The carrier
He rdoesn't remember very well when he began as a carrier. When he had barely learned to walk, he began carrying a small basket full of bricks to help his family build the hut, and his hands became accustomed to receiving and giving. Later, when he was a big boy, he would carry big jugs of water for long distances. Water, for his family, for the village neighbours who were already very old...
When he was surprised by the war, he was a teenager, he also had to act as a porter. He carried messages from one side to the other, in the trenches. Messages from one brother to another. Desperate messages, messages of hope, messages of brotherly love... before dying ones in each other's hands.
He became an educated young man. And he continued to act as a porter. He learned to live in the big city and to distinguish between those who gave and those who received, and he was the common thread between them. This time it was about affection. He also learned that there are people with light. Those who give. And he also discovered that those who receive eventually become light people who help others.
After marrying and having children, he continued for many years to look for those who needed help, to make the pain more bearable the pain in difficult times.
That day, someone had asked for their help. Someone who was desperately asking a mediator to act to prevent someone else's suicide. He quickly went to the address given to him by telephone, and while driving, he repeated to himself: You are the porter, remember when you transported bricks to build...you are the porter and you have the strength to bring the hope of many people to this one who needs it in this trance...you are going to change her soul. You are going to make her live again.
When he reached the right place, a body on the ground, covered with a blanket, awaited him. A jolt pierced his soul - He couldn't believe it! His son was the one who was there, helpless, dead.
So many years, so much effort as a carrier, to find this! His hands, which had given so much, could do nothing for his son. Now he was going to need people with light, because he had fallen in an instant into the world of shadows.
He rdoesn't remember very well when he began as a carrier. When he had barely learned to walk, he began carrying a small basket full of bricks to help his family build the hut, and his hands became accustomed to receiving and giving. Later, when he was a big boy, he would carry big jugs of water for long distances. Water, for his family, for the village neighbours who were already very old...
When he was surprised by the war, he was a teenager, he also had to act as a porter. He carried messages from one side to the other, in the trenches. Messages from one brother to another. Desperate messages, messages of hope, messages of brotherly love... before dying ones in each other's hands.
He became an educated young man. And he continued to act as a porter. He learned to live in the big city and to distinguish between those who gave and those who received, and he was the common thread between them. This time it was about affection. He also learned that there are people with light. Those who give. And he also discovered that those who receive eventually become light people who help others.
After marrying and having children, he continued for many years to look for those who needed help, to make the pain more bearable the pain in difficult times.
That day, someone had asked for their help. Someone who was desperately asking a mediator to act to prevent someone else's suicide. He quickly went to the address given to him by telephone, and while driving, he repeated to himself: You are the porter, remember when you transported bricks to build...you are the porter and you have the strength to bring the hope of many people to this one who needs it in this trance...you are going to change her soul. You are going to make her live again.
When he reached the right place, a body on the ground, covered with a blanket, awaited him. A jolt pierced his soul - He couldn't believe it! His son was the one who was there, helpless, dead.
So many years, so much effort as a carrier, to find this! His hands, which had given so much, could do nothing for his son. Now he was going to need people with light, because he had fallen in an instant into the world of shadows.
El porteador
No recuerda desde cuando es porteador. Cuando apenas había aprendido
a andar, empezó llevando una pequeña espuerta con ladrillos para ayudar a su
familia a construir la choza, y sus manos se fueron acostumbrando a recibir y a
dar. Después, cuando ya era un niño grande, transportaba grandes cantaros de
agua durante largos trechos. Agua, para su familia, para los vecinos del pueblo
que ya estaban muy mayores…
Cuando le sorprendió la guerra, adolescente, también tuvo
que hacer de porteador. Llevaba mensajes de un bando a otro, en las trincheras.
Mensajes de unos hermanos a otros. Mensajes desesperados, mensajes de esperanza,
mensajes de amor fraternal… antes de morir los unos en manos de los otros.
Se convirtió en un joven instruido. Y siguió haciendo de
porteador. Aprendió a vivir en la gran ciudad y a distinguir entre los que
daban y los que recibían, y a ser el hilo conductor entre ellos. Esta vez se trataba de afecto. Aprendió también que hay
personas luz. Las que dan. Y también descubrió que aquellos que reciben se
convierten con el tiempo en personas luz que ayudan a otros.
Después de casarse y tener hijos, siguió buscando a aquellos
que necesitaban ayuda, para hacerles más llevaderos los momentos difíciles.
Aquel día, alguien había solicitado su ayuda. Alguien que
pedía desesperadamente que un mediador actuara para evitar el suicidio de otra
persona. Rápidamente se dirigió a la
dirección que por teléfono le habían facilitado, y mientras conducía, se
repetía a sí mismo: eres el porteador, acuérdate de cuándo transportabas
ladrillos para construir…eres el porteador y tienes la fuerza para llevar la
esperanza de muchas personas a ésta que lo necesita en este trance…vas a
cambiar su alma. Vas a hacer que viva de nuevo.
Cuando llegó al lugar indicado, un cuerpo en el suelo, cubierto
con una manta, le esperaba. Un sobresalto atravesó su alma. ¡No podía ser! Su hijo era
el que estaba allí, desvalido, muerto.
¡Tantos años, tanto esfuerzo de porteador, para encontrarse
con esto! Sus manos, que tanto habían
dado, no pudieron hacer nada por su hijo. Ahora él iba a necesitar de las
personas luz, porque había caído en un instante en el mundo de las sombras.
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