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Since I had all day to think, and think I dozed-then, at night, slept like a dead, dreamless. But some mornings I woke the sirens and the noise of the planes, because that part of the city, unlike the neighborhood of grandparents, had been declared free of shelling. Or hear the explosion of bombs, gunfire, the roar of landslides, some voices cry out in terror, had to go in the dark, withoutrecourse to novels or Salgari Fortún Elena (the Verne, because its binding, I had allowed them out of grandparents house), unable to play a game of checkers against myself, even without the possibility of being bored with the deck playing solitaire or skyscrapers' dolmens. When not stand again, I pulled the bed and scanned the darkness of the sky and the courtyard. So, for those occasions when Irefused so effectively to fear coming to forget, I took refuge in memories and soon, although increasingly awake, it was as if he were dreaming. Concha saw, his arms, his shoulders, his legs and his face, tanned by sun terrace from the beginning of the summer and had already, as they repeated the uncles and aunt Dominica, was to be the last of war.
Actually not remember the real body of the shell, butthat body-as identical and so different, with whom he had dreamed one of the first nights at the aunt's house, when even the custom of the new house was not appeased sadness of moving. Nor do I actually woke aircraft engines and the wail of sirens, but the bustle of the family, which, standing by sobresaltadamente start the alarm, was preparing to go to the basement as if preparing for summer fromSan Sebastian. Clashed against each other in the halls, they shouted orders, advice, recriminations, or forgot the thermos flasks, they returned, they discovered bare foot was tangled in a pointless argument (which was enough to wake) behind the door of my room on if there or let me get off the basement, I used to rush to end the fall of the first pump and the ensuing sudden silence, too suddenand too deep.
Still in bed, with the same alacrity with which Dominica aunt grabbed the rosary, I recreated Concha color that summer-in-the dream, the browned meat, tanned gradually, almost black, which made her a meat asfixiantemente cuddly lengüeteable edible. He immediately began to sweat and, at the risk of leaving the sheets sticky ointment, I took off my pajamas and let me be, oily skinfeeling moist, like steam emanating from the pores, until the excitement and itching me thrown out of bed and looked into the window that overlooked the garden of Faust, that temper getting lacerating viscosity, caused the body I dreamed of Concha, with images, usually abstract, snowy parapets, scratchy caresses, to taste bread, sometimes, if the dream ended with my dreams, I fell asleep just go backto bed, before the bombing had ended and that the family in turmoil that caused them to have emerged unscathed pumps theirs, back in the basement.
He had begun to feel the itch for that evening when I discovered that Tano reddish color of the skin of the shell, which intrigued me and subdued me for days, was because the Concha took the morning sun on the terrace . We were alone, sitting on thecurb, lengthening nights guiltily as so far to get home, just not talking, derrengados, stubborn to follow in the darkness of the street only for showing that there were more men than rest of the neighborhood kids, secretly wanting to appear to Luisa to harass and geldings ear pulling. I had not thought that the shell up to the terrace to take solme did feel very silly, I experienced a devastatinginsecurity that still existed after Tano and I planeásemos surprise. That night began to itch hands, but with a diffuse sense of sin, I decided not to say anything to Luisa, or the grandfather or my father, or even Riánsares or grandmother, whom all he could and was should have. The intensity of the itching grew throughout the following days, intolerable at times, even during the preparations for...