Beruflich Dokumente
Kultur Dokumente
CONTENTS
Short Stories
THE BROKEN GLASS
Mara Jos Aguilar
SOMETHING YOU SHOULD KNOW
Melisa Natalia Antnez
HER ROCKING CHAIR
Roco Bonad
LIKE A ROLLER COASTER
Gabriela Yasmn Bittar
MY GUARDIAN ANGEL
Luca Campo
MATTERS OF THE HEART
Ileana Cano
THE BEST DREAM
Mara del Rosario De Munno
THE CALL
Sofa Gallardo
A SIMPLE QUESTION
Noelia Alejandra Gioia
THE GRADUATION TRIP
Tzu Ying Lee
THE PORTRAIT
Josefina Marc
IN HEAVEN
Marisol Mass
ON THE MERRY-GO-ROUND
Soledad Mercado
WHEN THE CURRENTS FLOW
Mariana Obredor
HIDDEN
Mariana Obredor
LIES, CRY, GOODBYE
Andrea Politino
THREE FISH ON MY DESK
Andrea Politino
LITTLE WARRIOR
Alejandra Palleres
MISTER, MISTER
Alejandra Palleres
PREFACE
"You write in order to change the world, knowing perfectly well
that you probably can't, but also knowing that literature is
indispensable to the world....The world changes according to
the way people see it, and if you alter, even by a millimeter,
the way...people look at reality, then you can change it.
James Baldwin
she was doing. She quietly drank her medicine, she had
tea with some cookies and went back to sleep again.
How curious! Gregory thought. This simple fever seems
to have taken away the very essence of Emily. She was
no longer talkative and cheerful. She was silent and
reticent. She had drastically changed and he prayed for
the medicine to quickly take effect so she would be the
same bright girl he knew, instead of this unknown dark
and mysterious child lying in bed. He let the child sleep
for as long as she needed to. She slept until the
afternoon, getting up from time to time to go to the
bathroom. The very last time she got up, Gregory heard
her calling him. She urged him to her room.
Whats wrong? Are you not feeling better? Do you
want me to call the doctor again? Gregory asked.
No, Daddy. Im okay. Im calling you because of
something else, Emily replied.
What is it?
Would you stay with me until Im okay? Or at least
until you make sure Im asleep again? I dont like being
alone Daddy. I know you may have other things to do
now, but please just a few minutes, would you stay with
me? Please? Emily asked her father.
A gigantic tight knot grew in Gregorys throat. An
uncontrollable tremor shook his very soul and it was
visible in his face. He had to look away for a few
minutes to hide the storm of nightmares that tormented
and terrified him. Hearing her childs plead was like
going thirty years back in time and he could see himself
as a child falling asleep all alone, crying until his swollen
eyes would hurt, and falling asleep between sobs. He
could hear himself praying not to God but to his father to
come back. Gregory hated being without him more than
They just sat for some time. Everybody in the room had
waited for her to speak up. He did not want to hear
about her whole life now. He just wanted to know only
about that part of her life that concerned him, that
explained how he had ended up with Rosa and Pablo.
Well, you were born when I was thirty-five. She
cleared her throat. Your father was my second
husband, and he left the minute I got pregnant. Back
then, I was alone, my parents were both dead and I was
staying with a relative. I knew from the start that you
were going to be special. I could feel it in my womb that
you were going to be someone different, that you were
going to change my life. I was unprepared for the shock
of being told my baby had Down Syndrome.
As if they were the only two people in the room, he felt
her words were only his. She talked to him as if her
family was not there. She wiped tears from her eyes.
Thomas could only picture her regretting having had him
in the first place. Then, feeling ashamed of his being
hers.
I knew so little about it and I was overpowered
by fear It frightened me to death not knowing howto
take care of you overwhelmed by feelings of loss
guilt, fear think of all the problems ahead how I
would take care of you her voice trembled, as if she
had anticipated for a moment that these words were not
going to repair what she and Thomas had lost.
Some pieces of her speech were the only words
Thomas could capture. Thoughts inside his mind spun
rapidly, round and round.
asked
in
even when she gave her the doll, the candy and the
domino set. Not letting herself be that easily
discouraged, she left the gifts on the floor, next to
Anastasia, and sweetly told her she was going to be
inside the house in case she needed anything. But
Anastasia remained speechless for two weeks which
seemed endless to Ursula.
During that day, she wandered around the house,
getting acquainted with its rooms. The dining room had
only a small table with three chairs, and it was the first
room you got to as soon as you stepped into the house.
The kitchen was on the left corner, and was connected
to the dining room by a swinging door. On the right-hand
corner there was a single chesterfield facing a small
fireplace, which Ursula took as the living room. On the
mantelpiece there were two china figurines, one of
which seemed very old since it was chipped all over. On
one of the walls there were two shelves with books.
There was a door frame in a corner of the living room
with no door which led to the hallway into which four
doors converged.
In her attempt to discover what was in every single
room, Ursula opened each door and peeked in. The first
was her aunt and uncles room, since there was a big
wooden bed and two night tables at each side. There
was also a chiffonier facing the bed and a mirror
hanging on the wall next to it. She got goosebumps at
the thought of how timeless this room looked. The
second was the bathroom, and the third one was the
sewing room. To her relief, there was a bed there, a
small wardrobe, and a chair. For a moment she felt she
had found her place in the house, and sighed. Then she
MY GUARDIAN ANGEL
Lucia Campo
Lucia Campo was born and raised in Mendoza,
Argentina. Her father is an accountant; her mother is
history teacher and she has four siblings. She attended
Reyes Catlicos Primary School in Godoy Cruz and
Ernesto Prez Cuesta Secondary School. After
receiving primary and secondary education, she entered
Universidad Nacional de Cuyo to study at English
Teacher Training College She is a current third year
student who found herself sharing the marvellous
experience of writing a short story. My Guardian Angel
in which she wants readers to share her insight into
what life really is, and the difficulties each person
eventually faces.
Why do you think we are here all Doc? my
amusing little friend asked me once.
You mean on earth? Well I believe that we are
here to reach out to one another and take care of each
other. Once, when I was your age, I was trying to grab
the cookie jar from the kitchen counter. In a blink of an
eye, the jar slipped out of my hands and broke in little
pieces. My grandma saw this and told me something
that would always etch on my memory Reach out your
hand, if your cup is empty. And you know what Rose?
She was right. Against all odds, we reach out to one
another. What do you think Rose?
I remembered I had promised her then that I would take
care of her and would not let anything happen to her.
But now I didnt know if I would be able to keep my
***
Wafiya, I heard a man saying gloomily. Wafiya,
darling, can you hear me?
I slowly opened my eyes and saw a mans wrinkled face
looking at me. It was Fakhir. At first I thought it was
someone else because I had never seen those wrinkles
in his eyes.
What happened? I asked him trying to figure out
why I was dressed in my sleeping clothes.
You fainted at the airport, remember? he said.
Immediately, everything came to my mind. But I was
afraid of saying anything.
Fakhir looked at me and said, I know all about it. Asim
told me. You know whats going to happen, right? he
said in anguish, which surprised me. My biggest fear
had been Fakhir finding out that Nailah had escaped; I
had imagined the worst reaction. But everything turned
out different from what I had expected, and that was
even more confusing. Fakhir continued, Nothing is
going to happen. This is her decision. Imagine if people
knew about this, and for the first time in many years I
saw my husbands eyes filled with tears. I did not
recognize this new man in front of me, but his eyes full
of tears made me feel safe because I knew that he was
not angry, but sad.
Nailahs space was left for the others to have more
room. I put her stuff in a box and kept it in my room
inside an ancient wooden closet. Every now and then I
used to go over her stuff and think about her; and when I
did that I felt a slight pain in my chest. I had so many
in bed and all you could hear was his uneven breathing.
The room was almost dark and Nailah knelt down and
sat next to her father. She said shyly, Dad? Can you
hear me? Its me, Nailah.
Fakhir slowly opened his eyes and barely smiled. He
tried to move his hand but it seemed it was too heavy for
him to move it on his own. He closed his eyes again.
She raised her eyes and saw me at the door looking at
both of them, crying. I nodded so that she knew she
could take her fathers hand in hers. Fakhir opened his
eyes one more time when he felt his daughter holding
his hand. Fakhir tried to speak but he could not, so he
lifted his hand away from Nailahs and pointed to the old
closet in our room. Nailah looked at the closet and then
at her father, but did not know what to do. She just held
his hands and said, Forgive me, dad. Please, forgive
me. Fakhir looked at Nailah, smiled and closed his
eyes one last time.
After the funeral, I took Nailahs box from the closet in
my room and gave it to her.
She went through her stuff and said, Whats this?
holding up a yellowish envelope with her name on it.
I said, I dont know. Ive never seen it before.
Nailah opened it and there was a letter inside. The letter
was from Fakhir:
Dear Nailah,
A mans heart is sometimes too small to
store the many things he most worships and cherishes.
You are one of them. When you left you took a piece of
my heart with you and I wondered so many times why
you made that decision.
close. She was crying. The babys eyes met hers; she
loved that girl more than her own life.
She woke up with a pounding heart, sweating all over.
Her lip quivered and then her eyes brimmed with tears.
She had been able to see the baby perfectly; her sweet
smile, her luminous eyes, her stubby nose and her
golden hair. She felt the joy of holding the baby. She
could feel again, the power of the moment she had had
with the baby girl. However, while she was thinking
about her dream, a disquieting thought abruptly struck
her. She had had a wonderful and vivid dream; however,
she would not be able to have this baby. She would not
be capable of raising it. She could not be a mother. She
had so many dreams and they would be impossible to
attain with a child. She began to get dressed. She was
going to carry out the abortion.
Eliza, will you have breakfast? her mother asked
her when she was about to leave.
No, mom, I am leaving, she answered in a low
voice.
Eliza wanted to hide her tearful, distraught look and her
lean body from her mother. Eliza knew how devoted her
mother was. She knew her flawlessly as every mother
knows her child. A strong bond existed between them.
As she walked through the kitchen, she greeted her
mother and left.
***
As she walked, she noticed winter was near, yet it was
still a brilliant autumn day. The streets were full of yellow
THE CALL
Sofa Gallardo
Sofa Gallardo, best known as Sophie, was born in
Mendoza in 1990. She decided she wanted to become
an English Teacher in her last year at high-school. In
order to fulfill her dream she entered College in 2008
where she got in contact with some of the most
renowned works of English Literature and developed
the habit of writing. A positive and optimistic young
woman, Sophie loves listening to music and going out
with friends. She lives according to her personal outlook
on life: at the age of 20, she emphasizes the importance
of considering every single day as the last one, since
you never know what may happen tomorrow. The
Call, her first short story, explores a father-daughter
relationship, showing how unpredictable life can
sometimes be.
There are some events which can dramatically change
peoples lives. Some events, particularly those we can
call tragic, can affect a person so deeply that they will
radically transform their lives. This was what happened
to Francis Griffith, manager of a successful publishing
company, a grey, showery morning in July.
It was half past six in the morning, and Francis was
already awake. He was still recumbent on his doublebed, wearing his blue striped pajamas, watching the
news on his LCD screen. His pale blue eyes, particularly
that morning, were close-set. Next to him, there was his
treasured notebook, which was on in fact it was never
off-, and his other half, his cell-phone. He also had lots
A SIMPLE QUESTION
Noelia Alejandra Gioia
Noelia Alejandra Gioia was born in Mendoza City. She
loves listening to music in her free time. Since her
adolescence, Noelia has been interested in learning and
speaking different languages and getting to know about
different cultures. This led her to study English at
Teacher Training College, UNCuyo, to become a
professional teacher. She is also planning to travel to an
English speaking country next winter. Through her short
story A Simple Question, Noelia would like to invite
readers to reflect upon a universal emotion: jealousy.
With her work, she wishes to encourage young people
to leave competitiveness aside and make an effort to
build up a better future for all.
A long busy motorway partially covered by fresh red
blood was the scene of the accident she could see on
the TV screen. Poor young woman! She had many
years ahead! was Mariahs logical conclusion.
***
Mariah was in her modest rented house on Pablo
Vargas Street. She was listening to the news about the
eighteen year old woman who tragically died after being
hit by a car. Mariah was eighteen, too. Her goal was to
study at university and start a successful career the
following year. Mariah wanted to become a professional
psychologist. Mariah was so worried She thought: Will
it be hard? Will I pass the entrance examination? Well,
at least I will have the time to study But Mariah still
had to finish her French course this summer. She was
near the doorway, Alice waited for her father until the
last moment. She knew that he would not come to see
her off as her friends parents did. Illusion will never
change into something real, she murmured when she
stepped into the Boeing 747. Alice pulled down the blind
and turned her head to the left. She looked at her two
friends who were cheerfully planning what they were
going to do as soon as they reached the beach and
again, her thoughts flew away. She remembered the first
day they met.
It had been almost three years ago, on the first day of
her high school life. Weirdly, her father had
accompanied her to school that day. She was
delightedly uneasy and when they were in front of the
school, she hesitated for a few seconds and quickly
entered the big stone building, alone, without saying
goodbye to him. The school was very crowded. She kept
tugging at her long black hair and her small fragile body
was tense. She did not know what to do there, alone,
without company. Glancing at the girls who were talking
to their parents, she was impressed by their excited
faces and high pitched laughter. She wondered why
they were not nervous like her. The bell rang. She knew
she should go into one of those classrooms but she did
not know which. Biting her nails, she looked, with
puzzled eyes, at the girls, teachers and parents who
were going in and out of the classrooms. Suddenly, she
felt that someone was touching her hair and turned back
carefully. It was a beautiful blonde girl. There was a
sweet smile on her face and she winked at Alice. A small
red headed girl was standing next to her and she was
smiling too. They stared at Alice for a few seconds and
nobody said anything. The bell rang again.
THE PORTRAIT
Josefina Marc
Josefina Marc is a young committed student of English
who was born in Mendoza. She is easy to like and a
friendly person; those close to her describe her as a
kind-hearted and loyal friend. A passion for singing and
playing the guitar is another personal trait of Josefinas,
which lets us identify the work here presented as hers.
In the following story she reveals a soft spot for writing
about peoples inner processes of maturation and selfdiscovery. Josefina has previously written other stories,
which lets us see how much she likes writing. Enjoy her
work as much as she enjoyed writing it.
She was trying to stay awake as she stood in line
waiting to check in for her flight. Shed rather have taken
a later flight, but she was too eager to see her new
niece. Her sister lived in Buenos Aires, quite far from
Mendoza, and it had become even further away since
her niece was born.
It hadnt even dawned yet. She looked at her ticket once
again to check the departure time as she rubbed her
eyes and tried not to yawn again; but it was useless.
The woman behind her threw a piercing glance at her
from head to toe as she shifted her weight and pushed
the guitar strapped to Ninas shoulder slightly. Sorry,
Nina said in a low voice, still hoarse from the lack of
sleep. The heavy woman frowned and looked away.
Guess waking up early gets everyone in a grumpy
mood, Nina thought, annoyed.
her; how she had taken him for granted and neglected
him; how she had then realized she needed him more
than she knew and how he had said it was too late. How
she hadnt been able to get her life together ever since
and had not even been capable of writing songs, which
was the only way in which she could express herself.
Her parents had always told her that she should pursue
a more respectable career than being a musician, it was
too unstable an industry, but she had always trusted her
songs would take her far. And now she had lost the
comfort of knowing that. She was helpless. As she
thought about this, she felt her throat close and her eyes
about to water, but she made a real effort not to cry, not
in front of strangers, not in a public place.
She got on the plane and took her seat by the window,
as she had chosen. She always did, actually. She just
loved to look at the desert like land and then the city as
they got further and further away from it. She always
found inspiration there. However, this time she only felt
as if she didnt belong in this world, looking at all those
tiny houses that now looked like the toys she used to
play with in her childhood. The fields almost entirely
covered with the rich browns and deep greens of the
vineyards seemed so far away from her, so
unreachable. The sun was just rising, pouring its yellow
and orange light into the fields as if it were liquid gold. It
was an exquisite sight, really. Then, how come it didnt
move her at all? How come it didnt stir up her senses
and make her imagination fly as it had so many times
before? Annoyed, Nina shut the window screen down
and turned her head over to drift into sleep. Two hours
later, she was woken up by the soft, impersonal voice of
the flight attendant telling her to please wake up and
straighten her seat. They were about to land.
She got off the plane and went straight to claim her
luggage. The faster she did this, the faster she would
get to her sisters and to her niece and she would feel
real happiness for a change. While she waited, she
looked around the room a few times, pretending to be
searching for something, to see if the mysterious man
with gray eyes was there. Useless. Nowhere to be seen.
Maybe she had imagined him. Maybe she was just
confused from the tremor, or perhaps she had imagined
the startled look on his face and was brooding about
something that hadnt even happened. It was something
she would do actually, quite frequently. Her mind was
like a complicated, ever working maze, and she always
took things, turned them upside down and inside out in
ways that could drive her crazy at times. She decided
not to do that this time. She was in Buenos Aires to
meet her niece and have fun and stop thinking about her
issues so much; she definitely should not worry about a
strange person before setting foot in the city. Besides, it
looked like she had something else to worry about.
Almost everyone in the room had already gotten their
bags and left, and there were only three pieces of
luggage moving around and around on the conveyor
band. None of them was hers. She glanced around to
see if anyone had taken her suitcase by mistake and left
it there. Nothing. She felt a knot in her stomach. Her
hands broke into a cold sweat. Where was it? What was
she supposed to do now? She waited a little longer, her
foot tapping on the concrete floor impatiently. Maybe it
was still on the plane. But a few minutes later, the few
people left in the room had gone away and there she
was, waiting for her bag in an empty room, looking at
the one suitcase left there swiveling round, making her
dizzy. Impulsively, she finally joisted it over her shoulder
Very well, miss, he said, as if feeling selfcontempt. There is no problem really. This is, in fact,
your suitcase.
Nina looked at him as if he were kidding her. She was
so annoyed by his silly, proud face that she could have
easily exploded right there and sent the man to hell.
Instead, she took a deep breath, and counted to ten;
she was not sure she could solve the problem all by
herself.
Im sorry, she said, in the most polite manner she
could manage. But this is really, really not my bag.
There must be a mistake. This bag is not mine.
Yes, it is. Your ticket and the ticket on the bag
match. It has to be your bag. There is no other way
around this, miss.
He looked a little bit confused at first, but now that he
had explained to her that he had a real reason, a fact, to
support his point, he seemed proud of himself once
again.
Now, hurry away, come on. I have to work, young
lady. Good-bye, you can thank me later.
And with this, he was off to somewhere else and Nina
was left standing alone once again, puzzled as ever.
She didnt know what to do. How had this happened?
How come she had someone elses ticket and not hers?
Had the person with her ticket taken her bag home? But,
why? All these ideas stormed her mind. She felt
overwhelmed and puzzled, shaken by an earthquake
stranger stepped into her life with his dark hair and his
spelling eyes... She looked for her cell phone and made
the call.
"Hey Anna, yes, yes Im fine. How are you? Great.
Look, theres been a little delay at the airport, so Ill be
getting there this evening. No, I don t know the reason. I
know... Its a bummer. Don t worry. I ll take a cab. See
you tonight. Give Lilly a kiss for me, ok? Bye."
She went straight outside the airport, took a taxicab to
the subway station, onto Constitucin. Then walked
twenty blocks up to San Telmo. The weight of the black
suitcase and the guitar on her back made it difficult for
her to walk fast, but she was determined to get there no
matter what, and she actually didnt have that much
money with her, so she was forced to walk. By the time
she reached San Telmo, she was extremely hot. She
stopped at a corner to catch her breath and saw herself
reflected on the glass window of a shop: the long braid
on her back was almost undone and most of her brown
wavy hair hung loosely and messily around her tired
face. She straightened her clothes and arranged her
hair the best she could and entered the district. She had
never been there before. Not on any of her trips to
Buenos Aires, though she had always wanted to. It was
such a beautiful place, and it took her by surprise when
she turned a corner. So much that she suddenly forgot
about her hurry to get to where she was going. She
noticed the narrow and crooked streets, its paving
stones shinning here and there under the summer sun.
Nina moved through the small crowds of people, many
of them tourists. She could hear several different
languages being spoken as she walked the streets. She
could hear music playing everywhere, especially the
Nina was already guessing what the name was, and she
felt equally disturbed and fascinated by the whole idea.
Well, of course, the name is Nina. But there is
something else. Im an artist, you see, a painter. And I
have been looking for inspiration for months and havent
found anything that moves me. All I can think about is
the dream, and it wont go away. I cant paint, I cant
explain it either.
Nina nodded. She knew all about lack of inspiration. She
had been so obsessed with losing her boyfriend that she
hadnt been able to write in months. She hadnt even
been able to sing either, really. She had proved her
parents right. The music industry was too unstable, and
she should pursue a more "serious" career. But from the
moment she had found the suitcase, she had been
feeling differently. She had felt there is mystery in life,
that there are questions yet to be answered. She had to
find the answers, and she would do it through her music.
She drew her hand close to her guitar still strapped to
her back and felt relieved to have it there with her.
So, one day, last week, I took this obsession of
mine, and painted it. And then I saw you, and realized...
Look, I thought I didnt believe in destiny, until today... It
is inside that suitcase. I think we should open it now.
Pedro stared at her, waiting for an answer.
Nina was sitting very still on her chair, and nodded
quietly. Pedro opened a drawer and took a golden key,
lifted the black suitcase and put it on the table. The key
went smoothly into the padlock and opened it. As he
lifted the lid, she could see a strikingly beautiful oil
painting of a woman, her wavy long brown hair floating
lightly, her big light brown eyes looking down, her long
lashes protecting them, smiling with her full lips and a
small brown mole on her chin. Pedro, who was standing
very close to Nina, looked at her with wide eyes. She
was bending over the picture, so close she could almost
touch it; her wide brown eyes very open, her long brown
hair hanging over her shoulders, her mouth half open,
her left hand finger touching the little mole on her chin.
IN HEAVEN
Marisol Mass
Marisol Mass is a new young writer who enjoys
reading and writing. Inspired by her desire to know what
the lyrics of the songs of her favourite bands said and
by the influence of one of her childhood English
teachers, she has dreamed of becoming an EFL teacher
since she was thirteen years old. Ever since, she has
done her best in order to accomplish her goal. Despite
the fact that she had never studied English before
entering college, she has made her way through her
studies without difficulties, proving how determined and
committed to her vocation she is. When she is not busy
with college, she relaxes by meeting her friends and
practising yoga. She has recently written her first short
story, in which she presents a woman who is facing the
loss of her mother and learns an important lesson from
an unexpected person.
It was 11 am and Claire was still in bed. Her puffy eyes
were fixed on the portrait of her mother, on the righthand side night table beside her bed. She contemplated
the photo in silence with an expression of fear in her
face, fear of ever forgetting her mothers face. A couple
of months before, her mother had died after a bitter
battle against cancer. Claire felt an aching emptiness in
her heart when she thought of everything she would not
be able to share with her mother, both her achievements
and her failures. And of course, she missed her
dreadfully; she needed her love and affection more than
ever.
ON THE MERRY-GO-ROUND
Soledad Mercado
Soledad Mercado was born and raised in Mendoza. She
is currently pursuing her university studies, having
chosen the English-teaching career. In her spare time,
she enjoys listening to music, taking walks, reading and
writing. Even though she is reflexive and quiet, she has
plenty of things to say in her story. She became actively
involved in the adventure of writing a very deep short
story which, in an extremely appealing way, presents
the story of a young medical student whose sister died
when he was only five. Nick had struggled to hide his
pain throughout his life, but when he learned of a little
girl who reminded him of his dead sister, he was forced
to confront his sorrowful past and his overprotective
parents.
Why do you study medicine? a girl asked
spontaneously as she sat in front of him in the school
cafeteria. This was the hardest question for Nick to
answer. He wanted to say: Id like to treat people, to
make them feel better. But the words that came out of
his mouth were: Well, you know doctors are very
popular among women.
The girl replied with a nervous giggle. Uh huh, the
typical reaction to my clever remarks, Nick thought. He
was looking at the girl nowexamining her, rather. At
first, she had appeared attractive to him. She had a
narrow waist and large blue eyes, but beyond that she
was an ordinary girl. It was obvious that she didnt take
care of herself: not a drop of make up on her face and
Nick hadnt really tried to talk about this with him. The
only time he had attempted to bring up the subject, his
father had given him a dreadful look, put on his
extremely white coat and left for the hospital.
It was unusual that he had thought of Sophie. It had
been years since the last time he had spent more than a
minute thinking of her. Long before, Nick had given up
on the idea of reconstructing Sophies face or voice, or
laughter, or crying. There were no tracks of Sophies
existence in Nicks house, no pictures, no drawings, no
clothes, no toys, no memoriesThe only image that
remained on Nicks mind was that of the last time he
had seen her at hospital. She was lying on a white cold
bed, too big for her small fragile body. Nick had only
been able to catch a glimpse of her from the door before
her mother took him away from the room. A pale small
face with shut eyes under blonde curls was the only
memory Nick had of his sister. He had not been at her
funeral either. Children dont go to funerals, his parents
had said. Shortly after the ceremony, his mother had
redecorated the entire house and turned Sophies room
into a huge dressing room. His father decided to get a
job in a different hospital and he stopped performing
operations on children. They had started a new life and
Sophie was never mentioned again at the Richards
house.
What a handsome young man we have here to
accompany us for lunch, Rita! exclaimed a very old
nurse with thick blue eyeliner, violet eye shadow and
bright red lipstick that went beyond the edges of her
mouth. Nick almost lost his appetite at her sight, but he
was polite and remained seated while the two women
struggled to place their broad hips on the narrow chairs.
Are you one of the new boys? the one called Rita
asked, grinning widely.
Yes, Im starting my residency today, Nick
answered in a serious tone. Sometimes, only
sometimes, he wished he would not call womens
attention so much. He could not even walk in front of a
secondary school without annoying teens following him
each time he wore his sport black sleeveless T-shirt.
Luckily, the security guys at the gym did not let anyone
without a membership card enter the building. Yet, he
could not really blame those girls. After all, there was
only one, unique, tremendously sexy Nick Richards in
the world, as he often told himself.
Have you seen that little girl that has just been
transferred, the one with leukaemia? asked the nurse
with the thick blue eyeliner. Its such a pity, shes so
little. I hope she can make it, poor thing.
No, not really. She must be somebody elses
patient, Nick answered, trying to sound detached.
Poor girl, I feel so sorry for her. Its not the first girl
with leukaemia I see, but I think its been a long time
since the last time I saw someone so pale and so
lifeless! Shes so thin. The parents are from a very small
village and they didnt know her daughter was sick with
cancer. They waited too long to bring her here.
Nick wished they would talk about something else. The
idea of a pale sick little girl reminded him of Sophie and
this was a happy day and he did not want his happiness
to be spoiled. He had never wanted, as a matter of fact.
He finished his lunch quickly, said good bye politely to
the old nurses and continued working and meeting new
patients.
Luckily, his father did not notice that he had come home
with a torn shirt and that he had spent a hundred dollars
on alcohol.
By Monday, everything was over. Nick had spent all
Saturday sleeping and all Sunday on the beach with
some friends. He went to the hospital and he thought he
would have a normal day helping other surgeons and
studying cases. He had managed to keep Sophie out of
his mind until lunch time, when the old nurses met him
again. This time the news they brought was even worse
than before. The only chance the little child with
lymphocytic leukaemia had to survive was a bone
marrow transplant. She had been put first in the national
list of organ transplantation. When Nick heard the news,
he felt the urgent need to see the girl. He was about to
get up, with a weight on his chest choking him, when the
nurses looked at him and asked him what he thought.
He could only say that he was very sorry and that he
hoped the girl had some relative who could be a suitable
donor. After that, they started talking about their sons
and daughters and ex-husbands. Nick deliberately took
part in their conversation and gradually his chest felt
released. However, later, when he was looking for a
doctor, he entered a mistaken room. It was the little sick
girls room. The sight of the small defenseless child in a
huge white bed with lots of catheters coming out of her
thin pale body broke Nicks heart. Sophie, he
whispered slowly. Then he closed his eyes tightly and
fought warm tears back. He swallowed the lump in his
throat, looked down and silently left the room. All the
way back home, he thought of Sophie lying on the white
bed, the blonde curls on top of her eyes, the extremely
pale skin. More memories came to his mind: his parents
arguing the day after the operation; the sound of his
that hell. It was for your own sake that we did what we
did.
Oh, really? Well, thank you then. But Ive been
living in a private hell of my life. Ive got this terrible
wound in my heart that you and mom never let heal!
Nick screamed, pounding his chest.
You have a wound that never healed? Dr.
Richards cried out. Let me tell you about my pain too.
He left his desk and taking Nick by the shoulders said:
You dont get it! I was one of the consultants, I had
decided to wait. It was my own daughter I let die! Dr
Richards broke down in tears and fell to the floor.
Nick was aghast at his fathers unexpected behaviour.
He swallowed the lump on his throat, composed himself
and tried to reassure his father.
Dad? Listen. It wasnt your fault. Im sure you did
your very best, said Nick quietly. He then placed his
right hand on his fathers shoulder as smoothly as he
could. Seeing that he did not push him aside, Nick
lowered himself to the floor and hugged his father.
After a while, his father mumbled that Nick had been the
donor to Sophie, but the probability of success had been
too low, only fifty per cent. Sophies blood was a rare
type and it had seemed pointless to risk Nicks
wellbeing. They had hoped that a more suitable donor
would appear soon, but by the time a donor appeared
Sophie was too weak to endure the surgery.
Fifty per cent is not zero per cent. It could have
been enough, Nick, Dr. Richards sobbed.
I dreamt about Sophie the other night, Nick said,
with a dreamy gaze into space. She was beautiful and
A VALUABLE FRIEND
Ana Paula Riveros
Paula Riveros has always wanted to be a teacher and
still recalls how much she enjoyed playing to be one
when she was a little girl. When she was fifteen, she
decided to combine her passion to teach with her love
for English. It was as if everything clicked, she says.
Something similar seems to happen to the character in
her first short story, A Valuable Friend. It is a touching
story in which she explores the value of friendship in the
context of difficult childhood experiences.
It was a summertime Monday morning, the hot sun
could already be felt but a cool summer breeze had
come up creating an ideal atmosphere for five fourteenyear-old teenagers to meet up in a park and play the
usual Sunday-morning football match. Of course, there
was the normal tension that comes in football games.
But with Walter in the team, that tension was much
higher.
Hey Paul, what are you doing? If youre gonna
play like that, you better not play. You definitely are a
bad player, said Walter shouting. You Paul go to the
goal and you Martin play in his position, he bullied.
After several similar interruptions with Walter bellowing
here and there and after several brief scuffles between
them, one of the boys tried to deliver a long ball to the
central striker, Martin, but he failed. The ball soared
through the bright blue sky until it fell to the ground.
Perfect! Thats all I needed. I better pick it up myself in
GILAD
Anita Voloschin
Anita Voloschin was born and raised in Mendoza.
Among many other hobbies, Anita enjoys painting and
reading literature. At a very young age, she discovered
her passion for the English language, which she
decided to combine with teaching. That is why she is
currently studying to become an English teacher at
Universidad Nacional de Cuyo. Last summer, she
visited Israel and she was impressed by the stories that
her friends told her there. Inspired by her experiences in
Israel and attracted to short story writing, she wrote this
marvelous story which reveals the experience of a
young soldier, Gilad, as he joins the Israel Defense
Forces.
To my beloved fiends and brave members of the Israel
Defense Forces (
) Ilai, Alon, Rodrigo and
Alejandro, who fight to defend my Israel.
Gilad had waited for this day to come for many years;
his mother, his father and his great-grandparents had
been in the army as well. When he was a little child he
loved to hear his father telling him tales about his
grandpa Itzjak during the War of Independence. He had
grown up knowing that when he turned eighteen he
would have to become a soldier, and he was proud of it,
as most of his friends were. He was proud because he
knew he was going to defend his country, he was going
to fight for his Israel as many others had done for many
years. He had been notified that he was going to be a
member of the Ground Forces, of the Armored Corps.
He was going to drive a tank, the tanks which lead the
ground Forces at the front, the ones that become the
that all the soldiers are out there fighting to defend our
State and above all, to defend all of us.
He blinked several times to clear his sight. He had found
peace in her words, in her gentle touch.
I wish I could take you with me tomorrow.
He knew he was not going to see her again, he had to
go back to the base and he would have to be there for
two full weeks.
I know, I would like it as well Im going back to
London this week but Im coming back next summer,
Im going to live here, you know
***
He was sitting on the highest part of the tank
surrounded by people, screams and sand. He was
holding his green metal box; everything in the army
seems to have a green shade: pale green, dark green.
He was sitting covered by his talit, protected underneath
it, and he was putting his tefilims on. His father had
given him that little metal box some days before he left
his house to join the army. He remembered how young
he was at that time, only 18 years old; he had been a
soldier for two years now. That night, two long years
ago, his father told him that in that box he should carry
bits and pieces of his life in order to never feel alone.
Inside the box he had packed his talit, his tefilims, a
small prayers book and some pictures. He had closed
the box, he had thought for a moment, he had opened
the box again; there was something missing in it. He
added two more things, a key and a toothbrush.
The key was his house key. When he was packing his
belongings he had packed the key without thinking
about it. He was so used to carrying it in his pocket that
it would feel empty and bare without its weight. Many
times he had grabbed that key as if he were holding his
mothers hand, his fathers arms, but this sunny morning
he needed them more than ever. He was sitting on the
highest part of the tank and he felt homesick, he felt the
sky was hanging heavily over him, the sun blinded his
eyes and the sand seemed to laugh at him, showing him
how far away he was from home. He held the key tightly
in tired and dirty hands. He looked inside the metal box
and searched for the toothbrush. When his hand found
it, his eyes filled with tears and his mouth curved into a
sad smile. He closed his eyes and he was suddenly in
Liats apartment again and he could clearly see her
sleeping peacefully, waking up and yawning, brushing
her teeth, being as beautiful as ever before. That
morning he had laughed at her because of the
toothbrush since it was bright pink and had pictures of
the Disneys princesses. He remembered how happy
they were, how she had laughed, how she had given it
to him with a smile and a kiss, he heard her voice inside
his head.
Take this with you, in that way youll be able to
come back to this very moment anytime you want to.
He opened his eyes and looked around him, the dream
was over and he was sitting in the highest part of the
tank. He folded the talit and put off the tefilim. He put
away the key and the toothbrush and he wondered
about how such simple objects were so important for
him. He climbed down the tank and looked for his
THE ENTERTAINER
Valentn Cappadona
Valentn Capaddona is a young creative artist. This
twenty-year-old devotes most of his time to developing
his innate artistic talent. In his spare time, not only does
he take dance and drama classes, but also teaches hiphop. On weekdays, he attends the EFL Teacher Training
College at UNCuyo, where he has also developed his
artistic creativity and his language skills to the fullest
through the writing of two lyric poems. In his
autobiographical poem To Whom It May Concern,
Valentn gives us a vivid account of his personal life as
a young adult, while in his poem entitled The
Entertainer, he presents an optimistic view of himself in
his role as an artist.
I am a blessed unfortunate soul
and a magician of tricks as effective as old;
a clown that serves his most desired drink with cold
trembling hands,
a child whose reflection in the mirror cannot withstand;
a shadow that will soon fade away into the mist
as if tired now to resist,
and it desists.
And Ill jump out of a gable,
Ill finally abandon this old cradle,
leaving a scream echoing in the ears of time,
so loud that it will surpass the sublime.
Ill finally make my own way,
hoping you could understand me some day
not asking me to stay.
THE LESSON
Mara Mercedes Crayon
A lover of nature and animals, Mercedes Crayon is a
current student of English at Universidad Nacional de
Cuyo. She describes herself as a very lively and happy
person. She has lots of energy and plans for her future;
among other things, she would like to be an interpreter
and a college teacher. As all good poets do, Mercedes
releases her emotions through writing. In The Lesson,
Mercedes advises her readers to follow her motto of
living life with intensity and never stop learning. Her
other poem He Was and He Is a very touching one
- is dedicated to her father, who passed away when she
was still in secondary school.
Learn that love and hate
are two sides of the same coin.
War goes with calm hate,
and peace goes with killing love.
Learn that helpful and harmful people
are always there around the world.
Respect and admire the helpful,
and to the harmful do not say a word.
Remember that crying and laughing
are real expressions of your heart.
Laugh till your cheeks hurt
and never cause somebody harm.
Learn to think and then talk,
train yourself as a sport.
Talk only to construct
HE WAS AND HE IS
Different life was,
when I was younger.
He Was
the tender sunset in the
morning
the warm Sun at noon,
the sweet soft breeze in
the evening,
the wonderful dawn in
the afternoon.
He Was
the lovely birds singing
on a cloudy day,
the calmness of a lake
in a marvelous
landscape,
the sparkling light
reflected on my face,
the cozy welcoming
shelter on a rainy day.
He Was,
He Is,
And He Will Always Be,
in my heart
My Loving and Devoted Father.
OH GRAVE INJUSTICE!
Brenda Guardatti
Brenda Guardatti is an English student at Universidad
Nacional de Cuyo. She discovered the pleasure of
reading in English at a very young age, when she was
attending English classes at A.M.I.C.A.N.A. Since she
has always found in poetry a way to express her
feelings, at the age of ten, she started writing poems
just for pleasure. At high school, she won the second
place in a poetry contest. As a university student,
Brenda writes about the injustice people encounter daily
in Oh Grave Injustice! and about falling in love for the
first time in My Beloved Man, inviting the reader to
reflect upon these two appealing themes.
You, dreadful sister of the blind justice
You are the enemy of fair people
You are always injuring peoples souls
You take advantage of the spirit
Of those who are ambitious
You flirt shamelessly with them
And capture them like birds
Which are later placed in a cage
Oh sorrowful misery! Dont you have dignity!
Why is it that you cover the truth with your shadows?
You are the reason why people kill each other
You are a disgusting seductress
That poisons your victims with your needle-shaped nails
Your gory lips show the disgrace of the world
Your eyes are traps that have a devilish look
Your hair is like a spider web that traps the feeble
people
MY BELOVED MAN
How splendid you were that night when we first met
Your eyes were as shining as the starts in the immense
sky
Your lips as red as apples, a delicious temptation for
mine,
demanded to be kissed
Your hands like a warm breeze on a summer night
Touched sweetly my silky face and caressed my soul
Your heart was an open door to paradise
That hypnotized my heart
Your soul was an invisible power
That held me close to the secrets of your eyes
Oh! Please, never close your shining eyes
If you do it, my life will be immerse in darkness
You are the only shining sun in my life
You are my life, my religion, my hope
You are my heart, my beloved man.
EARTHQUAKE
Samanta Heras
Samanta Heras was born in Mendoza and is now taking
the English Training course at UNCuyo. She likes
dancing, traveling and enjoying the simple things of life.
She has experimented with poetry for the first time. In
these poems the reader will find a door to Samantas
sensitive heart.
An unexpected earthquake
The moment when it all starts breaking up
Shaking
The entire world upside down
And next to mine
Your eyes are far away
Impossible to reach
Like mermaids in an ocean that dont even exist
The earth has broken up between us
And under my feet
The only thing to see
Is a terrifying emptiness
Devouring with its claw
My lungs,
My kidneys,
My heart,
My blood is running fast
The world is now all red
And I cannot escape this moment
The anguish in my veins, my throat, my chest
And yet
All earthquakes will pass in the end
As nothing lasts forever
Not even earthquakes
Or pain.
A BOY
From the grimy window
Of a public bus
In the deepest darkness
Of a voracious night
I see
A boy
Tired hands, soiled clothes, lonely eyes, famished soul
Selling cards no one wants
He is just one
There are so many more
That had been left out
Of the grace of the world
With a bare stomach
He will go to bed
On a pile of rubbish
He will try to rest
People will avoid him on their way
As its inconvenient to see him there
Like a stone in your shoe
Like a fly in your soup
Like misty clouds over your head
On a sunny sandy day
Too uncomfortable to bear.
A boy
Screaming through his eyes
SWIVEL
Graciana Lupari
Graciana Lupari was born in Mendoza in 1989. At the
age of thirteen, wishing to learn English, she enrolled at
a language school. As time passed by, she discovered
she really loved teaching and decided to become an
EFL Teacher. In her spare time she enjoys listening to
music and meeting friends. She believes that creating
poetry gives you the chance to write more freely and it
is a good means of transmitting your emotions and
worries about life. She has recently written her first two
poems in which she explores universal themes.
Someone took me out of the cradle,
when down I was, I crawled around
and left the place safe and sound.
I walked on all fours,
and my palms and knees
got hurt with little stones.
I came across a step
and grinned as I stood up
knowing as I toddled, how pleasant walking was.
I then did a jaunty walk
but stumbled and fell on the floor
my shoelaces had come untied
which annoyed me and made me cry.
I didnt know which path to take,
and on the sidewalk I remained.
I stood up and went back and forth
till I thought I should move on.
Though where should I go?
Here or there?
Im a teen! Its not fair!
A way, a road, a path, a street
There should be one!
Not many
Like these!
Then briskly I walked
suitcase in hand, walking the land
of the dogged and strong,
deep in thought.
Finally I had
some sense in my life
some courage to move on
determination in my soul
I wanted to share all!
but I was all alone,
just kids passing by
I was definitely on my own.
I set off walking again,
this time slowly as my walking stick wouldnt help,
and soon I found out
what the journey had all been about.
The crawling, the toddling, the walking
mincing and slow
couldnt compare to the joy in my soul.
A cradle I found and was able to see
how a cute little baby was gazing at me,
I touched his little hand and he gently smiled back,
then took him out of the cradle
which he then left behind.
ONLY YOU
Celeste Martini
Celeste Martini was born and raised in Mendoza. She
had her first encounter with poem writing at the age of
22 when she was studying English to become a teacher
at Universidad Nacional de Cuyo. She describes her
writing as very fancy, romantic, expressing gratitude to
life, and she considers poetry one of her best ways to
transmit what she goes through in her life. In the
following poems, Only you and What is life?, she
hopes readers will share her view of life and reflect on
how much we can be thankful for and, mostly, how
important it is to have a positive view on life in every
difficult situation we may find ourselves in.
Lying under a tree I feel
The sweetness in your hands stroking my skin.
The voice in your ears has reminded me
That in no better place I could ever be.
The sun is concealing behind the blue sky
But youre still here next to my side.
A whole silence pervades my soul. But I hear you
I feel you, I think of you.
Because even in my solitude I feel youre with me
Like a guide to a person who cannot see.
The glitter in your eyes has confirmed me
That your tender-hearted presence is a haven for me.
WHAT IS LIFE?
Life is a baby smiling with joy
And a very young girl crying for a boy.
Life is a mother cuddling his son
And two people bickering but not conversing at all.
Life is a sunset in the middle of a storm
And a tree crying for being sawed.
Life is an earthquake we always lament
And a beautiful forest blossoming again.
Life is a moment we sometimes regret
And a man forgiving his very old friend.
Life is grinning, sobbing and grinning again,
Accomplishing, enduring and accomplishing once again.
Life can have misery, it can have sorrow,
But we always will have a tomorrow.
HIDDEN
Waiting and hidden
(sleeping to the heedless eye)
colour, smell and life.
LITTLE WARRIOR
Alejandra Palleres
Alejandra Palleres was born in Mendoza, Argentina, and
is now taking the English Teacher Training course at
Universidad Nacional de Cuyo. She loves childrena
feeling that can be seen in her poem Little Warrior.
She also likes dancing tango and writing poetry. In her
poems we find themes that are of utmost importance to
Alejandras life, such as love, fidelity and childhood. By
sharing personal experiences with readers, Alejandra
allows us to delve into her sensitive soul.
From the other side of the world
She appears nonchalantly
challenging the sadness
that for years invaded my soul.
She seems to be the warrior
I can not yet become
Although I am kind of old
And shes just been born.
God has sent her to me
As if she were the sword
that I will wield
Till I am called by our Lord.
So overjoyed I am, so overjoyed I will be
Forever let her be, Oh God,
the vanquisher that has defeated
the blues that a for long time invaded my soul
MISTER, MISTER
Mister, mister
Please dont whisper
Those words that make me fly away
`Cause they may be for her as well
Mister, mister
Keep a distance, if you dont
I will run away
from all those lies, those lies
that make me feel so well
Mister, mister,
master of manipulation,
Spare me a bit of time!
so I can get all those words
that keep spinning around my mind!