cuentos de barro - DSpace Universidad Don Bosco

la eSTrelleMar
Genaro Prieto y Luciano Garciya
estaban sentados en un troncón tris te
cadávere de árbol, medio aterrado en
la playa, blanco en lo gris de la arena,
y con ramas que eran brazos como
de hombres que se meten cami sas.
Empezaba el sol del estero a dorar las
puntas de los manglares. Era parada
diagua; por eso, en golfo de azul
tranquilo, el estero taba como dormido,
rodeado de negros manglares, en cuyas
cumbres el sol ponía a secar sus trapos
dioro.
Laisla, en medio, bía fondiado con
sus peñascales nevados de palo mas
mareñas; y era mesmamente la cabeza
de un gigante bañándose y quitándose
el jabón. Empujando, ya sin juerzas,
la inmensidá, pasó una garza: blanca,
blanca, como luna bajera: triste, triste,
como ricuerdo, y silencia como nube.
El viento se sienta y se despereza
desnudo; y el agua da un tastazo en
la orilla llegando, como quien escribe,
a mojar el pie achatado de Genaro.
Al mismo tiempo una malla de plata
ondea, lumino sa y veloz, sobre la linfa
del estero.
—¡Mire qué flus208 mano!...
de chimbera,
—Ya la vide, vos, siés la mera cosecha.
121
STarfISH
Genaro Prieto and Luciano Garciya
were sitting on a sad trunk, a carcass of
a tree that was half buried on the beach.
The trunk was white in the grey of the
sand and with branches that were arms
like arms of men putting on shirts. The
sun of the marsh began to gild the
peaks of the mangrove swamps. The
waves were calming down, so in the
gulf of tranquil blue, the marsh was
like sleeping, surrounded by black
mangrove swamps in which peaks the
sun dried its gilded laundry
The island in the middle had anchored
with its beach doves that looked
like rocky mountains of snow, and
it certainly was the head of a giant
bathing and wiping off the soap. A
heron, white like a low moon, sad like
a memory, and quiet like a cloud was
pushing the immensity, almost without
strength. The wind sits and stretches
out naked. As when someone writes,
the water was spanking the shore until
it touched the small feet of Genaro. At
the same time, a silver mesh is waving,
luminous and rapid, over the marsh
lilies.
“Look at the tons of fishies, pal!”
“I seen’em! It’s harvest time.”
208. RAE: Del fr. flux, flujo. Note that Salarrué did not italice this word even though it was incorrectly
spelled.