The New York Street

Un blog lleno de historias


12 marzo, 2012

Macondo and vampires

Macondo, a painting by Graham Brown

Tenía las manos pálidas, con nervaduras verdes y dedos parasitarios, y un anillo de oro macizo con un ópalo girasol, redondo, en el índice izquierdo. La casa se impregnó a su paso de la fragancia de agua florida que Úrsula le echaba en la cabeza cuando era niño, para poder encontrarlo en las tinieblas.

Cien años de soledad, Gabo.

Macondo is a small hamlet in the middle of the Colombian Caribe. In the 60s Gabriel García Márquez put Macondo on the  map thanks to a splendid novel: Hundred Years of Solitude. The Americans got to hear for the first time about Macondo when Shakira mentioned it in one of her songs. To say the truth, most of the Hispanics in the US knew about the existence of Macondo just  because of a character in the soap opera El Cartel de los Sapos who always talked–with some contempt– about «the fucking people from Macondo«.

In Macondo, and this is something almost unknown, live the last Colombian vampire. Also the last zombie. They never get together nor talk to each other because some complication of their families, a long dispute of more than a hundred years over a bunch of banana trees. The family of the zombi had the trees over the old canal (the acequia) and the family of the vampire claimed that even if the tree belonged to the zombies, the bananas were growing over their land and were theirs. They had a couple of mini wars and a zombi almost got killed. After a last bloody incident the two families grew very distanced from each other. That was the reason why there was never in that town a kind of odd alliance between vampires and zombies like in other towns in the Caribbean Sea.

[A small tribute to Gabo, the greatest old fart. On his 80th Birthday.]


¿Qué se te puede decir a ti, familia?

Qué ofrenda

Puede pagar de vuelta

El magnífico detalle de tener un hogar.

Hermanos que te presten su tiempo

Padres que te permitan

Entretener sueños ¿Cómo decirlo?

Una familia,

Es ya un poema.

Peekskill in the Winter, Photolog








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