little rimmel and a bit of lipstick.
-Thank you so much.-she answered-You’re handsome too.
They smiled, and entered in his car.
He took her to the best Italian restaurant of the city, “Luigi’s”
-Have you ever been here, Frida?-he asked, opening the door gently.
-No, no. I haven’t been to any Italian restaurant, actually.
-So, it’s the time for you to taste the best food in the world.
She smiled.
-White wine, please.
-I’ll have water, thank you.
The mêtre went away, leaving them alone.
-Well, Frida, I’m sure I’m not wrong if I say that we do not know each other much.
-You’re not.-she said, with a tiny smile.
-What are your likes?
-Well, I like music, as you can imagine…she started- Jazz mainly. I also enjoy reading and dancing, and, well, nature. And you?
-I like cinema, and reading, nothing special. Do you…-he doubted- Do you have a boyfriend?
She seemed surprised at first, but then relaxed. In some way, she knew he would make that question.
-Well, not really… No, I don’t. Do you? Well, of course you have…
-No, you’re wrong. There was something not long ago, but… It finished, because I met somebody.
Frida looked at him, with her mouth lightly opened and without breathing, when the mêtre arrived with the first place.
She didn’t know what she was about to say.
Actually, she didn’t know what was she was supposed to say during the whole evening. She had no idea.
jueves, 23 de junio de 2011
MLS62.
Hoy, se cumplen 62 años del nacimiento de una mujer, de una gran mujer.
Una mujer dulce, cariñosa, humilde, bella, talentosa, buena madre. En resumen, una mujer maravillosa.
La mujer de la que hablo no va de diva, ni presume de ese don que se le ha dado. Es bella; es maravillosa. Pero también es humilde, algo que muchas otras no son.
Pero es que ella… Es única.
Hoy, se cumplen 62 años del nacimiento de Mary Louise Streep.
Y sólo puedo decir…
Gracias.
Gracias por ser como eres, gracias por sonreír cada día, gracias por todo.
Gracias por existir, querida Meryl.
Thank you very much.
PD: Esta entrada está publicada con retraso, el cumpleaños de Meryl fue ayer, pero no pude publicarlo. ;)
Dalià♥
domingo, 19 de junio de 2011
Un último vals
-Es la hora.
Ágata esbozó una sonrisa amarga, y bajo la vista al suelo de la estación.
Las despedidas no eran lo suyo, y menos si se trataba de él. No se volverían a ver en meses, tal vez años; años en los que lamentaría su marcha con cada cosa que hiciera. Muchas veces se preguntaba si su amor lo superaría, si sería lo bastante fuerte como para no rendirse y casarse con un niño bien. Se preguntaba si merecería la pena malgastar los mejores años de su vida esperando a que volviera de la guerra; tal vez esperando en vano.
Pero todas las dudas quedaban disipadas con el siguiente beso.
Fernando la tomó entre sus brazos. No le gustaba que llorara, y menos que lo hiciera sola. No había querido tanto a nadie en toda su vida, y le costaba separarse de ella tanto como le hubiera costado renunciar al agua. Aunque, si hubiera sido necesario, lo hubiese hecho.
Pasarían años hasta que pudiera volver a tocarla, hasta que pudiera volver a mirar a sus ojos de color miel. Pasarían años hasta que al fin pudieran casarse, hasta que pudieran tener hijos y, al fin, ser felices.
Cientos de veces había pensado en decirle a Ágata que se acabó, que no merecía la pena esperar tanto tiempo a que volviera de una guerra que no sabía cuando iba a acabar, de una guerra de la que ni siquiera sabía si volvería vivo.
Pero se volvía incapaz cuando veía una de sus sonrisas.
-¿Volveré a verte?
-No lo sé.-respondió él, acariciando su pelo- La verdad es que no sé nada. Ni siquiera sé si podré soportarlo.
Volvieron a abrazarse, pero el revisor del tren los separó.
-Última llamada. Será mejor que suba.
Fernando se cargó el equipaje en la espalda. Tomó a Ágata por la cintura, y la besó, para escándalo de las demás mujeres en la estación.
-Te quiero, Ágata.
-Yo te quiero; te adoro. Venga, vete ya. No quiero que te ocurra nada por mi culpa.
Ágata sacó el delicado pañuelo que le había regalado Fernando el día que se habían prometido, y lo sacudió en el aire.
Mientras miraba como el tren se alejaba, comenzó a llorar, esta vez en serio, esta vez a gritos.
Tenía el presentimiento de que nunca volvería a verle con vida.
Dalià♥
Ágata esbozó una sonrisa amarga, y bajo la vista al suelo de la estación.
Las despedidas no eran lo suyo, y menos si se trataba de él. No se volverían a ver en meses, tal vez años; años en los que lamentaría su marcha con cada cosa que hiciera. Muchas veces se preguntaba si su amor lo superaría, si sería lo bastante fuerte como para no rendirse y casarse con un niño bien. Se preguntaba si merecería la pena malgastar los mejores años de su vida esperando a que volviera de la guerra; tal vez esperando en vano.
Pero todas las dudas quedaban disipadas con el siguiente beso.
Fernando la tomó entre sus brazos. No le gustaba que llorara, y menos que lo hiciera sola. No había querido tanto a nadie en toda su vida, y le costaba separarse de ella tanto como le hubiera costado renunciar al agua. Aunque, si hubiera sido necesario, lo hubiese hecho.
Pasarían años hasta que pudiera volver a tocarla, hasta que pudiera volver a mirar a sus ojos de color miel. Pasarían años hasta que al fin pudieran casarse, hasta que pudieran tener hijos y, al fin, ser felices.
Cientos de veces había pensado en decirle a Ágata que se acabó, que no merecía la pena esperar tanto tiempo a que volviera de una guerra que no sabía cuando iba a acabar, de una guerra de la que ni siquiera sabía si volvería vivo.
Pero se volvía incapaz cuando veía una de sus sonrisas.
-¿Volveré a verte?
-No lo sé.-respondió él, acariciando su pelo- La verdad es que no sé nada. Ni siquiera sé si podré soportarlo.
Volvieron a abrazarse, pero el revisor del tren los separó.
-Última llamada. Será mejor que suba.
Fernando se cargó el equipaje en la espalda. Tomó a Ágata por la cintura, y la besó, para escándalo de las demás mujeres en la estación.
-Te quiero, Ágata.
-Yo te quiero; te adoro. Venga, vete ya. No quiero que te ocurra nada por mi culpa.
Ágata sacó el delicado pañuelo que le había regalado Fernando el día que se habían prometido, y lo sacudió en el aire.
Mientras miraba como el tren se alejaba, comenzó a llorar, esta vez en serio, esta vez a gritos.
Tenía el presentimiento de que nunca volvería a verle con vida.
Dalià♥
sábado, 18 de junio de 2011
A vista de pájaro.
-¿Qué se sentirá al volar?
Era un día nublado, pero se la podía observar con claridad.
La golondrina planeaba sobre ella, que leía una novela sentada en el balcón.
Detuvo su lectura para mirar, ensimismada, al pájaro que sobrevolaba la casa.
Poco a poco, cerró los ojos, y se imaginó a sí misma en el lugar de la golondrina.
Sintió como la brisa comenzaba a golpearle el rostro, y se dejó llevar.
Recorrió sus ciudades soñadas, aquellas que narraban los libros: de las gárgolas de Notre Dame al canal de Venecia, pasando por el Big Ben y las montañas de Escocia.
Recorrió su imaginación, y encontró en sus más profundos recobecos las maravillas más maravillosas, las fantasías más fantasiosas.
Una fuerte ráfaga de viento la despertó de sus ensoñaciones.
La doncella alzó la vista.
Allí seguía, majestuosa y libre, la golondrina.
La dama de celeste suspiró, cerró su novela y volvió al calor del hogar, donde la rutina la esperaba, alejándola de su mente, ansiosa de libertad.
Dalià♥
Era un día nublado, pero se la podía observar con claridad.
La golondrina planeaba sobre ella, que leía una novela sentada en el balcón.
Detuvo su lectura para mirar, ensimismada, al pájaro que sobrevolaba la casa.
Poco a poco, cerró los ojos, y se imaginó a sí misma en el lugar de la golondrina.
Sintió como la brisa comenzaba a golpearle el rostro, y se dejó llevar.
Recorrió sus ciudades soñadas, aquellas que narraban los libros: de las gárgolas de Notre Dame al canal de Venecia, pasando por el Big Ben y las montañas de Escocia.
Recorrió su imaginación, y encontró en sus más profundos recobecos las maravillas más maravillosas, las fantasías más fantasiosas.
Una fuerte ráfaga de viento la despertó de sus ensoñaciones.
La doncella alzó la vista.
Allí seguía, majestuosa y libre, la golondrina.
La dama de celeste suspiró, cerró su novela y volvió al calor del hogar, donde la rutina la esperaba, alejándola de su mente, ansiosa de libertad.
Dalià♥
jueves, 16 de junio de 2011
Alla mina bästa år♥A fairytale life|The game is on again
-Hello?
Frida entered in the house quietly, hoping with all her heart her grandmother wasn’t there.
-In the kitchen!.-Agny shouted from the other part of the house.
She walked along the house, nervous.
-Eem, mamma… Can I ask you something?
-Sure. What is it about?-she answered, while putting some more flour in the mass of the bread.
-Well…Can I go out…Tonight?
Frida was confused. Ragnar Frediksson , the guy that played the trumpet in the band, had been extremely sweet and nice to her since she had started in the “Anni Frid Four”, as they had decided to rename the band.
She was flattered, of course, as she liked him a lot.
But that afternoon, when he had asked her to go out, she hadn’t known what to answer.
She wanted to say “yes”, of course, but she was afraid of her grandmother’s reaction. She was always so categorical with men… And all of that because her daughter’s love story had ended awfully.
“And what if?”, always thought Frida, “I’m not my mother, that won’t happen again.”
But, anyway, she didn’t want to discuss with her grandmother. She was the only one that she had in life, she didn’t want to lose her…
-With who?-said Agny.
-With one of my band partners, Ragnar.
Agny stopped, and looked at her:
-Ragnar? How old is he?
-21, mamma. I can assure you he only wants to be my friend, he has always been so nice to me and…
-Anni-Frid-she said-What do I always tell you about men?
-I know, mamma, but he’s not…
-How far you’ve known him?
-A pair of weeks, but…
-Let me finish. Do you think that two weeks are enough for knowing a person?
-Not really.- Frida answered, in a low voice.
-So, I’ll tell you what I always tell. You’re beautiful, you’re talented, you’re young. How can you be so sure that he only wants to be your friend?
-And what if he wants to be more than a friend?-she answered, starting feeling angry-I’m 15, almost 16, mamma! Do you want me to be alone forever?
-No, my darling.- Agny said, going closer to her granddaughter-I only want you to be careful, I don’t want the story to be repeated again…
-But it won’t, mamma. Please… Don’t be like that, I just want to be happy.-she answered, with a sight.
-I know, Anni-Frid. But do you think he…?
-Yes, mamma. I like him, I like him very much. And I think he likes me too. I don’t want to call this love, but… I feel how butterflies fly in my stomach, I feel very warm when I’m with him. Mamma, please…
-Well…Ok. But you must be here at eleven o’clock, not a minute after!
-Sure, sure, sure! I’ll call him right now. Thank you!
She kissed Agny’s cheek and ran to her bedroom.
Agny continued making the bread.
Since the day Anni-Frid had decided to stay in Eskilstuna, they’re relation had turned into a real grandmother-granddaughter relation, and she had stopped seeing her as a child. And now, the first love had arrived…
“I hope the game is not on again”, she thought, “I hope…”
Dalià♥
sábado, 11 de junio de 2011
Alla mina bästa år♥A fairytale life|No regrets
-Hello, my name is Anni-Frid Lyngstad, and I’m going to sing “Fever”.
Frida started singing, and Patrick, Harry, Ragnar and Anders smiled. They had found the perfect girl.
After leaving her friends on their way to Stockholm, Frida started searching for a new band. She still wanted to be successful, and, while she could, she had to continue practicing.
She had talked with Agny profusely, and they had decided that she would stay there in Eskilstuna, but she could also continue with her musical career. Their relationship had become stronger after all the deep feelings they had told to each other in the many fights they had have during that period of time, and now they felt as grandmother and granddaughter for the real first time.
-So, how has it been?-she asked, timidly, after the performance.
-Brava, Anni-Frid, bravissima.-said Anders-We must listen to the other girls, of course, but I think you’re the winner. Tough the price is not as big as your talent…
-Oh, no, no! I’m very proud of having the chance of being part of a group, really. And as I’ve listened to you play, I think you’re very good, so that’s perfect.-she smiled, sweetly-Oh, and please call me Frida.
-Thank you very much, Anni-Frid. Well, Frida. It’s probable we’ll call you later, not many girls are in the queue, are they?
-No, no.-she said- Maybe five or six, I think. Thanks again.
-Thanks to you, and thanks to God for giving you that voice.-said Ragnar-We’ll call you later, but now we must continue with the casting. Can you please tell the next girl to come?
-Sure. Goodbye.-she said.
She told the next girl, a blue-eyed blonde girl, to pass, and she took the way home.
She walked slowly, thinking about herself.
She didn’t regret the decision of staying there, at Eskilstuna, but… Had it been the right thing not to try?
Maybe her friends had had success there, in Stockholm. Maybe she saw them on TV, or listened to them in the radio some weeks later. “The new super group, with the fantastic leading voice of Marie.”
And what would had happened if she hadn’t seen her grandmother tears? Would she be the Queen of that dream? Would she ever have that chance again? She was sure that she had talent, but… Was she worth it?
Dalià♥
Frida started singing, and Patrick, Harry, Ragnar and Anders smiled. They had found the perfect girl.
After leaving her friends on their way to Stockholm, Frida started searching for a new band. She still wanted to be successful, and, while she could, she had to continue practicing.
She had talked with Agny profusely, and they had decided that she would stay there in Eskilstuna, but she could also continue with her musical career. Their relationship had become stronger after all the deep feelings they had told to each other in the many fights they had have during that period of time, and now they felt as grandmother and granddaughter for the real first time.
-So, how has it been?-she asked, timidly, after the performance.
-Brava, Anni-Frid, bravissima.-said Anders-We must listen to the other girls, of course, but I think you’re the winner. Tough the price is not as big as your talent…
-Oh, no, no! I’m very proud of having the chance of being part of a group, really. And as I’ve listened to you play, I think you’re very good, so that’s perfect.-she smiled, sweetly-Oh, and please call me Frida.
-Thank you very much, Anni-Frid. Well, Frida. It’s probable we’ll call you later, not many girls are in the queue, are they?
-No, no.-she said- Maybe five or six, I think. Thanks again.
-Thanks to you, and thanks to God for giving you that voice.-said Ragnar-We’ll call you later, but now we must continue with the casting. Can you please tell the next girl to come?
-Sure. Goodbye.-she said.
She told the next girl, a blue-eyed blonde girl, to pass, and she took the way home.
She walked slowly, thinking about herself.
She didn’t regret the decision of staying there, at Eskilstuna, but… Had it been the right thing not to try?
Maybe her friends had had success there, in Stockholm. Maybe she saw them on TV, or listened to them in the radio some weeks later. “The new super group, with the fantastic leading voice of Marie.”
And what would had happened if she hadn’t seen her grandmother tears? Would she be the Queen of that dream? Would she ever have that chance again? She was sure that she had talent, but… Was she worth it?
Dalià♥
jueves, 9 de junio de 2011
Alla mina bästa år♥A fairytale life|Adjö
-It’s the time.
Frida hugged her grandmother. School had already finished, and they were going to take the train to Stockholm to start the tour.
-Be careful with the people you talk too-said Agny, trying to deny her tears- And don’t eat anything strange, if it’s necessary…
-Ok, ok, you’ve told me that thousands of times, mamma. I’ll call you when we’re in Stockholm.
-Ok, my darling, ok.
She smiled, and hugged her again.
-I remember…-said Agny- I remember when we first came to Sweden. Your mother was sick after the birth, so she stayed there, in Ballagen, for a while. You were only a couple of days old, but the farewell from you was extremely hard for her. You couldn’t even see her blue eyes, as full of tears they were. I told her it wasn’t that dramatic, she would see you in a while. But, my darling, now… I understand perfectly your mother. Never, even when my children went away, I felt the same sensation. I knew they were going to be safe. I mean, I’m not saying you’re not safe, you are strong and you know how to manage with yourself. But, Anni-Frid, you’re only 15, and…
-I know, mamma. But we’ve talked a lot about this, and I think everything is going to be OK. I must go. Goodbye.-she kissed her cheek-I love you, mamma.
They smiled, and Frida ran to the car.
She sat on the front, with John.
She looked to her grandmother, and waved goodbye.
She saw her blue eyes, those eyes that had seen her daughter and her husband die, plenty of tears. She thought about their life: Agny hadn’t been what you call a “devote mother” with her, but she didn’t blame on her. She had passed the last 15 years working, sewing for they and doing everything at home. While other grandmothers only kept their grandchildren once or twice a week, she had to be a mother again.
She had taught Frida to sing and to love music, and that she would never thank her enough.
She was there because of her, and now she was going away, leaving her alone after all…
-Stop! Stop the car now!
John brake, and looked at Frida:
-What, what happens?
-I go back.
-What?-he exclaimed-OK, please repeat. What is that you go back?
-That I go back, I go home!-she said, opening the door of the car-I can’t leave now, this is not the moment. Marie can sing the vocals.
-What? Me, the vocals? But, Frida…
-You can do it, Marie. I’m sure you can do it.
She smiled, and kissed her friend’s cheek.
-Have luck in Stockholm!
-Frida! You can’t do this now!-John shouted from the car.
-Yes I can, because I’m doing! Sorry, John, sorry you all. You’ll be better without me, I’m sure.
She waved goodbye again, and ran back to Eskisltuna.
-Mamma! Mamma!
Agny turned around, and, surprised, hugged Frida.
-But, my love, what are you doing here? You should be in the car with your friends, on way to Stockholm.
-No, mamma. You were right. Not the time, not the place. I’ll find other friends, and I’ll sing in another band. But here, in Eskisltuna.
Agny smiled, and kissed her granddaughter.
-Come home, darling, come home… Come home.
Dalià♥
Frida hugged her grandmother. School had already finished, and they were going to take the train to Stockholm to start the tour.
-Be careful with the people you talk too-said Agny, trying to deny her tears- And don’t eat anything strange, if it’s necessary…
-Ok, ok, you’ve told me that thousands of times, mamma. I’ll call you when we’re in Stockholm.
-Ok, my darling, ok.
She smiled, and hugged her again.
-I remember…-said Agny- I remember when we first came to Sweden. Your mother was sick after the birth, so she stayed there, in Ballagen, for a while. You were only a couple of days old, but the farewell from you was extremely hard for her. You couldn’t even see her blue eyes, as full of tears they were. I told her it wasn’t that dramatic, she would see you in a while. But, my darling, now… I understand perfectly your mother. Never, even when my children went away, I felt the same sensation. I knew they were going to be safe. I mean, I’m not saying you’re not safe, you are strong and you know how to manage with yourself. But, Anni-Frid, you’re only 15, and…
-I know, mamma. But we’ve talked a lot about this, and I think everything is going to be OK. I must go. Goodbye.-she kissed her cheek-I love you, mamma.
They smiled, and Frida ran to the car.
She sat on the front, with John.
She looked to her grandmother, and waved goodbye.
She saw her blue eyes, those eyes that had seen her daughter and her husband die, plenty of tears. She thought about their life: Agny hadn’t been what you call a “devote mother” with her, but she didn’t blame on her. She had passed the last 15 years working, sewing for they and doing everything at home. While other grandmothers only kept their grandchildren once or twice a week, she had to be a mother again.
She had taught Frida to sing and to love music, and that she would never thank her enough.
She was there because of her, and now she was going away, leaving her alone after all…
-Stop! Stop the car now!
John brake, and looked at Frida:
-What, what happens?
-I go back.
-What?-he exclaimed-OK, please repeat. What is that you go back?
-That I go back, I go home!-she said, opening the door of the car-I can’t leave now, this is not the moment. Marie can sing the vocals.
-What? Me, the vocals? But, Frida…
-You can do it, Marie. I’m sure you can do it.
She smiled, and kissed her friend’s cheek.
-Have luck in Stockholm!
-Frida! You can’t do this now!-John shouted from the car.
-Yes I can, because I’m doing! Sorry, John, sorry you all. You’ll be better without me, I’m sure.
She waved goodbye again, and ran back to Eskisltuna.
-Mamma! Mamma!
Agny turned around, and, surprised, hugged Frida.
-But, my love, what are you doing here? You should be in the car with your friends, on way to Stockholm.
-No, mamma. You were right. Not the time, not the place. I’ll find other friends, and I’ll sing in another band. But here, in Eskisltuna.
Agny smiled, and kissed her granddaughter.
-Come home, darling, come home… Come home.
Dalià♥
martes, 7 de junio de 2011
Out of Africa.
Jueves, 07 de abril de 2011 (Extracto de mi diario personal)
¡Cuánto mentiría si dijera que no adoro a Karen Blixen!
Acabo de leer su sección en el libro “Grandes Aventureras” de Alexandra Lapierre (Ed. Blume), y me ha entrado esa sensación de nostalgia que tengo cada vez que oigo hablar de la salvaje África.
¿Qué tendrá, que fascina de esa manera?
Recuerdo que, el otro día, estaba haciendo un dibujo con colores cálidos en clase de Dibujo. De pronto, me vinieron a la cabeza los colores de Kenia, por los que Meryl Streep se paseaba escopeta en mano.
Y, mientras dibujaba esos típicos árboles de la sabana cuyo nombre no recuerdo, sentía una sensación cálida en el estómago. La misma sensación que siento cada vez que pienso en algo que sueño con ansia, algo que aspiro a conseguir algún día.
Amo África, amo la sabana y amo a los leones.
Amo esos colores, amo ese cielo, amo el olor que, en mi mente, imagino que tiene África.
Un olor como a incienso, salvaje, y muy, muy seductor.
¿Quién no ha soñado con un beso de película en África? Mientras, por detrás, los animales pasan por delante del sol poniente, como al principio de “El Rey León”…
Estoy divagando. En fin, por si no os habíais dado cuenta…
Me gusta África.
Dalià♥
¡Cuánto mentiría si dijera que no adoro a Karen Blixen!
Acabo de leer su sección en el libro “Grandes Aventureras” de Alexandra Lapierre (Ed. Blume), y me ha entrado esa sensación de nostalgia que tengo cada vez que oigo hablar de la salvaje África.
¿Qué tendrá, que fascina de esa manera?
Recuerdo que, el otro día, estaba haciendo un dibujo con colores cálidos en clase de Dibujo. De pronto, me vinieron a la cabeza los colores de Kenia, por los que Meryl Streep se paseaba escopeta en mano.
Y, mientras dibujaba esos típicos árboles de la sabana cuyo nombre no recuerdo, sentía una sensación cálida en el estómago. La misma sensación que siento cada vez que pienso en algo que sueño con ansia, algo que aspiro a conseguir algún día.
Amo África, amo la sabana y amo a los leones.
Amo esos colores, amo ese cielo, amo el olor que, en mi mente, imagino que tiene África.
Un olor como a incienso, salvaje, y muy, muy seductor.
¿Quién no ha soñado con un beso de película en África? Mientras, por detrás, los animales pasan por delante del sol poniente, como al principio de “El Rey León”…
Estoy divagando. En fin, por si no os habíais dado cuenta…
Me gusta África.
Dalià♥
domingo, 5 de junio de 2011
Alla mina bästa år♥A fairytale life|Decisions
tionThe dinner time arrived, and Frida and Agny had to meet again.
-I’ve thought about our argument.-said Frida, in a low voice.
-And?
They looked at each other.
-I’m going to do it. I mean, I’m going on tour with the band. But I’ve thought about it, and I’ve made a decision.
-What decision?-asked Agny.
-I’ll send you all the money I earn. And…-she said, before her grandmother intervened- if, let’s say after two weeks, I don’t like what I do, I miss Eskilstuna or simply I’m not successful, I’ll come back. I’ll get a job and, when summer passes, I’ll be back to school. Right?
Agny sighed.
-If… If that is what you want… OK. But you must carry out your promises!
-Yes, yes, yes! Thank you mamma! Thank you so much!-Frida exclaimed, kissing her grandmother- I love you so much!
She ran upstairs.
-But Anni-Frid, finish the dinner!
-I’m not hungry!-she shouted from her room.
Downstairs, Agny laughed. “That little girl…”
She started picking up the plates, and took them to the kitchen.
“This is not the best, not at all.”, she thought, while washing the dishes-“But it’s in the middle of our respective wishes. Oh, God, how I wish she changes her mind…”
It was true, she was going to miss her so much.
They didn’t have what is called an extremely intimate relations (Agny passed most of the day working, except Tuesdays), but they loved each other madly.
Nothing was going to be the same without her. She had said that, if something failed, she will be back.
But she knew it (she had grew her up, after all), she wouldn’t carry out her promises. She would try and try, until she died.
Just as her mother did.
Her innocent laughter, her eyes, her good night kisses…Everything will go away with her.
Including her happiness.
Dalià♥
-I’ve thought about our argument.-said Frida, in a low voice.
-And?
They looked at each other.
-I’m going to do it. I mean, I’m going on tour with the band. But I’ve thought about it, and I’ve made a decision.
-What decision?-asked Agny.
-I’ll send you all the money I earn. And…-she said, before her grandmother intervened- if, let’s say after two weeks, I don’t like what I do, I miss Eskilstuna or simply I’m not successful, I’ll come back. I’ll get a job and, when summer passes, I’ll be back to school. Right?
Agny sighed.
-If… If that is what you want… OK. But you must carry out your promises!
-Yes, yes, yes! Thank you mamma! Thank you so much!-Frida exclaimed, kissing her grandmother- I love you so much!
She ran upstairs.
-But Anni-Frid, finish the dinner!
-I’m not hungry!-she shouted from her room.
Downstairs, Agny laughed. “That little girl…”
She started picking up the plates, and took them to the kitchen.
“This is not the best, not at all.”, she thought, while washing the dishes-“But it’s in the middle of our respective wishes. Oh, God, how I wish she changes her mind…”
It was true, she was going to miss her so much.
They didn’t have what is called an extremely intimate relations (Agny passed most of the day working, except Tuesdays), but they loved each other madly.
Nothing was going to be the same without her. She had said that, if something failed, she will be back.
But she knew it (she had grew her up, after all), she wouldn’t carry out her promises. She would try and try, until she died.
Just as her mother did.
Her innocent laughter, her eyes, her good night kisses…Everything will go away with her.
Including her happiness.
Dalià♥
jueves, 2 de junio de 2011
Alla mina bästa år♥A fairytale life|Sinny
The few photos she had of Sinny from when she was a child remembered her how equal was she to her daughter, at least in the personality. They both were pretty, enthusiastic, sweet and, over it all, rebel. Sinny had showed it when she decided to have her child, and Frida was showing it now.
She passed the pages, and saw the photographs of her young 19 years old daughter. She wasn’t surprised when Sinny told her a young German soldier had fall in love with her: she was really pretty, just as Anni-Frid. And, apart from beauty, she had all the qualities a man could have imagined: she was sweet, funny, and patient. She had always been her little girl, and will always be.
She knew music was her granddaughter’s life, and she also knew that, before or after, she will meet a man and fall in love.
And that was exactly what made Agny getting worried.
Anni-Frid was as lovely as Sinny, but the rebelliousness was also equal in both. And so, she was sure that, if she really fell in love, she would give everything.
And Agny didn’t want the story to be repeated again.
And that was the ‘cause for her refusing of Anni-Frid’s dream. She once had let her daughter keep her dream, having a little baby, and it all had ended awfully.
There were a few photographs of Sinny pregnant, and the ones there were, were made at home. She didn’t go out of the farm during almost all her pregnancy. They didn’t mind the rumours, but, when she was in an advanced state of the pregnancy (7 or 8 months, if she remembered well) they started receiving threats. The doctor, the only one that didn’t criticize them, told her that she couldn’t do any long travel, so they chose to wait to the born and then go away from Norway. They had heard that there had been an operation, “Lebensborn” it was called, and that Sinny’s pregnancy had been part of it. And the destiny of the “lebensborn” child was horrible.
At first, only Agny and the little baby moved to Sweden. Sinny was weak after the hard birth, and she will move with them later.
She did, at the start of 1946, and, while Agny worked, kept the baby. She looked happy playing with Anni-Frid at that time, but Agny knew that it was only with her baby that happened.
She had written several letters to Anni-Frid’s father, Alfred, but none of them had been answered.
She had written to the Norwegian embassy in Germany, but they had said they couldn’t help her.
But she stood waiting a call, a letter, anything that could tell her that nothing had been part of a plan, that their love had been true.
Before she got sick, she talked Anni-Frid a lot about her father. When she couldn’t sleep, Sinny sang to her an old German song Alfred had taught her. She cried, remembering Sinny’s voice. She was sure Anni-Frid had inherited her talent from her.
Some of her last words had been for him, and she was sure that, wherever she was, she was still in love with him.
She closed the album.
She lied down on the bed, and took a pillow.
She didn’t want Anni-Frid to hear her cry.
Dalià♥
She passed the pages, and saw the photographs of her young 19 years old daughter. She wasn’t surprised when Sinny told her a young German soldier had fall in love with her: she was really pretty, just as Anni-Frid. And, apart from beauty, she had all the qualities a man could have imagined: she was sweet, funny, and patient. She had always been her little girl, and will always be.
She knew music was her granddaughter’s life, and she also knew that, before or after, she will meet a man and fall in love.
And that was exactly what made Agny getting worried.
Anni-Frid was as lovely as Sinny, but the rebelliousness was also equal in both. And so, she was sure that, if she really fell in love, she would give everything.
And Agny didn’t want the story to be repeated again.
And that was the ‘cause for her refusing of Anni-Frid’s dream. She once had let her daughter keep her dream, having a little baby, and it all had ended awfully.
There were a few photographs of Sinny pregnant, and the ones there were, were made at home. She didn’t go out of the farm during almost all her pregnancy. They didn’t mind the rumours, but, when she was in an advanced state of the pregnancy (7 or 8 months, if she remembered well) they started receiving threats. The doctor, the only one that didn’t criticize them, told her that she couldn’t do any long travel, so they chose to wait to the born and then go away from Norway. They had heard that there had been an operation, “Lebensborn” it was called, and that Sinny’s pregnancy had been part of it. And the destiny of the “lebensborn” child was horrible.
At first, only Agny and the little baby moved to Sweden. Sinny was weak after the hard birth, and she will move with them later.
She did, at the start of 1946, and, while Agny worked, kept the baby. She looked happy playing with Anni-Frid at that time, but Agny knew that it was only with her baby that happened.
She had written several letters to Anni-Frid’s father, Alfred, but none of them had been answered.
She had written to the Norwegian embassy in Germany, but they had said they couldn’t help her.
But she stood waiting a call, a letter, anything that could tell her that nothing had been part of a plan, that their love had been true.
Before she got sick, she talked Anni-Frid a lot about her father. When she couldn’t sleep, Sinny sang to her an old German song Alfred had taught her. She cried, remembering Sinny’s voice. She was sure Anni-Frid had inherited her talent from her.
Some of her last words had been for him, and she was sure that, wherever she was, she was still in love with him.
She closed the album.
She lied down on the bed, and took a pillow.
She didn’t want Anni-Frid to hear her cry.
Dalià♥
martes, 31 de mayo de 2011
Alla mina bästa år♥A fairytale life|You don't understand me
-Anni-Frid? Anni-Frid, my darling, are you there?
Agny entered in the bedroom. Jazz posters were post in every wall, and there were two shelves full of LPs. The truth was that they were not at their best in economical facts, but Frida earned some money, and she had let her spend it in her bigger passion: music.
-Not for you.- Frida answered, with a rough voice. She couldn’t deny she had been crying.
-Honey, please… You must understand me, I want the best for you…
-So, why don’t you let me go on tour with the band?
-Because that’s not the best, Anni-Frid. You said you’re not going to do what your mother did. But you didn’t meet her, and you don’t know what she did or said. But I do. When she learned she was pregnant, she was so happy. She told me she was going to write to your father, and that he will leave his wife. But did he? Oh, no, my darling. I told her, because I know how most of men are. But she didn’t listen to me, and look what happened. The doctors said she was ill, but it was me the only one who knew the real cause of her dead. She dead because of disillusion, of the disillusion your father left on her.
Agny rinsed her tears, and hug Frida.
-But mamma, I’m not in love with any man. I’m just in love with music, and I know music is in love with me. I know my mother did bad falling in love with him, but it’s not my fault. And if I fail, I will try again. But you must know that, one day, I will be successful. And you’ll be there to see me.
-I’m sure of that, my love. But not today, and not tomorrow. When you’re older, and have studied, you can go with your band and have fun , and all that you want…
-Oh, mamma, you don’t listen to me! I don’t want to go to University, I just want to sing! And not for having fun only. I want to earn money singing, and I know I can.
-It’s you the one that doesn’t listen! You know that…
-No, mamma.-said Frida-I know nothing, except one thing. You don’t understand me. And now, please go. I want to be alone.
Agny got up from the bed, and went out of the room.
“Stop crying, Agny.”, she said to herself, “She will think about it, then she’ll come to you, and she’ll apologize. This is not like Sinny’s, she’s not pregnant. This can be repaired without any pain.”
She walked to her room and took the photo album from her wardrobe.
She opened it, and remembered the old times.
Dalià♥
Agny entered in the bedroom. Jazz posters were post in every wall, and there were two shelves full of LPs. The truth was that they were not at their best in economical facts, but Frida earned some money, and she had let her spend it in her bigger passion: music.
-Not for you.- Frida answered, with a rough voice. She couldn’t deny she had been crying.
-Honey, please… You must understand me, I want the best for you…
-So, why don’t you let me go on tour with the band?
-Because that’s not the best, Anni-Frid. You said you’re not going to do what your mother did. But you didn’t meet her, and you don’t know what she did or said. But I do. When she learned she was pregnant, she was so happy. She told me she was going to write to your father, and that he will leave his wife. But did he? Oh, no, my darling. I told her, because I know how most of men are. But she didn’t listen to me, and look what happened. The doctors said she was ill, but it was me the only one who knew the real cause of her dead. She dead because of disillusion, of the disillusion your father left on her.
Agny rinsed her tears, and hug Frida.
-But mamma, I’m not in love with any man. I’m just in love with music, and I know music is in love with me. I know my mother did bad falling in love with him, but it’s not my fault. And if I fail, I will try again. But you must know that, one day, I will be successful. And you’ll be there to see me.
-I’m sure of that, my love. But not today, and not tomorrow. When you’re older, and have studied, you can go with your band and have fun , and all that you want…
-Oh, mamma, you don’t listen to me! I don’t want to go to University, I just want to sing! And not for having fun only. I want to earn money singing, and I know I can.
-It’s you the one that doesn’t listen! You know that…
-No, mamma.-said Frida-I know nothing, except one thing. You don’t understand me. And now, please go. I want to be alone.
Agny got up from the bed, and went out of the room.
“Stop crying, Agny.”, she said to herself, “She will think about it, then she’ll come to you, and she’ll apologize. This is not like Sinny’s, she’s not pregnant. This can be repaired without any pain.”
She walked to her room and took the photo album from her wardrobe.
She opened it, and remembered the old times.
Dalià♥
domingo, 29 de mayo de 2011
Alla mina bästa år♥A fairytale life|A professional singer
-Leaving school? What are you saying, Anni-Frid?
Agny was angry. She was, in fact, extremely angry.
-My darling, do you know what that means? If you want to have a future…
-I must go to University, I know! You always say the same, mamma.-she exclaimed-You’ve listened to my voice, and you know I worth it. Mamma, there’s only a chance in life, and mine has arrived. Please, mamma. Without your agreement, this is going to be so hard…
-Is going to be? Oh, dear, do you think you’re going to do it? Not while I’m alive! You will finish school, you will study at the University, you will get married and you will have a nice job, just as I’m named Arntine Lyngstad!- she punched the table.
-I won’t do that, mamma! I’m not a child anymore, and I can make my own decisions!
-No, you are not! For God’s sake, you’re 15!
-Almost 16!-she shouted- And what if I’m 15? When my mother was my age, she was already working at the farm!
-But you’re not your mother, Anni-Frid.-Agny said, calming down. She didn’t like that Anni-Frid compared her to her mother. She didn’t want her to comet the same mistakes…
-No, I’m not. I’m not, because she didn’t have the chance that I have. And I’m taking it, mamma.
-No, you’re not!
-I am going to do it, with your agreement or without!-she said, and started going upstairs.
-Anni-Frid Sinny Lyngstad, if you continue going up on those stairs, don’t expect me to talk you anymore!
Frida looked at her grandmother, defiant, and ran to her bedroom.
Agny sat, and sighed. What happened with that little girl? She wanted to kill her, or what?
She loved her with all her heart, but, with that discussion, she couldn’t avoid remembering the one that she had with her daughter when she told her she was pregnant.
No one could have doubt that they were mother and daughter.
Agny knew Anni-Frid had a great voice, and she was proud of it. But she didn’t want her to enter in the show business. She had met several people with her same dreams, and everything had gone awfully for them, tough they were also so talented. She saw them unhappy, and she wanted her granddaughter to be happy on life.
She knew that, if she failed, that would be a great disillusion. And she didn’t want that for Anni-Frid.
She decided to go upstairs: she needed to talk to her granddaughter.
Daliá♥
Agny was angry. She was, in fact, extremely angry.
-My darling, do you know what that means? If you want to have a future…
-I must go to University, I know! You always say the same, mamma.-she exclaimed-You’ve listened to my voice, and you know I worth it. Mamma, there’s only a chance in life, and mine has arrived. Please, mamma. Without your agreement, this is going to be so hard…
-Is going to be? Oh, dear, do you think you’re going to do it? Not while I’m alive! You will finish school, you will study at the University, you will get married and you will have a nice job, just as I’m named Arntine Lyngstad!- she punched the table.
-I won’t do that, mamma! I’m not a child anymore, and I can make my own decisions!
-No, you are not! For God’s sake, you’re 15!
-Almost 16!-she shouted- And what if I’m 15? When my mother was my age, she was already working at the farm!
-But you’re not your mother, Anni-Frid.-Agny said, calming down. She didn’t like that Anni-Frid compared her to her mother. She didn’t want her to comet the same mistakes…
-No, I’m not. I’m not, because she didn’t have the chance that I have. And I’m taking it, mamma.
-No, you’re not!
-I am going to do it, with your agreement or without!-she said, and started going upstairs.
-Anni-Frid Sinny Lyngstad, if you continue going up on those stairs, don’t expect me to talk you anymore!
Frida looked at her grandmother, defiant, and ran to her bedroom.
Agny sat, and sighed. What happened with that little girl? She wanted to kill her, or what?
She loved her with all her heart, but, with that discussion, she couldn’t avoid remembering the one that she had with her daughter when she told her she was pregnant.
No one could have doubt that they were mother and daughter.
Agny knew Anni-Frid had a great voice, and she was proud of it. But she didn’t want her to enter in the show business. She had met several people with her same dreams, and everything had gone awfully for them, tough they were also so talented. She saw them unhappy, and she wanted her granddaughter to be happy on life.
She knew that, if she failed, that would be a great disillusion. And she didn’t want that for Anni-Frid.
She decided to go upstairs: she needed to talk to her granddaughter.
Daliá♥
jueves, 26 de mayo de 2011
Alla mina bästa år♥A fairytale life|14 years later
Eskilstuna, May 1961.
The breeze beat her face, messing up her hair; and she loved it.
Anni-Frid ran over the meadow to her house, where her grandmother waited for her, angry.
-Where in heaven were you, Anni-Frid Lyngstad?
-I was in the city!- she answered, smiling- I’ve been chatting to Sara about the band. We’ve got lots of plans that I will tell you later, OK? I’m so happy, mamma! I love you!
She kissed Agny’s cheek, and jumped into the house.
Her grandmother sighed, and smiled. She couldn’t help, she was deeply in love with her granddaughter. They only thing she didn’t like, is that she looked at lot like her father, that bloody man that had ruined her daughter’s live. But, luckily, she had her mother’s smile, that smile that made everything around her shine.
Agny went into the house.
-Was everything OK at school?-she said, with a deep Norwegian accent.
-Well, yes. I got the Maths’ exam mark.
-And...?
-Five point two over ten. But I promise I’ll improve my Maths!
-You always say the same, Anni-Frid.-said Agny, looking at her seriously.-You really have to improve. I want you to go to the University, and for that you must have great marks. You know this, don’t you?
-Yes, mamma…-she answered, going up to her bedroom.
She sat, and put on some music.
She started thinking about what she was going to do. She hadn’t told her grandmother, but she wanted to leave school. A famous Swedish producer had offered them making a tour around the south part of Sweden, and they should, they had to say yes. Her dream had always been becoming a singer, and finally she saw her chance. But Agny… She had always told her that she will have to go to University if she wanted to have a good future, but Anni-Frid (or Frida, as her friends had started calling her) didn’t agree. She could sing very well, and her grandmother knew it, but the problem was that Frida didn’t sing for entertainment.
She lived for and because music, and her grandmother should know it. But the problem was, she didn’t find the moment to tell her…
She relaxed, and started singing that old jazz song.
She made her choice: she would talk to her grandmother that night.
Daliá♥
The breeze beat her face, messing up her hair; and she loved it.
Anni-Frid ran over the meadow to her house, where her grandmother waited for her, angry.
-Where in heaven were you, Anni-Frid Lyngstad?
-I was in the city!- she answered, smiling- I’ve been chatting to Sara about the band. We’ve got lots of plans that I will tell you later, OK? I’m so happy, mamma! I love you!
She kissed Agny’s cheek, and jumped into the house.
Her grandmother sighed, and smiled. She couldn’t help, she was deeply in love with her granddaughter. They only thing she didn’t like, is that she looked at lot like her father, that bloody man that had ruined her daughter’s live. But, luckily, she had her mother’s smile, that smile that made everything around her shine.
Agny went into the house.
-Was everything OK at school?-she said, with a deep Norwegian accent.
-Well, yes. I got the Maths’ exam mark.
-And...?
-Five point two over ten. But I promise I’ll improve my Maths!
-You always say the same, Anni-Frid.-said Agny, looking at her seriously.-You really have to improve. I want you to go to the University, and for that you must have great marks. You know this, don’t you?
-Yes, mamma…-she answered, going up to her bedroom.
She sat, and put on some music.
She started thinking about what she was going to do. She hadn’t told her grandmother, but she wanted to leave school. A famous Swedish producer had offered them making a tour around the south part of Sweden, and they should, they had to say yes. Her dream had always been becoming a singer, and finally she saw her chance. But Agny… She had always told her that she will have to go to University if she wanted to have a good future, but Anni-Frid (or Frida, as her friends had started calling her) didn’t agree. She could sing very well, and her grandmother knew it, but the problem was that Frida didn’t sing for entertainment.
She lived for and because music, and her grandmother should know it. But the problem was, she didn’t find the moment to tell her…
She relaxed, and started singing that old jazz song.
She made her choice: she would talk to her grandmother that night.
Daliá♥
Suscribirse a:
Entradas (Atom)