Although he was always reading Balzac, from my humble point of view, Jacinto was a fool and his daughter a slut. And I do not mean to offend anyone.
The first day I met Jacinto, told me he liked to read Balzac, in return, I ended up confessing to him of that shameful episode with Benjamin that invested in the festival in August. When I returned to my room, I went with that bad taste that will leave some people. And I decided I would never ever talk to him.
The next day was Jacinto who came to ask me about these problems of mine Wednesday impotence, and although at first I tried to give long conversation at the end, the very rogue, eventually calling the other inhabitants of the board to ask my close verdict problem, now public, thanks to him.
the third day did not leave my room.
the fourth day, was the daughter of Jacinto's who came to touch the door to appear quite blatantly and comment that it was Wednesday. I, who by something I am doing a PhD on Marcel Proust and gardening nineteenth century Parisian direct county with slots for the Republic, once I realized that what the daughter wanted Jacinto laugh my impotence. And I told him firmly that you please leave. Although I stayed with that bitter taste, caused by evil smile that you leave certain people when they leave and they would have cried to mourn them but you did not time.
the fifth day, and with a hunger strike, I decided to go down to the dining room before the other inhabitants of the pension, thinking logically that about six in the morning did not find breakfast anyone yet. I was wrong and I got out, for there was the idiot with his smile Jacinto early morning announcing that all were waiting for the debate had been held overnight around that little problem that you tell me a few days ago about the wonderful teenage girl who broke my heart with fourteen years I confess that I loved her and she was pretty sorry for him confess. It is certainly true is that I sat down to breakfast and tried by every means to steer the conversation toward an area where they might offend, laugh, humiliate and to insult the idiot Jacinto with his book of Balzac always on hand, but I to say that result was completely opposite and ended up with a sincere desire to mourn and a muffin half-chewed in the mouth.
Today I'm going down to the dining room, in fact, I'm hoping they are both here in my room and the rest of the board, I also hope that your daughter is, I'm going down the stairs I pushed the swinging door of the room, go into, I greet everyone, I'm going to hit a punch in the teeth fox Jacinto and call her daughter.
- Good morning everyone.
- Good morning, Stephen.
- Good day, Jacinto.
- Good morning, Stephen.
- Good morning, Mercedes.
- How about all, Jacinto?
- Well, thanks, how are you going with your book of Balzac?
- Well, well, as always. And you? Have you already managed to find out why at school pants pulled down in the middle of math class?
- Emm ... no, no. Not yet.
- What were girls, Jacinto?
- Emm ... yes, yes, there were girls, Mercedes.
- And you all saw the pichulilla, Jacinto?
- Emm ... yeah, suppose so.
- And there was the girl that you liked so much, Jacinto?
- Emm ... yes, yes, she was.
- And if I may ask, Jacinto, is not it that day on a Wednesday, by chance?
- Emm ... well ... possible, Jacinto, now that I think is possible.
The next day, everyone is surprised that Stephen, so nice that student Room 13, had moved without telling anyone, virtually in secret, all were surprised as to why the reasoning of Jacinto and his beloved daughter Mercedes, now that they had engaged in a sincere friendship with him, just as more interested were in help, it picked up and managed to sneak in fact, they had a little bad taste not to have called him ungrateful if he had known all the attention he had borrowed. So, he kept talking.
Incidentally, that same night, a stranger assaulted when he returned from Ateneo Jacinto and jumped two teeth of a certain punch to steal the book of Balzac just then, mind you what things are, appeared broken and trampled two corners below. Leaving at last, Jacinto, a bad taste terrible.
Text: Álvaro García.
Illustration: Alberto Montt.
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