Lydia Davis / Las bisabuelas

La señorita Colette
Bogotá, 2012
Foto de Triunfo Arciniegas

Lydia Davis

LAS BISABUELAS

En la reunión familiar, pusieron a las bisabuelas al sol. Pero a causa de un problema con los niños mientras el cuñado caía en inconsciencia etílica, se olvidaron de ellas por largo rato. Cuando abrimos la puerta vidriada, atravesamos los gomeros, y nos acercamos a las viejas que estaban al sol, era demasiado tarde: sus manos rugosas se habían confundido con los mangos de los bastones, los labios se habían juntado en una sola membrana, los ojos se habían endurecido e, inmóviles, se dirigían al bosque de castaños donde entraban y salían los niños. Sólo la vieja Agnes tenía algo de vida, pudimos oír el aliento entrarle en la boca, y ver el corazón pulsando bajo su traje de seda, pero al acercarnos se estremeció y luego quedó inmóvil.

El mapa de la vejez
Ciudad de México, 2012
Foto de Triunfo Arciniegas

THE GREAT-GRANDMOTHERS

by Lydia Davis

At the family gathering, the great-grandmothers were put out on the sun porch. But because of some problem with the children, at the same time as the brother-in-law had fallen into a drunken stupor, the great-grandmothers were forgotten by everyone for a very long time. When we opened the glass door, made our way through the rubber trees, and approached the sunlit old women, it was too late: their gnarled hands had grown into the wood of their cane handles, their lips had cleaved together into one membrane, their eyeballs had hardened and were immovably focused out on the chestnut grove where the children were flashing to and fro. Only old Agnes had a little left in her, we could hear her breath sucking through her mouth, we could see her heart laboring beneath her silk dress, but even as we went to her she shuddered and was still.