Como cada mañana, antes de que la ciudad de Roma se levante, una batahola de quejidos y maldiciones la despierta. El cuerpo entumecido, las piernas y las manos heladas, un hueco en el estómago. Tendido a su lado sobre las losas frías, su padre se estremece sacudido por la tos. Otros mendigos ya rebullen. Los más madrugadores se levantan de entre la masa informe de cuerpos encogidos y saltan por encima de ellos pisando una pierna, o un brazo, sordos a las protestas y los gritos. También ella se apresura a ponerse en pie.
- Padre – dice sacudiéndolo en el hombro – me voy ya. No se entretenga, que hoy es día de mercado y vendrá mucha gente. Luego lo busco en el templo de Apolo.
Se aleja deprisa del Circo Máximo, cuyos arcos dan cobijo durante la noche a muchos miserables. Debe apresurarse, pues ya está amaneciendo y pronto la multitud ocupará las calles y le será más difícil avanzar. A esta hora tan temprana casi nadie se atreve a salir, porque apenas hay luz. Pero ella conoce el camino mejor que la palma de su mano diminuta. Y quiere llegar al basurero del Esquilino antes que los carros empiecen a arrojar los desperdicios de los banquetes de anoche. Con suerte, podrá hurgar en las carretas y evitarse el tener que andar luego revolviendo la inmundicia entre cadáveres de animales y de esclavos.
Hoy le sonríe la fortuna. A un carro se le ha roto una rueda y ha caído mucha basura al suelo: hay hojas de col en abundancia, nabos cocidos, huesos que aún tienen mucha carne. Se ve que en esa mansión no tienen perros. Y el conductor está tan enfurecido que no le presta atención. Extiende en el suelo un trozo de tela vieja y acumula en él todo su botín. Baja hacia el mercado comiendo a dos carrillos y saltando.
- ¡Compadeceos de mí, ciudadanos! – está diciendo su padre a un grupo de caballeros, apartándose los harapos del pecho –. Mirad esta cicatriz, aquí. ¿La veis? Esta herida me la hicieron mientras luchaba contra el rey Mitrídates. Tuvieron que quitarme dos costillas.
Los caballeros continúan andando, sin escucharlo. Pero él se levanta del suelo y agarra a uno por la toga.
- ¡Mira esta señal en el hombro! Fue una flecha. Y tres años más tarde me tuvieron que amputar la pierna. ¡He gastado lo mejor de mi vida luchando por Roma y ahora no puedo ni alimentar a mi hija…!
El caballero lo rechaza con un gesto y uno de sus esclavos lo tira al suelo de un empujón. La niña corre a su lado y lo ayuda a incorporarse.
- Padre – le dice acariciándole la cara –. Traigo comida.
A la sombra de las columnas del templo de Apolo, sobre las losas de mármol que pavimentan el suelo, la niña abre su hatillo. Y, con una sonrisa de triunfo, extiende ante su padre los deshechos de los ricos con los que hoy se darán un festín.
- Padre – dice sacudiéndolo en el hombro – me voy ya. No se entretenga, que hoy es día de mercado y vendrá mucha gente. Luego lo busco en el templo de Apolo.
Se aleja deprisa del Circo Máximo, cuyos arcos dan cobijo durante la noche a muchos miserables. Debe apresurarse, pues ya está amaneciendo y pronto la multitud ocupará las calles y le será más difícil avanzar. A esta hora tan temprana casi nadie se atreve a salir, porque apenas hay luz. Pero ella conoce el camino mejor que la palma de su mano diminuta. Y quiere llegar al basurero del Esquilino antes que los carros empiecen a arrojar los desperdicios de los banquetes de anoche. Con suerte, podrá hurgar en las carretas y evitarse el tener que andar luego revolviendo la inmundicia entre cadáveres de animales y de esclavos.
Hoy le sonríe la fortuna. A un carro se le ha roto una rueda y ha caído mucha basura al suelo: hay hojas de col en abundancia, nabos cocidos, huesos que aún tienen mucha carne. Se ve que en esa mansión no tienen perros. Y el conductor está tan enfurecido que no le presta atención. Extiende en el suelo un trozo de tela vieja y acumula en él todo su botín. Baja hacia el mercado comiendo a dos carrillos y saltando.
- ¡Compadeceos de mí, ciudadanos! – está diciendo su padre a un grupo de caballeros, apartándose los harapos del pecho –. Mirad esta cicatriz, aquí. ¿La veis? Esta herida me la hicieron mientras luchaba contra el rey Mitrídates. Tuvieron que quitarme dos costillas.
Los caballeros continúan andando, sin escucharlo. Pero él se levanta del suelo y agarra a uno por la toga.
- ¡Mira esta señal en el hombro! Fue una flecha. Y tres años más tarde me tuvieron que amputar la pierna. ¡He gastado lo mejor de mi vida luchando por Roma y ahora no puedo ni alimentar a mi hija…!
El caballero lo rechaza con un gesto y uno de sus esclavos lo tira al suelo de un empujón. La niña corre a su lado y lo ayuda a incorporarse.
- Padre – le dice acariciándole la cara –. Traigo comida.
A la sombra de las columnas del templo de Apolo, sobre las losas de mármol que pavimentan el suelo, la niña abre su hatillo. Y, con una sonrisa de triunfo, extiende ante su padre los deshechos de los ricos con los que hoy se darán un festín.
*Relieve. Palacio Mattei. Roma.
**Restos del Circo Máximo. Roma.
***Columnas del templo de Apolo Sosiano. Roma.
pobreza, indiferencia, hambre
pobreza, indiferencia, hambre
113 comentarios:
¡Que vida tan triste la de esa niña!.
Me ha dejado un poco triste.
Más que nada porqué un montón de siglos más tarde sigue habiendo niñas revolviendo las basuras para poder comer.
Conmovedor tu escrito, Isabel.
Un abrazo.
Siempre es el momento ideal para dejar de ser indiferentes ante el padecer de quienes nos rodean porque al fin y al cabo entre todos somos los responsables y hacedores de la historia que nos involucra...
P.D.:El padre no pudo hacer que prestaran atenciòn a sus palabras,sin embargo la niña ha logrado lo que èl no pudo... Tal reza aquel viejo dicho: "hoy por tì,mañana por mì"
Aùn confìo en que nos veremos inmersos en èste mundo solidarios!!
UN BESAZO FUERTE AMIGA MÌA :)
Mejor nombre no le pudiste haber puesto. Quien pensara que esos desechos llegan a ser la alegría de tanta gente. Conmueve tu relato.
Un abrazo con los afectos de siempre!
La miseria de los humanos, nunca fue la de los "harapos", sino la de todos aquellos que no tienen amor por el prójimo.
Una historia triste, con personajes que calan hondo en el alma.
Gracias por compartir sus maravillosos relatos con todos nosotros!!
Saludos!!
Las cosas no cambian con el tiempo...por lo que parece....triste.
Besos
Bueno, era el tributo que tenian que pagar los soldados retirados antes de tiempo, por lesiones.
Eran numerosas las pintadas como esta: "Soldado, ¿vale tu vida dos ases?"
Un abrazo.
Preciosa y emotiva Entrada Isabel... Ante la pobreza, por desgracia, muchos tienen un corazón de mármol pero a lo bruto, sin esculpir, no como este precioso alto relieve... Las fotos y tu texto como siempre perfectamente conjugados...y hermosos..
Un beso, solidaria Isabel!
Ricos y pobres ... todo sigue igual.
La gran línea que separa al ser humano...
Hola, Isabel:
Una historia hermosa y trágica, pero que nos hace caer en la cuenta de una dramática situación que ha constituido una lacra a lo largo de la historia. Besos.
Hay cosas que siguen sin cambiar con el tiempo. El hambre, la pobreza y, sobre todo, la ingratitud. Besos.
Un fresco tan actual que podría ocurrir bajo cualquier autopista. Me encantó el relato. Abrazos.
La dureza de la vida -y de los hombres- golpea siempre a los mismos, independientemente de la época y el lugar.
¿Te has planteado escribir una novela histórica? Si con un relato de tres párrafos consigues esto, imagina qué no con un libro entero.
bss
Saludos, ludwig, sé que el tema es triste, pero quería sumarme a la campaña de denuncia de la pobreza, una auténtica lacra. Y sí, los pobres de todos los tiempos han hurgado en las basuras... Besos, querido amigo.
Hola gabu, también yo creo en un mundo más solidario. El problema son esos cuantos puñados de personas que tienen el control del dinero y, con el dinero, el de millones de seres humanos. En esos es en quienes no tengo ninguna confianza ni esperanza. Besitos, querida amiga.
Hola lully desnuda, creo que esta niña representa, de algún modo, esa cierta inocencia y alegría de la infancia. Ella aún no comprende qué ocurre ni por qué ella y tantos como ella viven de ese modo miserable. Y es desde esa ignorancia que puede alegrarse por comer aunque sean las sobras. Saludos cordiales.
Hola la candorosa, creo que has señalado un aspecto muy importante, el de la miseria moral de quienes jamás piensan en los demás y, cuando lo hacen, es para explotarlos. Sin embargo, quienes sufren son los explotados... Besitos.
Después del post anterior y éste, produce penita ver que el mundo, en sus cuestiones más importantes, no ha cambiado ni un ápice: sigue igual de jodido.
Besos.
Hola fortunada, precisamente mi intención era recordar que hace más de dos mil años esto ya sucedía. Y qué nos ocurre, que hemos sido capaces de llegar a la luna o inventar esta maravilla que es internet y no somos capaces de evitar que los niños tengan que revolver en la basura. Hay mucho que meditar. Besitos.
Hola cornelivs, ese precio lo pagaban todos, creo yo, quienes debían retirarse antes y quienes lo hacían después de haber servido durante muchos años. Fue precisamente el contemplar a los veteranos y a los ciudadanos completamente pauperizados, sin futuro y sin esperanza, lo que hizo que Tiberio Sempronio Graco acometiera la célebre reforma agraria que le costó la vida. Y eso fue en el 130 a.C. Mira si ha llovido... Besitos.
Hola selma, se diría que hay muchísimos más pedazos de mármol que corazones si juzgamos por la situación de pobreza que afecta a tantos millones de personas en el mundo. Es muy doloroso. Besos.
Hola elsacelsius, sí, la del dinero es una frontera que parece que nunca se podrá derribar. Fíjate que el capital puede circular por todo el mundo y, en cambio, no pueden circular libremente las personas. Para eso sirven las fronteras. Besos.
Hola m@riel, creo que has resumido perfectamente la situación. Parece que los seres humanos no encontramos el modo de erradicar la miseria. O si lo encontramos, no conseguimos llevarlo adelante. Al menos, hasta ahora. Besos tristes.
Hola isabel, esa ingratitud es aquí muy patente, porque estos hombres, miles de hombres, luchaban lejos de sus casas y sus familias para que otros se hicieran ricos, para defender sus propiedades y sus intereses. Pero claro, ¿cómo van a sentir gratitud, si lo que creen es que los pobres han nacido únicamente para servirlos? Y la cosa sigue... Besos.
Hola fgiucich, es muy real hoy día. Y era real hace dos mil años. Ese lugar del Esquilino era un basurero y allí se tiraban, con las basuras, los cadáveres de los animales, los pobres y los esclavos. Fue el célebre Mecenas quien eliminó el basurero, saneo la zona y creo sobre ella unos jardines: los famosos jardines de Mecenas. ¿Vale decir - sin que me llaméis exagerada - que los ricos asientan sus riquezas sobre los despojos de los pobres? Besos, querido amigo.
Hola andaya, es cierto que las penas y las miserias siempre golpean a los mismos. Porque siempre hay desalmados dispuestos a despellejarlos vivos. Gracias por tu confianza en mis capacidades. Besitos, guapa.
Hola kurtz, desde luego que el mundo está fatal. Y sin embargo, sigue habiendo personas que pelean para que cambie. Entonces, en la angiüedad, y ahora. A ver si tenemos más acierto... Besitos.
Muy reflexivo y duele. Pero más me duele tanta adolescencia tonta que no quiere comer por cuestiones de vanidad de su físico, logrando enfermarse. No valoran lo que hay. Y olvidan lo que existe en este problema que sigue.
La niña de tu relato es una niña transparente.
Abrazos.
Graciela.
Pareciera que narras algo que sucedió en México, nada lejanbo de la realidad tu relato...que triste...
Saludos.
Mueve y conmueve este relato, Isabel.
Entre la tristura paternay la alegría blanca de una niña...
Mil besos!
Magnífica entrada Isabel. No hay ni un sólo aspecto de Roma que se escape a tu mirada.
Besos
Todo cambia y nada cambia, quita nombres romanos, emanescencia de lejania y esa historia se repite aquí hoy cada día...
abrazos romanos querida Isabel-
...real como la vida misma...
me alegro de tu vuelta, he ido a votar por Sofonisba...no lo he vuelto a leer, es uno de mis relatos favoritos...y se supone que estoy trabajando...buscaré el momento para volver a deleitarme con él...
besoteeee
Isabel, haz que brille el sol en Roma
Y te mando un beso para alegrarme el día
La grandeza del pasado está en ruinas no solamente por el paso del tiempo. Pero quién dijo que todo está perdido...La lucha es poesía ("tanta sangre se llevó el río, yo vengo a ofrecer mi corazón...")
Isabel, es un placer para mí que hayas venido a visitarme y nada menos que desde el blog de MaLena, que es una muestra de lo que decía: la sensibilidad y el arte como frente de resistencia frente a un mundo gótico, grotesco y bastardo que, como vemos, no muere de viejo.
Debemos construir uno nuevo sobre sus ruinas.
Besos, amiga y muchas gracias por este excelente trabajo
Cierto, hay cosas que no cambian...
A la sombra de ese templo de Apolo la niña provoca este relato tan rico, tan profundo...
Besos, amiga!
Tia, pareciera un escrito que te ha ronroneado un viejo gato! ¿Recuerdas cuando te maulle que a los poderosos siempre les cae un escriba que cuente sus grandezas y miserias, pero a los comunes y corrientes, y a los mas pobres de todos, nadie queria meter sus patas en ese terreno? Pues lo has hecho con tal maestria, que parece dictado por la mismisima Diosa Gata, la niña cuidando a su padre que ha dejado pedazos de si por un imperio que no le reconoce un apice de su valor.
Por aca, lo pasamos tratando de salvar dos vidas, felinas por supuesto, pero vidas al fin, y es que ma es cabeza dura, y hasta tanto lo logre no va a parar.
Por aca todavia hay gente que revuelve residuos y en todas partes, y contra lo que muchos de ¿pata derecha? piensan, no le han metido 24 puñaladas, sino que puede hablar con ellos, ayudarlos, y hasta se ha visto el espectaculo de ver a una señora bien vestida ayudando a alguien con el carro pesado; o que les ha conseguido material para ellos! Miss Lizzie Crabb
Siempre entretenidos relatos amenizados con hermosas fotos... (me guardo la primera, me ha gustado especialmente, hehehe)
Besitos, querida amiga...
Hola clarice baricco, desde luego quienes tienen para comer (y mucho más) y no quieren hacerlo no son plenamente conscientes de lo que hacen ni del privilegio del que disfrutan. Esas enfermedades (anorexia, etc) no se dan entre los pobres... Besos, querida amiga.
Hola armidia leticia, eso mismo he querido subrayar, la horrible prolongación de la miseria. Besitos.
Saludos almena, desde luego los niños no entienden de diferencias sociales... Besitos.
Hola anabel, gracias por tu elogio. Son los temas de actualidad los que me llevan a aquellos sucedidos hace tantos siglos. Besos.
Hola palmoba, eso es precisamente lo indignante, que estemos aún tan lejos de erradicar la pobreza. Besos.
Hola iralow, un millón de gracias por votar por Sofonisba. Ella se lo merece, más allá de las bondades o no del relato. Besos.
Hola manuel, pronto brillará el sol en Roma. Un besazo.
Bienvenido roberto esmoris lara, estoy contigo en la necesidad de construir un mundo nuevo con el esfuerzo de todos, incluido también el arte, que es un instrumento que a veces penetra con agudeza en las conciencias. Gracias por tu visita y hasta pronto.
Hola rodolfo n, el contraste entre la belleza material y las miserias de los hombres nunca dejará de asombrarme. Besos, querido amigo.
Hola alysandria fatherland. Miss Lizzie Crabb tiene toda la razón, de los pobres no hay quien hable en tanto los ricos hacen correr ríos de tinta (y de sudor y sangre por iniciativa propia). Espero que tengáis muchísima suerte en ese empeño de salvar vidas gatunas, o de cualquier ser viviente, eso hace bien al universo, tan necesitado de que exhalemos buenos sentimientos. Un abrazo enorme.
Hola pru, tú siempre hurgando por aquí a ver qué afanas...últimamente voy floja de desnudos, pero vaya, me alegro que te haya interesado el relieve. Seguramente es de un sarcófago, ahora está empotrado en uno de los muros del patio del palacio Mattei, ya sabes, el que hay frente a la fontana delle Tartarughe. Besotes.
Es una terrible realidad que a veces me cuesta trabajo entender...
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But right away I be enduring rush at to allow that the whole excellent is an enigma, a innocuous problem that is made terrible on our own fuming strive to simplify it as though it had an underlying truth.
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In every tom's life, at some pass‚, our inner foment goes out. It is then blow up into zeal by an be faced with with another hominoid being. We should all be under obligation for the duration of those people who rekindle the inner spirit
Distress ferments the humors, casts them into their proper channels, throws substandard redundancies, and helps species in those confidential distributions, without which the association cannot subsist in its vigor, nor the incarnation fake with cheerfulness.
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Be not fuming that you cannot make others as you desire them to be, since you cannot make yourself as you long to be
A likeable old majority is the prize of a well-spent youth. A substitute alternatively of its bringing sad and low prospects of decay, it would give us hopes of unwavering youth in a less ill world.
A likeable out of date majority is the award of a well-spent youth. Rather than of its bringing sad and melancholy prospects of degenerate, it would hand out us hopes of timeless stripling in a bettor world.
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The Key selling point of a Summer Time watch is that they are designer watches at an amazingly affordable price all of the range of 9 watches are only £29.99 which makes them easily accessible to all ages and makes it less than half the price of its main competitors. It is not only the price though that will make the new Summer Time watch range appeal to fashionistas and everyday people alike. All of the Summer Time watches come with thick rubber straps which come in an array of colours from pink to white and of course there is black for those people who are looking for a watch to go with every outfit. Sekonda believe that the Summer Time watch range will be as big as the Seksy range and they have back this theory up with a large advertising campaign on ITV using the black and white Summer Time watches to sponsor programs like 30 years of an audience with..
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A few days ago, we analyzed the 2010 day-dream baseball pitcher sleepers to attend in 2010. Today, we assess as a look at the more important side of the equation - fantasy baseball hitters sleepers.
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