Rafael Barret (Short story) "The Door"

The Door.

-Yes… Leave! Leave me alone!

-Albert… Is it possible?

Seeing her so weak, so blonde, so soft, an evil desire made him repeat:

- What…? I said leave! Don’t come back!

He threw her of the cabinet, and closed the door.




An acid satisfaction rejoiced his veins of strong male. He had felt, beneath his fingers that bit, bend the childish and quivering flesh of the woman, and he had viewed that little body strait, other times throbbing of long caresses, languidly fade in the shadow.
And like a savage echo he heard still the whiplash of his own voice:

- I said leave! Don’t come back!

But he also began to hear laments that raised in his conscience… ¿To her, to her Mari so sweet, he had just the courage to punish her? And why? Why, in the middle of a tender and abandoned, he was drowned suddenly by the ferocious craving of making her suffer, of wringing the adored little heart? And a great strangeness, a great clarity emerged suddenly. No, he didn’t love her anymore. All had finished. All had died. He stood gazing at the high immobile door, and it seemed to him that it would never open again.

Behind the door, clutching her chest with moribund hands, Mari listened. It was very late at night. By the stones of the street dragged the footsteps of some beggar. Mari envied him not having more than hunger and cold. She had an horrible cold in the soul. She perceived noise of papers, of passing book pages… “He’s working” she though “Now he gets up, he paces…, comes” Mari could not breathe. “He goes, doesn’t open”. The cruel feet of Albert came and went, without pausing at the door, without wanting to reach that mute desperation, carrying the alms of peace… And the tears flowed without end, flowed burning out of the invisible fountain, wetting in the darkness the warm face, glued to the immobile door… And Mari let herself fall little by little to the bottom of her pain…

The hours took advantage of the black silence to escape pushing each other, and Albert, heady of dreams and of sadness, decided to open.

Mari, slumped on the floor, had fallen asleep. He lifted the gorgeous head of gold, soaked in sweat and in weeping, and kissed the warm half open eyes. At the light of the lamp appeared some wrinkles next to the hour tormented, from where came a vague perfume of death.

Then the man took the girl in arms, and they passed the door to enter in the real love, made of glooms, of anguishes and of flames.

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This is one of many of Barret's Short stories, aside from a great journalist he also had an incredible
literary grace and ability which i also hope to show in the blog, i think that i will post one or two articles and dedicate to the short stories for a while, i hope you will enjoy them.