Autor: Tassilon-Stavros
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-“Me estoy comportando como un perfecto imbécil – se dijo para sus adentros- sometiendo mis pensamientos a semejantes estupideces”
Al otro lado de la ventana, la arcaica dueña astral posaba su acento de esplendorosa y alba avidez, participando del tacto de la tierra, sobre las escasas luminarias del fuerte, sobre sus contornos solitarios y ahora callados, fijando invariablemente su gigantesco y rápido linaje de inmaculada antigüedad atmosférica sobre una inmensidad de ciudades, caminos, y frondosos bosques. Y el capitán, como felicitándose
de su individualismo, rehuía ahora aquella suerte de nívea alucinación, dueño de
nuevo de su autoestima y de sus reflexiones. Y en su despacho
débilmente iluminado por la lámpara de su escritorio, sentado en su butacón, de
espaldas a la cristalera cerrada, y echando hacia atrás la cabeza, alejaba de
sí lo inasible, lo inmóvil, lo eterno, aquella metamorfosis de las sensaciones
que le causaba la insoportable irreverencia de tan insufrible mirada cósmica como la que le
lanzaba el cuerpo celeste apoderado del mundo exterior.
-“¡Maldita luna!” – volvió a mascullar para sus adentros como un demente- “¡Deja de fastidiarme!”
El capitán volvió de nuevo a pasearse por el despacho. Miró su reloj. Las once y media de la noche y seguía devorado por el insomnio. Margaret, la perrita Lissy, y la simplona Prissy dormían ya seguramente a pierna suelta. Toda la casa se hallaba así en completo silencio al igual que el resto del fuerte. Y su mente, siempre atrapada por las indiscutibles disposiciones de la vida militar, navegaba ahora como una nave en movimiento contínuo, abordada por el origen de ideas que no podía controlar y le arrebataban el sueño.
-¡”Estúpidas
dormilonas!” – rezongó pensando en ambas mujeres y la perrita.
Pero no era así, porque en ese momento escuchó el ruido de algún cubierto removiéndose en la cocina, y pasos en el entarimado de la misma. Margaret, con toda probabilidad acompañada por Lissy había bajado a tomar un vaso de leche caliente como hacía muy a menudo cuando tampoco lograba conciliar el sueño.
-Que me aspen – (frase con la que Huntington acostumbraba a trastornar absurdamente cualquiera de sus intenciones negativas)- si se cree que voy a mostrarme ante ella como un estúpido desvelado, cuando en realidad debería estar ya en la cama- se dijo el capitán- Eso le gustaría... y hasta le divertiría. Pero no le voy a dar ese gusto para que se ría de mí.
Se mantuvo marcialmente en pie en la habitación silenciosa a fin de que Margaret y la gruñona de su perrita no sospecharan su presencia insomne en el despacho. Pero su mujer no salía de la cocina, al revés la oyó cuchichear algo a Lissy. Huntington se sintió entonces como un niño que, atacado por un tremendo nerviosismo y un malestar inexplicable, se ocultara tras alguna travesura con un miedo irracional a ser descubierto. Era la típica necedad del cobarde que se siente perdido. Sabía que si efectuaba cualquier movimiento en el interior del despacho cerrado, la maldita Lissy acabaría por descubrirlo y no tardaría en ladrar.
El capitán sabía muy bien que la agudeza parlanchina de Margaret, que la reservaba para su insoportable perrita y la tontorrona Prissy, era una vivacidad vedada para otros. Pero lo acontecido días atrás con ella, con aquel insoportable ceño duro y hostil que empleaba con él, su sequedad cruel al amenazarle con su decisión de dejar el fuerte y abandonarle, ahora se le clavaban como frias uñas en su vanidoso corazón de militar. Margaret al intimidarle, quebraba así el hilo sutil de su arrogancia, que se ve mejor cuando está roto. ¡Le había rebajado acusándole de pusilánime! Entonces al capitán le acometió una airada ansia de probarse a sí mismo la rigidez de sus intentos por enfrentarse de nuevo con Margaret, aunque no tuviera más remedio que seguir sufriendo por la idoneidad de sus débiles ideales militares. Y es que para aquella semi integridad inquietante nada había tan amargo como la certeza de una lacerante rivalidad. En aquel momento de soledad y ocultación, a través de su difuso desasosiego, le resultaba preciso echar mano del odio, descargando en él sus contrariedades, su despecho y hasta sus miedos. Tampoco podría tranquilizarse con un cigarrillo como hacían todos sus conocidos, porque él no fumaba. Pero siempre acostumbraba a tener sobre el escritorio una botella de agua con su vaso correspondiente, ya que casi nunca probaba el alcohol. Era una manera de animar la vibración de la lengua que se le resecaba muy a menudo, refrescándose al mismo tiempo las secas aristas de los labios y hasta la calentura que le acometía cuando trataba de mitigar la inquieta conciencia del silencio. Pero en realidad también se odiaba a sí mismo porque no podía someter a su mujer, y tampoco podía hacerse a la idea de que Margaret acabara por abandonarle, que no era más que el temor y la vergüenza a los ojos de sus camaradas de quedarse completamente solo en el campamento.
Entonces entreabrió la puerta del despacho fijando su mirada en el fondo de la casa iluminado por la luna Le dolían los latidos y se le heló la frente. Margaret andaba como una sombra con intención de volver a su habitación en el piso de arriba. Pero el agudo olfato de Lissy descubrió la presencia semi oculta de Huntington, y empezó a ladrar.Y la sombra se detuvo. El capitán se dijo para sí: “nos estamos mirando de hito en hito en la penumbra, y no nos vemos los ojos”
-¡Lissy, cállate!... ¡Basta! – exclamó Margaret
Y Huntington se dejó ver y la sombra también. El aire primaveral pero fresco entró a través de la cocina que su mujer no había cerrado. Y entonces la afilada blancura de la luna se posó como un unto fosforecente sobre la figura delgada, lisa, y sin ruido de pasos, de Margaret.
-Nos has asustado- dijo displicente- ¿Te has olvidado de tus pastillas de Seconal o es que ya no te hacen efecto? – preguntó con irónica displicencia- ¿O quizás es la luna llena la que te desvela? Espero que no te conviertas en hombre lobo- bromeó y Lissy siguió oprimiendo de ladridos la noche.
En la mente de Huntington, ahora frente a su mujer, planes o
pensamientos conscientes para responderle se desvanecían. Pero clavó la vista
en Margaret con dureza. Ésta se complacía de nuevo en su tono de punzante ironía.
-¡Basta, Lissy!- riñó de nuevo- No asustes más a nuestro desvelado capitán.
Pero Lissy empezó a gruñir, y Huntington, arrostrando de nuevo el odio que aquel indeseable animal le profesaba y que le irritaba hasta la exasperación, trazó en su mente una nueva ansiedad de dominio sobre él, complaciéndose en la idea de asestarle los puntapiés necesarios para acabar de una vez con el aborrecido pitbull. Luego, sin contestar a su mujer, se dirigió a la cocina.
-Es una magnífica noche de luna llena. A lo mejor te hará bien un paseo por el exterior, tomes tu Seconal o no- aconsejó ahora Margaret con cierta llaneza- Con este resplandor ni las estrellas brillan.
El estudioso capitán, en cuyo cerebro rebullían todo tipo de pedantes estadísticas y datos militares, era también algo así como un experto conocedor de astronomía, y Margaret, sin pretenderlo, le dio pie para que expresara algunos de aquellos sueltos conocimientos de trasnochado astrónomo que guardaba en su memoria.
-Si no fueras tan ignorante- dijo- sabrías que están ahí, tras el resplandor de la luna. Alli, hacia el Oeste brilla Venus. Y aunque no las veas todas, en las nebulosas que están detrás de la Via Láctea hay todavia millones de estrellas, y que la más cercana de ellas está separada de la Tierra unos trescientos millones de miriámetros. Y por allí, si mirases bien, verías la Osa Mayor y la Menor, y la estrella polar,... Y Casiopea...
Aquella exposición de erudición astronómica fue para Huntington como un desquite, casi una emancipación de los tonos burlescos e ignorantes que Margaret empleaba contra él.
-Es para volverse loca. Además, no tengo ni idea de lo que es un miriámetro. Así que, por favor, no sigas- objetó Margaret- No necesito que continúes alardeando de tus conocimientos y de tu buena memoria, sean del tipo que sean. Nunca he dudado de que eres un empollón, pero ahora prefiero irme a la cama porque tu lección de... ¿se llama astronomía?... ha acabado por marearme. Y tú deberías dejarte de tanta ilustración y tomarte una o dos pastillas de tu Seconal, porque un buen sueño te haría mucho bien. Asi que buenas noches...Vamos Lissy, y dejemos al capitán con su mundo estrellado- ironizó Margaret todavía antes de desaparecer escaleras arriba seguida por la perrita.
Tanta indiferencia redoblaba la furia de su desprecio por Margaret. Y tras ella, en el capitán tan sólo quedaba una especie de desgarro henchido por los males de su cobarde tolerancia, porque de nuevo se dejaba vencer ante aquella probada revelación carente de escrúpulos e impertinente despecho con que Margaret le ignoraba. Y como su mirada se abrasaba en la ansiedad de tratar de vencer sin conseguirlo la falta de benevolencia y el acecho constante de sus ojos enemigos en su trato con aquella mujer, el capitán, como el soldado que huye entre las sombras de algún peligro desconocido con una prisa insaciable y dura, buscó en seguida la soledad que le ofrendaba el refugio privado de su despacho, únicamente suyo, donde el constante arqueo bibliotecario de sus monografías militares le concedían una especie de devota superioridad que interiormente le enorgullecía. Allí se persuadía a sí mismo de que, como instructor acreditado por su rango castrense de la brigada de reclutas que formaban sus alumnos en la Escuela de Infantería, el ánimo de los fuertes se alimentaba de sus enseñanzas, y de su enaltecido porte militar como irreprochable abanderado al servicio de la grandiosa institución formada por el ejército de los Estados Unidos. Un ejército que jamás podría admitir cualquier voluntad amilanada ante las impertinencias insignificantes del sexo femenino. Por eso cada noche el capitán se acostaba aborreciendo más a Margaret. No obstante, debía también, para conciliar un sueño del que tan necesitado se hallaba, echar mano del Seconal. Durante varias noches, a fin de evitar muchas de las pesadillas que le asaltaban si no lograba dormir seis o siete horas, y despertar por las mañanas lo suficientemente despejado para impartir sus clases, había duplicado y hasta triplicado sus dosis de Seconal. Aquella droga secreta, de multiplicada etiología callada (pese a que hubiese cometido el error de hablarle a Margaret de ella) le sumía finalmente en un blando letargo que lo enroscaba entre una óptica de imágenes apacibles, siempre al abrigo de su liturgia militarista, y en las cuales, invariablemente, se veía de nuevo a sí mismo ensalzado por emocionadas tradiciones de dirigentes camarederías que, en su sueño, le ofrendaban un rotundo y siempre floreciente estado de admiración y respeto castrense, del que en realidad carecía en su monótono cometido como instructor de milicia en el fuerte. Otras veces, en aquellas percepciones oníricas, retozaban también las risas de sus infantes, entre los que aparecía el odiado soldado Tracy, y todos exclamaban: "¡El inepto, débil y cobarde capitán de siempre!" Así la tarde vergonzosa del ataque a Pearl Harbour volvía a ser acechada por aquel maldito héroe, porque ya era una reminiscencia sin solución. Despierto podía proteger dicho recuerdo con su altanería de mayor graduación valiéndose de sus galones y encubrir aquella verdad. En sueños seguía anticipándose su sonrojo, y alguna mañana sus sábanas aparecieron salpicadas por su orina. Buscaba entonces con aterrorizado denuedo como rehuir la vigilancia servil de la correveidile Prissy, a quien prohibía la entrada en su habitación. Y entonces el capitán se apresuraba en ocultar aquellas sábanas manchadas de vergüenza, aun a riesgo de que pudiera ser descubierto por los equipos de reclutas que se turnaban encargándose de la enorme lavandería del fuerte y de proveer mudas limpias a oficiales y al resto de soldados, mezclándolas entre los ingentes amontonamientos de prendas militares que allí se acumulaban.
No era de extrañar tampoco que Margaret y Lissy buscaran el sol y la libertad, huyendo del campamento, para perderse entre las márgenes frondosas del bosque, y a través de sus florestas recogidas que poseían una dulzura de nidos y de soledad que, pese a todo ello, en algún recodo tibio de quietud, amparaban a un hombre taciturno como el soldado Tracy, Y en sus diarios paseos, se hubiera dicho que Margaret, al tropezar de nuevo con el joven solitario, ya no lo considerase de la misma manera que la vez anterior, y se hubiera dado cuenta, no sin sopresa por su parte, de que el soldado, sin ser ni más llano ni más expresivo, además de su aspecto saludable, ofrendase un rostro de rasgos profundamente atractivos en el que relucía el cabello, lacio y negrísimo, como si lo tuviese recién bañado, aunque cansara el desasosiego de sus ojos. A Margaret entonces el elogio encubierto de la belleza masculina la había afectado y casi sofocado por primera vez. Y por reconocerlo, y por reprimirse de ese exámen de callada alabanza que ahora le pesaba en la conciencia al igual que una repentina responsabildad inexplicable, habló muy contenta del paisaje frondoso a fin de alentar cualquier tipo de diálogo con el joven.
-¡Qué bendición de primavera! ¿No le parece a usted?..
Pero el soldado Tracy mantuvo la cabeza paralizada como si se le hubiese oxidado la nuca, aunque luego no pudo reprimir uno de sus ademanes predilectos: acariciar a la inquieta Lissy que ladraba de contento. Se estremecieron mucho las manos del joven valiéndose, como buenas mellizas, la una de la otra sobre el cuerpo saltarin de la perrita. Peor, no obstante, fue su silencio para Margaret, porque él se mantuvo preso de su cortedad, observándola a hurtadillas, y obviando cualquier intento de charla que hubiera servido de estímulo para mantener una conversación. Se hubiera dicho también que Margaret había advertido la vacilación del soldado Tracy, y que, tras acariciar a Lissy, aquél se mantuvo en silencio para alejarla. Y ella escondió su inquietud. Le daba vergüenza y cierta animosidad observar aquellos ojos que no se volvían para mirarla y el silencio que los alejaba al uno del otro. Y en seguida Margaret lo rechazó porque llegó a sentirse cómplice de aquella actitud callada del soldado como una desconocida que aceptara la realidad de un misterioso secreto. Y no quiso ya contenerse:
.¡Vámonos, Lissy! -exclamó- No molestes más...
Margaret no acabó la frase porque entonces el soldado Tracy rectificó atropelladamente, aunque tuvo que vigilarse la sonrisa que esbozó para no sonreír demasiado:
-No se marche usted- dijo- Si es culpa mía... perdóneme usted...
-De todas formas, no quiero privarle de su tranquilidad- se excusó Margaret- ¿Qué habrá usted pensado de mí apareciendo de repente otra vez para estorbarle... y de Lissy? Es tan retozona...
-Le confesaré que yo nunca hablo demasiado... ni tan siquiera con mis compañeros de barracón- aclaró la voz del soldado Tracy, de timbre tan profundo que producía una especie de tristeza- Y aún mucho menos con mujeres...
-¿No le gustan las mujeres?... -aventuró Margaret.
-Las evito únicamente...
-¿Por qué?...
-No sé... Tan sólo las evito, lo mismo que evito fumar.
-Es admirable- constató Margaret- Un soldado sin vicios.
-No lo crea... - declinó Tracy sonriendo timidamente- Suelo emborracharme de vez en cuando.
-Eso, aquí, le acarreará problemas... imagino - dedujo Margaret.
-Bastantes...
-De todas formas, creo que es un vicio que nada tiene de especial en un país como este donde tanto abundan los alcohólicos.
-Es posible...
-Pero por lo menos si usted no bebiera, se privaría de un gran placer...
-¿Bebe su marido?
-No estoy muy segura... Quizás lo haga a hurtadillas, aunque nunca lo he visto borracho. Es demasiado orgulloso. El rígido militar que jamás pondría al descubierto cualquier tipo de debilidad. Rectitud, ordenanzas y monografías militares son las únicas borracheras que deja entrever. Resulta de lo más cargante. A veces desearía verlo con una botella de whisky entre las manos, descubrir en él alguna flaqueza que lo empequeñeciera, porque la única que conozco de él es la aversión que siente por mí, por mi perrita y hasta por Prissy, mi criada de color, una criatura dulce y resignada
El soldado Tracy no contestó, tan sólo preguntó:
-Por lo que veo, aún sigue usted paseando todas las mañanas por estos andurriales... Creo que no debería...
-Recuerdo muy bien su advertencia. ¡Los jabalies!- bromeó Margaret.
-Pero usted ha seguido por aquí, sin asustarse, ¿verdad?...
Y atenuando su sonrisa, Margaret se valió por fin de una deseada solución de intimidad con el retraído soldado que al parecer recelaba tímidamente en su trato con el sexo femenino:
-¡Ni más ni menos, soldado! La vida en este campamento es tan ruín y aburrida, que una mujer como yo no quiere vivir en su tiempo insustancial, pero tampoco quiere morirse en él. ¿Me comprende usted? Porque, vamos a ver, ¿a usted le apetece vivir como un recluso, por mucho que haya usted aceptado este insulso militarismo? Pues, a mí, no. Yo no leo librotes de escuela de infantería como hace mi marido, porque aquí, quienes los leen y releen, suelen ser en realidad hombres intolerantes pero sin carácter... ¡Que diantre! Las mujeres somos muy diferentes. No disfrutamos como ustedes de sus guerras. Espero no escandalizarle... Yo opino que mi tiempo en este campamento, hasta que pueda escapar de él, sea enteramente mío y a mi gusto. Y por tanto, amigo soldado sin vicios, hayan o no jabalies o absurdas prohibiciones, yo seguiré recorriendo y paseando por este bosque con entera libertad cada vez que me apetezca... ¡Vea usted qué hermosa primavera! ¿No le parece que es menester saborearla, probarla en exceso, y rehuir en lo posible galones y fajines tan deseosos de militarismo?
-Quizás no debió usted casarse con un militar. ¿No es eso un contrasentido que usted, como mujer, podría haber evitado?- dedujo el soldado.
-Un error, he de admitirlo. Pero usted, que inexplicablemente suele evitar a las mujeres, como hombre, está obligado ha reconocer que nosotras, al igual que ustedes, también solemos cometer disparates que carecen de lógica De todas formas, tampoco a mí me importa reconocer que no amo en absoluto a su capitán, y que estoy dispuesta a abandonarle muy pronto. No soporto la idea de pasar el resto de mi vida en este insoportable campamento militar, ni mucho menos junto a un hombre al que no quiero. He de salir de aquí como sea. No hay otra forma para remediar el error que cometí al casarme con el ejército. Mi matrimonio huele ya a pestilente e insoportable hipocresía... He vuelto a escandalizarle seguramente.
-¿Por qué lo ha llamado mi "capitán"?
Margaret al ofrecer lo que conjeturó como una especie de imprudencia bajó ahora el tono de su voz para agregar:
-Bueno... he dado por sentado... me imagino que es muy probable que lo sea.
-Su marido no es el único capitán en este campamento- El soldado Tracy al contradecirla había apartado ahora su mirada de Margaret, dirigiéndola hacía las hojas delicadas de la arboleda que se desbordaban como chorros de agua.
Y se mantuvo inmóvil, dando la impresión de estar esperando que Margaret se alejara de aquel solitario rincón del bosque.
-He de marcharme- dijo Margaret- Creo que mi paseo se ha alargado demasiado. ¿Qué hora es?...
-No suelo llevar reloj- aclaró el joven.
-¡Ah!... pero debo irme de todos modos.
Entonces el soldado Tracy, adoptando aquella actitud ambigua del hombre solitario que nunca vacila, añadió:
-Suelo guiarme por la posición del sol... Desde niño lo he hecho así.
-Eso es algo que yo nunca podría hacer- dijo Margaret sonriendo- ¿Es pura astronomía, no? Y el único astrónomo que conozco es mi pretencioso marido que de vez en cuando suele marearme con sus absurdos conocimientos sobre las estrellas y no de Hollywood precisamente ... De todas formas, creo que ya debe ser algo tarde. Prissy... mi eficiente sirvienta, habrá preparado ya el almuerzo. Imagino que a usted las ordenanzas militares tampoco le dejarán permanecer demasiado ocioso. ¿Suele usted hallarse todavía al cuidado de las caballerizas?... Aún recuerdo su fervorosa entrega cuando anduvo cuidando de aquel pobre potro enfermo.
-Fue sacrificado- manifestó el soldado como acometido por la aprensión de algún desorden fatal- Es fácil mantener ese vacío de existencia viva entre los animales que hace de ellos pobres monigotes para los que no existe la diferencia entre la vida y la muerte.
Una nueva emoción inédita invadió el corazón de Margaret oyendo aquella reflexión inesperada en el soldado Tracy, y que al exponerla dotó a su rostro de un brillo conmovedor.
-¡Qué curioso! Resulta una extraña manera de describir la triste irracionalidad de los animales ante la vida y la muerte. Nunca habría sospechado siquiera...
El soldado la interrumpió:
-No importa. Como ya le dije suelo hablar poco...
Margaret gesticuló dulcemente. Fue como un impulso que podía parecer involuntario o pueril.
-Debo irme.. Será mejor- dijo, aun cuando en su voz, al despedirse, algo decía que sus palabras no eran más que pura trivialidad, al tiempo que aquella sensación de indefinible emoción se apoderaba nuevamente de ella.
-Quizás usted no lo sepa, o quizás no lo haya sospechado... Pero acostumbro a detenerme siempre en este rincón del bosque... Claro que si usted prefiere evitar toda conversación conmigo...
Y Margaret, después de mirarle largamente y con asombro, preguntó:
-¿Aunque sea una mujer?...
-¿Y qué importa?- completó inesperadamente el soldado Tracy con beneplácito.
Y Margaret sintió que su resistencia se quebrantaba.
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[Captain Thomas Huntington could be terrified of the night, when often, locked in his office, before retiring to sleep, after preparing some of his boring monographs for the morning class at the Infantry School, he would go around it again and again to better reflect on any of the many contingencies that assaulted his mind when he was alone. That night, the full moon, on the other side of the window, like an expanse that actually had no limits, poured its white fire over the camp. And as he observed it, like a gigantic eye, absolute master of the darkness of the earth, the moon snatched Huntington's face away, assaulting him and blinding him with its perpetual impenetrability; and as if his miraculous flame, from the night of the ceilings, was eager to take hold of his solitary thoughts. The impertinent star thus played to interrogate his conscience, jumping over the rational perception of him as a human being. And like a gigantic distant and corrosive smile, invariably routine, he thus issued an indiscreet and mocking rebuke to his musings. The captain then felt so ashamed of himself, so exasperated against the luminous satellite, that he furiously lowered the blinds of the window, like the soldier who does not contain his anger when dictating any regulation, and who, suffocated by a feeling of impotence, loses his temper.
-“I'm behaving like a complete idiot – he said to himself – by subjecting my thoughts to such nonsense.”
On the other side of the window, the archaic astral mistress posed her accent of splendor and alba eagerness, participating in the touch of the earth, on the few luminaries of the fort, on its solitary and now silent contours, invariably establishing her gigantic and rapid lineage of immaculate atmospheric antiquity over an immensity of cities, roads, and lush forests. And the captain, as if congratulating himself on his individualism, now avoided that kind of snowy hallucination, once again master of his self-esteem and his reflections. And in his office, dimly lit by his desk lamp, sitting in his armchair, with his back to the closed window, and throwing his head back, he distanced himself from the ungraspable, the immobile, the eternal, that metamorphosis of sensations that It caused him the unbearable irreverence of such an insufferable cosmic gaze as the one cast at him by the celestial body in power of the outside world.
-“Damn moon!” – He muttered to himself again like a madman – “Stop bothering me!”
The captain returned to pacing the office again. He looked at his watch. Eleven thirty at night and he was still consumed by insomnia. Margaret, the dog Lissy, and the simpleton Prissy were probably already sleeping soundly. The entire house was thus completely silent, as was the rest of the fort. And his mind, always trapped by the indisputable provisions of military life, now sailed like a ship in continuous motion, approached by the origin of ideas that he could not control and that robbed him of his sleep. -
-"Stupid sleepheads!” – He grumbled, thinking about both women and the little dog.
But it wasn't like that, because at that moment he heard the sound of some cutlery being moved in the kitchen, and footsteps on the kitchen floor. Margaret, most likely accompanied by Lissy, had gone down to have a glass of hot milk as she often did when she too could not fall asleep.
-"I'll be damned - (a phrase with which Huntington used to absurdly upset any of his negative intentions) - if she thinks I'm going to appear to her as a sleepless fool, when in reality I should already be in bed," -the captain said to himself. -
He would like that... and it would even amuse him. But I'm not going to give her that pleasure so she can laugh at me.
He stood martially in the silent room so that Margaret and her grumpy dog wouldn't suspect her sleepless presence in the office. But his wife didn't come out of the kitchen; on the contrary, he heard her whispering something to Lissy. Huntington then felt like a child who, attacked by tremendous nervousness and inexplicable discomfort, was hiding behind some mischief with an irrational fear of being discovered. It was the typical foolishness of the coward who feels lost. He knew that if he made any move inside the closed office, damn Lissy would eventually find out and bark soon.
Margaret had opened the back door to the kitchen and, bundled up in her nightgown, was breathing in the nighttime spring breeze that cooled her cheeks while Lissy frolicked outside. It was as if an area of the luminous dust of the full moon, from the north to the south of the fort, split over it and the clay, unlandscaped area at the back of the house. The sky, dominated by the light of the moon, was nothing more than an immeasurable, almost empty light. The stars twinkled solitary, very far away and somewhat invisible in that firmament that seemed like an immense distantly azure sea, and whose archipelagos and islets were disappearing, devoured by the great satellite flaming white.
The captain knew very well that Margaret's chatty wit, which she reserved for her unbearable dog and the silly Prissy, was a vivacity forbidden to others. But what had happened a few days ago with her, with that unbearable harsh and hostile frown that she used towards him, her cruel dryness when she threatened him with her decision to leave the fort and abandon him, now stuck like cold nails in his vain military heart. . By intimidating him, Margaret thus broke the subtle thread of his arrogance, which is best seen when he is broken. She had demeaned Him by accusing Him of being faint-hearted!
Then the captain was seized with an angry desire to prove to himself the rigidity of his attempts to confront Margaret again, even if he had no choice but to continue suffering for the adequacy of her weak military ideals. And for that disturbing semi-integrity, there was nothing as bitter as the certainty of a lacerating rivalry. In that moment of loneliness and concealment, through his diffuse restlessness, it was necessary for him to resort to hatred, unloading on him his annoyances, his spite, and even his fears. He also couldn't calm down with a cigarette like everyone he knew did, because he didn't smoke. But he always used to have a bottle of water with its corresponding glass on his desk, since he almost never tried alcohol. It was a way to liven up the vibration of his tongue, which was very often dry, refreshing at the same time the dry edges of his lips and even the fever that came over him when he tried to mitigate the restless awareness of silence. But in reality he also hated himself because he could not subdue his wife, and he could not bear the idea that Margaret would end up abandoning him, which was nothing more than the fear and shame in the eyes of his comrades of staying completely alone in the camp. Then he half-opened the office door, fixing his gaze on the back of the house illuminated by the moon. His heartbeat hurt and his forehead froze. Margaret walked like a shadow with the intention of returning to her room upstairs. But Lissy's keen sense of smell discovered Huntington's half-hidden presence, and she began to bark. And the shadow stopped. The captain said to himself: “We are staring at each other in the darkness, and we can't see each other's eyes.”
-Lissy, shut up!... Stop it! – exclaimed Margaret.
And Huntington was seen and the shadow too. The spring but fresh air came through the kitchen that his wife had not closed. And then the sharp whiteness of the moon settled like a phosphorescent oil on the thin, smooth, and soundless figure of Margaret.
-You scared us- she said nonchalantly- Have you forgotten your Seconal pills or are they no longer effective? – she asked with ironic indifference – Or perhaps it is the full moon that keeps you awake? I hope you don't turn into a werewolf- she joked and Lissy continued barking at the night.
In Huntington's mind, now facing his wife, plans or conscious thoughts to respond to her were fading. But he stared hard at Margaret. She again took pleasure in his tone of stinging irony.
-Stop it, Lissy! -she scolded again- Don't scare our sleepless captain any more.
But Lissy began to growl, and Huntington, facing once again the hatred that that undesirable animal professed for him and which irritated him to the point of exasperation, traced in his mind a new anxiety of dominance over him, delighting in the idea of giving him the kicks necessary to put an end to the hated pitbull once and for all. Then, without answering his wife, he headed to the kitchen.
-It is a magnificent full moon night. Maybe a walk outside will do you some good, whether you take your Seconal or not - Margaret now advised somewhat plainly - With this glare not even the stars shine.
The studious captain, whose brain was filled with all kinds of pedantic statistics and military data, was also something of an expert in astronomy, and Margaret, without intending it, gave him the opportunity to express some of the loose knowledge of an outdated astronomer that he kept. in his memory.
-If you weren't so ignorant- he said- you would know they were there, behind the glow of the moon. There, towards the West, Venus shines. And even if you don't see them all, in the nebulae behind the Milky Way there are still millions of stars, and the closest of them is separated from the Earth by about three hundred million myriameters. And over there, if you looked closely, you would see the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper, and the North Star,... And Cassiopeia...
That exposition of astronomical erudition was for Huntington like revenge, almost an emancipation from the burlesque and ignorant tones that Margaret used against him.
-It's going crazy. Also, I have no idea what a myriameter is. So, please, don't continue - Margaret objected - I don't need you to continue boasting about your knowledge and your good memory, whatever type they may be. I have never doubted that you are a nerd, but now I prefer to go to bed because your lesson on... is it called astronomy?... has ended up making me dizzy. And you should stop so much illustration and take one or two pills of your Seconal, because a good sleep would do you a lot of good. So good night... Come on Lissy, and let's leave the captain with his starry world- Margaret said ironically before disappearing up the stairs followed by the little dog.
Such indifference redoubled the fury of his contempt for Margaret. And behind his, the only thing left in the captain was a kind of tear swollen by the evils of his cowardly tolerance, because once again he allowed himself to be defeated by that proven revelation lacking scruples and impertinent spite with which Margaret ignored him. And as his gaze was burning with the anxiety of trying to overcome without success the lack of benevolence and the constant stalking of his enemy eyes in his dealings with that woman, the captain, like the soldier who flees among the shadows of some unknown danger with an insatiable and hard rush, he immediately sought the solitude offered by the private refuge of his office, his alone, where the constant library archiving of his military monographs granted him a kind of devout superiority that made him internally proud. There he persuaded himself that, as an instructor accredited by his military rank of the brigade of recruits that his students formed at the Infantry School, the spirit of the strong was nourished by his teachings, and by his exalted military bearing as irreproachable. standard bearer at the service of the great institution formed by the United States Army. An army that could never admit any will weakened by the insignificant impertinences of the female sex. That's why every night the captain went to bed hating Margaret more. However, he also had to resort to the Seconal to reconcile the sleep he was so in need of. For several nights, in order to avoid many of the nightmares that plagued him if he did not manage to sleep six or seven hours, and wake up in the mornings clear enough to teach his classes, he had doubled and even tripled his doses of Seconal. That secret drug, of multiplied silent etiology (despite the fact that he had made the mistake of telling Margaret about it) finally plunged him into a soft lethargy that coiled him between an optic of peaceful images, always sheltered from his militaristic liturgy, and in which, invariably, he saw himself once again exalted by excited traditions of camaraderie leaders who, in his dream, offered him a resounding and always flourishing state of admiration and military respect, which in reality he lacked in his monotonous role as an instructor. of militia in the fort. Other times, in those dreamlike perceptions, the laughter of his infantrymen also played, among whom the hated soldier Tracy appeared, and they all exclaimed: "The usual inept, weak and cowardly captain!" Thus the shameful afternoon of the attack on Pearl Harbor was once again haunted by that damned hero, because it was already a reminiscence without a solution. When awake he could protect said memory with the highest arrogance of him using his stripes and cover up that truth. In her dreams she continued to anticipate his blushing, and one morning his sheets appeared splattered with his urine. He then sought with terrified determination how to avoid the servile surveillance of the companion Prissy, whom he prohibited from entering her room. And then the captain hurried to hide those shame-stained sheets, even at the risk of being discovered by the teams of recruits who took turns in charge of the fort's enormous laundry and providing clean clothes for officers and the rest of the soldiers, mixing them among the huge piles of military clothing that accumulated there.
... May was already offering its vapors and breezes of reborn vegetation whose jovial shine crossed the wooded area and the camp like dazzling seagulls that indicated with their flights and squawks the paths of the most closed places of the forest, thus offering to the walker who entered among those thickets its best kept beauties. And Margaret with Lissy continued each morning pleasantly wandering through the attractive fronds as if she were walking through a courtyard of rigid groves, jumping like the happy little dog whose irrationality was linked to the same contingencies and adventures of all the birds that flew over the forest. During those spring weeks, also soldier Tracy, in the few hours of rest that the sergeant of the stables granted him, once he finished his work of caring for and cleaning them, maintained his usual habit of getting lost in the nearby woods like if he looked for new paths of wild qualities, deeper, quieter, further from the fort, and then he stopped with his lost gaze, as if in the depths of his being no thought crossed his mind, and thus he remained motionless in some unknown corner of the forest.
But the soldier Tracy was not a man to let himself be caught up in those spring delights, nor did his whole body thrive with pleasant satisfaction at the seasonal change as if a caress of past innocence childishly or possessed him with a sensual feeling of pleasure. The flowering forest that now acquired a loose and precocious transparency for the eyes kept him hidden, hierarchically alone as always, and although collected in the sweet suffocation of the perfumes in season, he remained absorbed, serious, in a mute stillness, like a human shadow unwanted to seek any other primitive man in himself. Tracy thus avoided the word, and with it any hint of joy or even memories of him. He was a man with withdrawn eyes; a man who didn't laugh and barely breathed. A man who seemed to have lost the best of his life, who had been left alone behind the rest of humanity; that humanity of sinners, of the hardest pains, of the irresistible avidity for the purest or most amoral imaginations. But Tracy was also a man whom no one questioned or accused, and who miraculously continued in this world without dying for anything or anyone. In any case, it seemed that his was a great distant dream, or a life without impatience and without despair, with feelings, if he had them, humbly resigned.
It was not surprising either that Margaret and Lissy sought the sun and freedom, fleeing the camp, to get lost among the leafy margins of the forest, and through its collected forests that had a sweetness of nests and solitude that, despite all this , in some warm corner of stillness, they protected a taciturn man like soldier Tracy, And in her daily walks, it would have been said that Margaret, upon encountering the solitary young man again, would no longer consider him in the same way as she once did. previous, and he would have noticed, not without surprise on his part, that the soldier, without being either plainer or more expressive, in addition to his healthy appearance, offered a face with deeply attractive features in which his hair shone, straight and very black, as if he had just bathed him, although the restlessness of his eyes was tiring. Margaret had then been affected and almost suffocated by the covert praise of male beauty for the first time. And to recognize it, and to refrain from that examination of silent praise that now weighed on her conscience like a sudden inexplicable responsibility, she spoke very happily of the lush landscape in order to encourage any type of dialogue with the young man.
-What a blessing of spring! Don't you think so?
But the soldier Tracy kept his head paralyzed as if the back of his neck had rusted, although then he could not suppress one of his favorite gestures: petting the restless Lissy who was barking with content. The young man's hands shook very much, using each other, like good twins, on the dog's jumping body. Worse, however, was her silence for Margaret, because he remained a prisoner of her shortness, observing her surreptitiously, and ignoring any attempt at conversation that would have served as a stimulus to maintain a conversation. It would also have seemed that Margaret had noticed the soldier Tracy's hesitation, and that, after caressing Lissy, he remained silent to get her away from her. And she hid the restlessness from her. It made her ashamed and a certain animosity to observe those eyes that did not turn to look at her and the silence that distanced them from each other. And Margaret immediately rejected him because she came to feel complicit in the soldier's silent attitude like a stranger who accepted the reality of a mysterious secret. And she no longer wanted to contain herself:
-Let's go, Lissy! -she exclaimed -Don't bother me anymore...
Margaret did not finish the sentence because then soldier Tracy hurriedly corrected himself, although he had to watch his smile so as not to smile too much:
-Don't leave- he said- If it's my fault... forgive me... Anyway, I don't want to deprive you of your peace of mind- Margaret apologized -What would you have thought of me suddenly appearing again to bother you... and Lissy? She is so playful...
- I will confess that I never talk too much... not even with my barrack mates- clarifiedthe soldierTracy's voice, with a timbre so deep that it produced a kind of sadness. And even less so with women...
-You don't like women?- Margaret ventured.
-I only avoid them...
-Why?...
-I don't know... I just avoid them, the same as I avoid smoking.
-It's admirable- Margaret stated- A soldier without vices.
-Don't believe it... - Tracy declined, smiling shyly - I tend to get drunk from time to time.
-That, here, will cause problems... I imagine - Margaret deduced.
-Quite a few...
-In any case, I think that it is a vice that has nothing special in a country like this where there are so many alcoholics.
-It's possible...
-But at least if you didn't drink, you would deprive yourself of a great pleasure...
-Does your husband drink?
-I'm not very sure... Maybe he does it on the sly, although I've never seen him drunk. He is too proud. The rigid military man who would never expose any type of weakness. Righteousness, ordinances and military monographs are the only drunkenness that he lets on. It is the most annoying. Sometimes I would like to see him with a bottle of whiskey in his hands, to discover some weakness in him that would dwarf him, because the only thing I know about him is the aversion he feels for me, for my dog, and even for Prissy, my colored maid, a sweet and resigned creature.
The soldier Tracy did not answer, he only asked:
-From what I see, you are still walking through these bad roads every morning... I don't think you should...
-I remember his warning very well. The wild boars!- Margaret joked.
-But you have continued here, without being scared, right?...-
And dimming her smile, Margaret finally used a desired solution of intimacy with the withdrawn soldier who apparently was timidly suspicious of his dealings with the female sex:
-No more, no less, soldier! Life in this camp is so mean and boring that a woman like me does not want to live in his insubstantial time, but do not want to die in it either. Do you understand me? Because, let's see, do you want to live like a recluse, no matter how much you have accepted this dull militarism? Not to me. I don't read infantry school books like my husband does, because here, those who read and re-read them are actually intolerant men without character... What the hell! Women are very different. We do not enjoy your wars like you do. I hope I don't shock you... I am of the opinion that my time in this camp, until I can escape from it, is entirely mine and to my liking. And therefore, my soldier friend without vices, whether or not there are wild boars or absurd prohibitions, I will continue touring and walking through this forest with complete freedom whenever I feel like it... See what a beautiful spring! Don't you think it is necessary to savor it, taste it excessively, and avoid as much as possible stripes and sashes so eager for militarism?
-Maybe you shouldn't have married a military man. Isn't that a contradiction that you, as a woman, could have avoided? - deduced the soldier.
-A mistake, I have to admit. But you, who inexplicably tend to avoid women, as a man, are obliged to admit that we, like you, also tend to commit nonsense that lacks logic. In any case, I don't mind admitting that I don't love women at all. your captain, and that I am prepared to abandon him very soon. I can't stand the idea of spending the rest of my life in this unbearable military camp, much less with a man I don't love. I have to get out of here no matter what. There is no other way to remedy the mistake I made by marrying into the army. My marriage already smells of stench and unbearable hypocrisy... I have surely scandalized him again.
-Why did you call him my "captain"?
Offering what she surmised to be a kind of recklessness, Margaret now lowered the tone of her voice to add:
-Well... I've taken it for granted... I imagine it's very likely that it is.
-Your husband is not the only captain in this camp- soldier Tracy, contradicting her, had now turned his gaze away from her and Margaret away from her, directing it towards the delicate leaves of the grove that were overflowing like streams of water. .
And he remained motionless, giving the impression that he was waiting for Margaret to leave that lonely corner of the forest.
-I have to go- Margaret said- I think my walk has taken too long. What time is it?...
-I don't usually wear a watch- the young man clarified.
-Ah!... but I have to go anyway.
Then the soldier Tracy, adopting that ambiguous attitude of the solitary man who never hesitates, added:
-I usually guide myself by the position of the sun... I have done it this way since I was a child.
-That's something I could never do- said Margaret, smiling- It's pure astronomy, right? And the only astronomer I know is my pretentious husband who from time to time tends to make me dizzy with his absurd knowledge about stars and not about Hollywood precisely... Anyway, I think it must be a little late. Prissy...my efficient maid, she will have already prepared lunch. I imagine that military ordinances will not allow you to remain too idle either. Do you usually still take care of the stables?... I still remember your fervent dedication when you took care of that poor sick colt.
-He was sacrificed- said the soldier, as if overcome by the apprehension of some fatal disorder- It is easy to maintain that void of living existence among animals that makes them poor puppets for whom there is no difference between life and death.
A new, unprecedented emotion invaded Margaret's heart upon hearing that unexpected reflection from soldier Tracy, and when he exposed it he gave her face a moving glow.
-How curious! It is a strange way to describe the sad irrationality of animals in the face of life and death. I would never have even suspected...
The soldier interrupted her:
-It doesn't matter. As I already told you, I usually speak little...
Margaret gestured sweetly. It was like an impulse that could seem involuntary or childish.
-I must go... It will be better- she said, even though in her voice, as she said goodbye, something said that her words were nothing more than pure triviality, at the same time that feeling of indefinable emotion took over her again.
