[ESP/EN] A Picture is Worth A Thousand Words. The perpetual sunset of a life. Original Story.

A pesar de las pronunciadas arrugas que llevaba encima, el anciano traía un afable gesto en el rostro. Era muy extraño toparse con alguien en una nevada tarde de invierno como esa. Resultaba todavía mas extraño que se tratase de un desconocido. Un forastero que contemplaba el horizonte desde la orilla del sendero que llevaba hacia su granja. Mario conocía a toda la gente del pueblo, sin embargo, nunca había visto al ajado hombre. Antes que siquiera pudiese dirigirse hasta donde él se hallaba, el anciano volvió la mirada.

—¡Buenas tardes!—dijo con una risueña sonrisa—Es una tarde muy calurosa, ¿no cree?
—¿Perdone?—respondió asombrado—¿Que hace aquí?—Creyó que el viejo estaba loco. ¿Como podía sentir calor con el frío que hacía?
—Algo que he aprendido en mi larga vida, es que tarde o temprano, acabas deseando que llegue la muerte—aseguró.

De pronto, una fuerte ráfaga se abalanzó sobre ellos. Mario apenas logró cubrirse los ojos. En cuanto el vendaval cesó, el misterioso hombre ya no se encontraba allí. Mario se persignó muy asustado y tan rápido, como pudo, corrió a casa. No le contó nada a su familia sobre el espeluznante suceso. Esa noche, se le hizo difícil conciliar el sueño y las noches que le siguieron se mantuvo insomne.

Pasó mucho tiempo desde aquel episodio, sin embargo, la última frase del anciano asolaba su mente de cuando en cuando; notaba que ninguna enfermedad grave o accidente había acaecido sobre él desde aquel encuentro. Vio morir a su esposa y hermanos mayores, vio como el tiempo iba llevándose a todos los que un día conoció de joven. La muerte de su última hija, a los 100 años de edad, le hizo caer en cuenta que estaba maldito. Ya para entonces cargaba a cuestas más de un siglo. Al ver como el ataúd descendía, abandonó el cementerio, no tenía ánimos de dar unas últimas palabras y con su característico paso cansino llegó hasta un parque cercano y se sentó al lado de una muchacha. Comenzaba a nevar.

—Buenas tardes—dijo con un afable semblante—¿Puedo sentarme?—La mujer no respondía. Estaba sumida en sus pensamientos—Es una tarde muy calurosa, ¿no cree?

Despite the pronounced wrinkles on his face, the old man had an affable expression on his face. It was very strange to run into someone on such a snowy winter afternoon. It was even stranger that it was a stranger. A stranger gazing at the horizon from the edge of the path that led to his farm. Mario knew all the people in the village, yet he had never seen the weathered man. Before he could even make his way to him, the old man looked back. -Good afternoon," he said with a smiling smile, "It's a very hot afternoon, isn't it? -Excuse me," he replied in astonishment, "What are you doing here?" He thought the old man was crazy. How could he feel warm in this cold weather? -One thing I've learned in my long life is that sooner or later, you end up wishing for death," he said.

Suddenly, a strong gust of wind rushed over them. Mario barely managed to cover his eyes. As soon as the gale ceased, the mysterious man was no longer there. Mario crossed himself in fright and as quickly as he could, he ran home. He did not tell his family about the frightening event. That night, he found it difficult to fall asleep and the following nights he remained sleepless.

A long time had passed since that episode, yet the old man's last sentence plagued his mind from time to time; he noted that no serious illness or accident had befallen him since that encounter. He saw his wife and older siblings die, he saw how time was taking away all those he had once known as a young man. The death of his last daughter, at the age of 100, made him realize that he was cursed. By then he was already carrying on his shoulders more than a century. As he watched the coffin descend, he left the cemetery, not in the mood to say a last word, and with his characteristic weary gait he walked to a nearby park and sat down next to a girl. It was beginning to snow.

-Good afternoon," he said with an affable countenance, "May I sit down," the woman did not answer. She was deep in thought, "It's a very warm afternoon, don't you think?

Photo provided by @Freewritehouse taken from Pixabay

Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator