Marta Pastur Rubio publishes a collection of stories that navigate between childhood, memory and encounter with adult reality. With an evocative prose and poetic nuances, the author reconstructs moments that seem ephemeral, but that become significant in the construction of identity.
In Zenda we reproduce the story that gives title to the book Orvallo (Uve Books), from Marta Pastur Rubio.
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I would never have imagined the moment I was aware that I was no longer a girl. I remember it perfectly, just like the moment when I realized that I was me. I climbed the stairs of pink cobblestones and red railing that led to my grandmother’s house. Orbayaba, that light rain, almost imperceptible, but soaks. I noticed not stepping on snails or loose tiles not to splash my legs, when I thought if it would be the only one, under that leading sky, avoiding the water traps. Would they know how to dodge the broken steps of the last section? Would you also care not to crush snails? At that moment, I realized that all the people around me also had their interior worlds in which to fall and exist.
Perhaps, seeking not to separate from moisture, I moved to a boreal city. I also surrounded myself with boys and girls, and I didn’t differentiate myself from them until the day Hugo walked happy from my hand. He enjoyed his privilege of burning at school. We went to the reception and the offices. Knowing a new area of the building excited him even more. We cross the director, hunched and busy as usual. Hugo posed his index finger in his unstoppable Boca, showing that he knew how to behave in that wing of the school. The director could do nothing but smile.
“Hug, now let’s get in this room.” A friend wants to talk a little with you, ”I said, feeling a whip of devastating responsibility, because he didn’t know why we were there.
When I opened the door, the memory of the previous day hit me: everything Hugo had told me, Anisa indicating the form to fill to start the procedure. I noticed Hugo’s sudden nervousness. His innocence and trust put in me overwhelmed me. He pressed my hand much stronger, with his little body completely stuck to my leg.
The Social Services worker was waiting for us at the end of the room and invited us to sit on a rigid sofa.
Questions began with ice cream professional. I remained silent, trying to convey my fake serenity, looking at him when I was looking for my eyes, holding it when his feet asked him to escape.
Little by little, Hugo became Orvallo: light, almost imperceptible, but soaks.
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Author: Marta Pastur Rubio. Title: Orvallo. Editorial: Uve Books. Sale: All your books.
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