Post-Hipnótico

Tengo cuatro o cinco libros que releo con relativa frecuencia cada par de meses o por lo menos una vez al año. Casi todos son obras maestras reconocidas: Lolita, El llano en llamas y Pedro Páramo, Madame Bovary, 1984, Las crónicas marcianas, etc. El único libro de la lista que no cabe en este género de joyas literarias “consagradas”, es una novelita muy curiosa de Kurt Vonnegut titulada “Mother Night”.

Qué me lleva a releer estos libros es bastante misterioso y siento inclusive hasta poco importante. En el fondo supongo que le hablan a algo dentro de mí que requiere de su presencia. Tal vez un espíritu poético particular. Formalmente quizás sea que me atraen los libros con universos cerrados. Que contienen dentro de ellos todo lo que necesitan para empezar y acabar de contar. Que surgen como serpientes uróboros (la boca comendose la cola), de tal forma que el final es la gestación del inicio en un círculo contínuo que sigue girando aún cuando cerramos el libro.

Releyendo hoy Mother Night me encontré con una página devastadora (que desgraciadamente aún no ha sido traducida al castellano) casi hasta el final del libro. Es de esas páginas de Vonnegut tan económicas, tan puntuales, tan llenas de sentimiento, tan sintácticas, que te dejan boquiabierto por todo lo que logran decir en tan pocas líneas… 

Chapter Forty – Freedom Again...

I was arrested along with everyone else in the house. I was released within an hour, thanks, I suppose, to the intercession of my Blue Fairy Godmother. The place where I was held so briefly was an unmarked office in the Empire State Building.

An agent took me down on an elevator and out onto the sidewalk, restoring me to the mainstream of life. I took perhaps Shy steps down the sidewalk, and then I stopped.

I froze.

It was not guilt that froze me. I had taught myself never to feel guilt

It was not a ghastly sense of loss that froze me. I had taught myself to covet nothing.

It was not a loathing of death that froze me. I had taught myself to think of death as a friend.

It was not heartbroken rage against injustice that froze me. I had taught myself that a human being might as well took for diamond tiaras in the gutter as for rewards and punishments that were fair.

It was not the thought that I was so unloved that froze me. I had taught myself to do without love.

It was not the thought that God was cruel that froze me. I had taught myself never to expect anything from Him.

What froze me was the fact that I had absolutely no reason to move in any direction. What had made me move through so many dead and pointless years was curiosity.

Now even that had flickered out How long I stood frozen there, I cannot say. If I was ever going to move again, someone else was going to have to furnish the reason for moving.

Somebody did.

A policeman watched me for a while, and then he came over to me, and he said, “You all right?”

“Yes,” I said.

“You’ve been standing here a long time,” he said.

“I know,” I said.

“You waiting for somebody?” he said.

“No,” I said.

“Better move on, don’t you think?” he said.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

And I moved on.