cuentos de barro - DSpace Universidad Don Bosco

el SacrISTÁN
Se llamaba Agruelio; era casi joven,
casi viejo; su cara era rostro. Sonreiba
beatíficamente, con la dulzura triste
de las bocas sin dientes. Era moreno;
de pelo gris; de ojos grises; de manos
grises; de traje gris, de alma gris... Iba
siempre agachado; iba, por el corredor
del convento, por el suelo de la Iglesia
siempre desierta, arrastrisco como
una cuca, como ratón. Tenía quién
sabe qué de solterona, a pesar de que,
en aquel paradójico hogar donde la
falda era masculina, daba la idea de
la esposa del cura. Los tacones de sus
zapatos burros108 no podían olvidar
el martillo del zapatero; martillaban
constantemente el eco, impregnado de
incienso, de aquella tumba fresca.
Agruelio salía de allí muy pocas veces.
Era una especie de topo parroquial.
De cuando en cuando se aventuraba
en el atrio, para ver la hora en el reloj
de la torre. Miraba a la calle, como
quien mira al mar; miraba al reloj,
como quien consulta los astros. El
mirar tan alto le mareaba. Frotaba sus
cejas felpudas y breñosas, y entraba
tambaleante a su cueva. Tak, tak, tak,...
los tacones, buscadores de tesoros.
108. Botines de cuero con suela gruesa para trabajar, hechos a mano.
109. Convento: in English is especially a place for nuns. In Spanish is for men and women.
110. “Zapatos burros” are inexpensive locally-made work rustic shoes.
55
THe SacrISTaN
His name was Aurelio. He wasn’t young
nor was he old. He smiled beatifically,
with the sad sweetness of a toothless
mouth. He had dark skin, gray hair, gray
eyes, gray hands, gray vestments, gray
soul... He always walked with his head
down, slumped over like a roach, like a
mouse. He walked in the corridor of the
residence, 109 on the floor of the church
that was always deserted. He carried
himself like an old maid. Even in that
paradoxical home where the skirt was
male, he seemed more like the priest’s
wife. The clomping of the heels of his
rustic work shoes110 was reminiscent of
the cobbler’s hammer; they pounded
constantly the echo of a fresh tomb
impregnated with incense.
Aurelio very rarely came out of that
place. He was a kind of parochial
gopher. Once in a while, he ventured
into the atrium to check the time on the
clock tower. He looked out at the street
like one who looks at the sea. He looked
at the clock like one who consults the
stars. Looking up high made him dizzy.
He rubbed his thick and unkempt
eyebrows and he walked unsteadily
towards his cave. Clomp, clomp,
clomp... the heels, treasure hunters.