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Juan's grandfather's grandfather liked to bury things. In the long family history, their children and their children's children had found: the stripes of a tiger, the glasses of a Cyclops, the dictionary of a Russian doll, a piece of rainbow, two feathers of the Phoenix bird.
For years they searched for a greater treasure. They never found it. In the old house of Juands grandfatherds grandfather there is nothing left. Not even the flowers that illuminated the garden. Nor the smell of firewood that perfumed winters. Not even the laughter of the children that refreshed the summers.
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Juan goes to his grandfather´s grandfather´s house before the start of autumn, also when spring begins. He likes to wander through the undergrowth, look through broken windows, listen to the murmur of time.
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When he can, he closes his eyes and imagines. Imagine the doll that teaches Russian to the tiger. Imagine the Phoenix bird teaching the Cyclops to fly. Imagine Grandpa cutting out rainbow pieces on a ladder. Thatds enough for him: closing the eyes and imagine. «Life, how sweet life is », he thinks.
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One day, Juan looks in the mirror and does not recognize himself. Who gave him moustaches, wrinkles and grey hair? And the grey suit? And the tie? Where did his friends go, the laughter, the hugs? And the dreams that inhabited his head?
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Every day is the same now... Read the newspaper, ride the subway, smoke a cigarette, drink coffee, run from one place to another, drink coffee, smoke a cigarette, ride the subway, read the newspaper...
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Read the newspaper, ride the subway, smoke a cigarette, drink coffee, run from one place to another, drink coffee, smoke a cigarette, ride the subway, read the newspaper...
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Some afternoons, he remembers his grandfather´s grandfather. He also remembers the stripes of the tiger, the glasses of the cyclops, the dictionary of the Russian doll, the piece of rainbow and the feathers of the Phoenix bird.
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But it is nothing more than a sigh in the midst of the hurricane. Convinced that his life is there, he decides to return to his grandfather´s grandfather´s house.
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The grass has grown so high that the house has disappeared into the undergrowth, and Juan must make his way to see it again. Once in front of it, he doesndt know who has changed more: him or the house.
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Then he closes his eyes and tries to imagine, as before. But his imagination is a wasteland, a barren, a sad cellar. He no longer imagines as before. The bustle of the city has ended up emptying it.
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