Este gato siempre sabe a qué árbol arrimarse. Llegará a visir.
Terenci Moix, El arpista ciego.
El egiptólogo, habituado a los lamentos del vetusto edificio, distingue inmediatamente la llamada de la bestia. Otra vez un gato callejero ha debido de colarse en el edificio. El vigilante se habrá dejado una ventana abierta. “Maledetto micio”. Posa sus gafas sobre el escritorio y, hastiado, abandona los libros. Se dispone a ir en busca del intruso. Naturalmente esas actividades no entran dentro de sus competencias, pero prefiere perder el tiempo en encargarse personalmente que encontrar unos indiscretos excrementos en el lugar más inoportuno después. “Se vuoi una cosa fatta bene, falla da te”, repite la frase tantas veces escuchada en boca de su padre.
Apenas le da tiempo a distinguir el bulto con el que tropieza. No obstante percibe el familiar crujido de las vendas acartonadas, y a su nariz llega el aroma de las resinas con las que fue embalsamado. Su mente racional se rebela. Abre la boca en un reproche que la brutal caída dejará en suspenso. Durante el vuelo, el rostro ‒congelado en una última mueca de horror‒ mira hacia atrás y constata que, en efecto, es cierto.
A los pies de la escalera yace el cuerpo del arqueólogo. El cuello, partido, adopta un ángulo imposible. El cadáver mira fijamente por la ventana, hacia una luna redonda y enorme como la que lo vigilaba desde el cielo en Biban el-Harim.
Una vez la policía abandona el museo, el vigilante recoge la momia del suelo.
“Es una pieza nueva, descubierta por el difunto. Anoche la estaba catalogando. Debió de resbalársele de las manos mientras perdía el equilibrio y caía rodando. Como homenaje póstumo, pasará a sala inmediatamente”, musita consternado el director.
Los ojos del felino, hierático como en vida, refulgen victoriosos en sus cuencas vacías. Finalmente recobra el protagonismo. Tras verse despojado por los excavadores de los juguetes con los que fue sepultado para que amenizase la eternidad, él, el favorito de la reina y propietario de un vasto harén gatuno, un apreciado semental destinado a dormir, engordar y procrear, aun reducido a mojama, ha obtenido su venganza.
This cat always knows under what tree is in it's interest to get. It shall become vizier.
Terenci Moix, The Blind Harpist.
The Egyptologist, accustomed to the cries of the old building, immediately distinguishes the call of the beast. A stray cat must have sneaked into the building again. The watchman probably has left a window open. “Maledetto micio”. He puts his glasses on the desk and jaded, leaves his books. He is about to go in search of the intruder. Naturally these activities do not fall within his sphere of responsibility, but he prefers to waste his time taking charge personally of the matter instead of finding some indiscreet excrement at the wrong place later. “Se vuoi una cosa fatta bene, falla da te”, he repeats the phrase so often heard in his father's mouth.
He barely has time to distinguish the object into which he stumbles. However he hears the familiar creak of the stiff bandages. The smell of resins with which it was embalmed reaches his nose. His rational mind rebels against. He opens his mouth to articulate a reproach interrupted by the brutal fall. During the flight, his face—frozen in a last grimace of horror—looks back and finds that it is indeed true.
At the foot of the stairs lies the body of the archaeologist. His neck, broken, adopts an impossible angle. The corpse stares out the window at a round and huge moon like the moon that watched him from heaven in Biban el-Harim.
Once the police leave the museum, the watchman collects the mummy from the ground.
“It's a new piece, discovered by the deceased. Last night he was cataloging it. It must have slipped out of his hands while he lost his balance and fell rolling. As a posthumous tribute to him, it will be exhibited immediately,” director mutters sadly.
The eyes of the feline, hieratic as when it was alive, shine victorious in its empty sockets. The cat finally regains its prominence. After being stripped by the excavators of toys buried with it in order to make more pleasant the eternity, the cat, the favorite of the queen, the owner of a large catlike harem, an appreciated stallion whose only duty consisted in sleeping, gaining weight and generating kittens, even reduced to dried salted tuna, has obtained its revenge.
No comments:
Post a Comment