Selected Cronicas

GENTLE WEEPING

… I caught a sudden glance and the man was so incredibly handsome and virile that I could feel the joy of creation. Not that I wanted him for myself, just as I do not crave the Moon at night when it becomes as delicate and impassive as a pearl. Just as I do not long for that nine-year old boy I saw chasing a ball and whose ringlets reminded me of the Archangel. All I wanted was to be a spectator. The man gave me a passing glance and smiled quietly: he knew he was handsome and clearly recognized that I did not want him for myself. He smiled at me because he did not feel threatened. (Exceptional human beings are more exposed to danger than ordinary people.) I crossed the street and hailed a taxi. The breeze ruffled my hair from behind and, although it was autumn, appeared to herald a new spring as if the tedious summer deserved the freshness of budding flowers. But for the moment it was autumn and the leaves were turning yellow on the almond-trees. I felt such joy that I snuggled apprehensively into a corner of the taxi because happiness, too, can be painful. And all this had been provoked by the vision of a handsome man. I continued not to want him for myself, yet somehow he had given me a great deal with that friendly smile in token of our mutual understanding. The taxi was now approaching the viaduct near the Museum of Modern Art. I no longer felt happy. Autumn had become menacing and hostile. I felt like weeping gently.