Devotion

PUBLISHED IN THE ANTHOLOGY "STORIES FOR THE NUMBER HUNDRED" BY MIRA EDITORES

Devotion, yes. There is no better word to define what Santiago felt about his porcelain dolls.

The old attic was the hidden place where Santiago kept his precious figures, and there he also spent his dead hours, pampering each one of those puppets with the passion of a creator god of a particular world. He busied himself with cleaning and making their dull faces, arms and legs splendid; with the same enthusiasm he stuffed and patched the unstitches of their little cotton bodies; with the last lights, when he had no other task, he dedicated himself to meticulously sweeping the entire room.

She obtained small pieces of dressmaker and with great doses of patience she designed and built delicate dresses for the dolls, at the same time that she sewed fine costumes for the dolls. He imagined, with them, the great halls of his good times. And to the incessant sound of “Para Elisa” from the music box, he made one or another couple dance variably on the improvised floor, a raised central platform, necessary to avoid wearing down their tired and old back.

While some danced, the rest of the couples waited their turn sitting together. The handsome Jacinto, rested his feather and cotton body against the wall, his arms downcast, inanimate modestly brushed Raquel, his beloved with long red hair and an everlasting smile. Valentina had lowered her hollow head on Manuel's shoulder and he gladly accepted the gesture, nevertheless he was impassive, staring straight ahead with his bright black eyes, recently outlined with skill by Santiago.

Only when he had finished all his tasks, did the old man look at his dolls and could not overcome his tears when he recognized again that he could never see his little creatures move. How much would I give to give them a breath of life!

One more day, back at eight o'clock in the afternoon, when the waning natural light began to magnify the remains of the small attic, Santiago left his dolls on his shelf and kept the little suits in an antique trunk, although splendorous and shiny for a recent varnish. Then he went downstairs to the kitchen of the house and ate his dinner, accompanied by the only sound of his spoon clinking on his glass plate, just drizzled with oily soup. When he wanted to get dark, Santiago was already in bed, shortly after he plunged into the depths of his deep dreams.

Only an insistent and monotonous sound could bring Santiago out of his reverie, and this was the repetitive music of the attic box. The "For Elisa" sounded louder than ever; a stunned Santiago woke up and sat up on his cot, discovered instantly that the music was coming from the attic, and cursed his stamp for not having closed the box properly the previous afternoon.

The old man took his flashlight from the bedside table, walked coldly down the long corridor until he reached the point of origin of the sound. He grabbed the ring of the hatch that led to the attic with his hook, yanked it up, and climbed the ladder. Instantly that music invaded everything.

The light of the full moon gushed through the window and, before the eyes of the old man, standing on the dance floor, Valentina and Manuel were masterfully performing a delicate porcelain dance. The old man observed them, their delicate dolls danced and danced and at each turn they seemed to seek with their gazes the approval of Santiago, who had already begun to cry smiling.

That vision shocked poor Santiago extremely, his legs began to tremble and his delicate body shook in chills of emotion. In the end, his feet gave out and his arms were unable to tie himself to something before he fell. Santiago collapsed down the ladder from the hatch and plunged to the hall floor.

At the end of the fall a strange sound silenced the "For Elisa", it was the shattering of her porcelain heart.