El fantasma

El verdadero Míster White

Caminé de prisa

los pasos querían ganarle

la carrera al viento,

pasé el pequeño puente:

Dumbarton su nombre...

El paisaje desplegaba

árboles desmadejados,

y un cielo gris y apagado.

Crucé la calle 23,

llegué a la Massachusetts

justo bordeando la rotonda

y ahí estaba...

la 2220 y calle "R"

ese era el lugar.

La bandera azul, blanco y azul,

la etiquetaba:

era...

¡la Embajada de Guatemala...!

Subí las gradas,

empujé la puerta y...

un escalofrío me recorrió el cuerpo,

fue el primer contacto...

A partir de ese momento

lo presentí,

reconocí su espacio.

Y el temor a encontrarle

lo llevaba como un latido

perenne en el corazón...

Una tarde subí las gradas,

sentí un soplo en la mejilla,

y el temor me invadió,

confusa y nerviosa

entré a la cocina,

su presencia persistía

y... la sangre se me heló...

alguien se acercaba

muy suavemente,

entonces miré

detrás de mi,

y no había nadie...

A partir de ese día ocurrieron cosas,

se escuchaban ruidos,

ventanas que se abrían solas,

máquinas de escribir nocturnas,

sillas con vida propia.

Aquel día

ocurrió...

de pronto...

un ligero viento helado entró...

creí ver algo

detrás de mí,

parecía una sombra

era una presencia,

parecía... un fantasma,

...era Míster White...

Sí... era él,

había llegado,

como siempre

sin anunciarse,

de cuerpo entero

y estaba junto a mí.

Era él...

él que vivía desde siempre

en la vieja casona,

era precisamente Mr. White

quien ahora

apretaba mi corazón,

hasta casi sofocarme.

Salí apresurada

a la calle

quería quizás escapar

o tal vez esconderme.

Pero no... quedé asombrada

estupefacta,

estaba ahí

de frente y rotundo,

era el fantasma,

que me saludaba.

Había llegado

como una sábana blanca

hermosa y fría

sí... había llegado...

...junto con la primera nevada...

Sí... era el fantasma

el fantasma

de la Embajada

era Míster White...

Washington, 5 de diciembre de 2007.

The Real Mr. White ...
I walked quickly
It seemed I wanted

to beat my steps
It was a race with the wind
I crossed the little bridge:
“Dumbarton” its name ...
In front was the horizon.

It looked as beautiful painting
with hundreds of limping trees,
a gray and sad sky too.
I crossed 23^rdStreet,
I came to Massachusetts
then I turned right, 

just along the roundabout.
It was there...
at 2220 and R Street ¨N.W.¨
it was really there: the old house.

I saw then
The three stripes of the flag

Blue, White and Blue
this labeled the
Embassy of Guatemala...

I went up by the stairs,
I pushed the door. ..
And I felt something cold,
was the first time with him ....

Since that moment

every minute I felt it,
and recognize his space.
I was afraid to find him,
there was something

beating and beating

all along the deepest

part of my heart ...

It happened one day

I walked down the stairs
and I felt something

blowing on my cheek,
I was confused
I was nervous
so I went to the kitchen,
his presence persisted
and my blood froze
something seemed to come slowly,

very slowly
then I looked behind me,
there was nobody…

Many things
happened since that day,
strange noises,
windows opening by itself,
nocturnal typewriters
chairs with own life,
finally ....
suddenly ...
came a chilly wind,
I saw something behind
like a shadow
It was a huge presence
like a ghost
maybe ... it was Mr. White ...

Yes ... it was him.
He had come suddenly,
as always

unannounced
it was Mr. White
as a real something
and he was really close to me. 
Yes it was Mr. White

the one that always was

in this house,
it was precisely him
who squeezed my heart,
until I was feeling suffocated.
I ran out to the street
and I was amazed
I was stupefied
He was there…,
the real him.

It was the ghost
...who greeted me.

He had arrived
just like a white sheet
beautiful and cold
He... had come ...
... Along with the first snow ...
Yes ... it was the ghost
It was the ghost from the Embassy
It was Mr. White…

Washington, December 5, 2007.