lunes, 22 de abril de 2013

Mario Mendoza Aizpuru: The child of Spike

Mario Mendoza Aizpuru The child of Spike
Elia Casillas

If anything was left over the river, were stones, just what he needed for their hits. Then quickly, the creek was waiting. A stick bat often met, and in that wasteland would be no risk of a house crystals. The sound of water making bubbles on feet and hands, the birds were singing coming from the air, along with murmurs of insects and plants surviving the cold, seducing. He was in love with the place where nature made his great variety of greens, in contrast with the rich brown earth and stones of different grays. In the distance, a glow that could not be located caught him attention. Approaching slowly came, ¿and...? ¡A spike! A baseball shoe with hooks facing the sun, a spike left lying there. He turned to all sides, wanted to be sure he was the only owner. He found it, ¿do...? Rather, it had been found, his, because sometimes life leaves the ground so close, so that each street who takes that opportunity was his, well understood. Reached before putting spike and again saw around, afraid that some kid came and snatched it. It was just as, as if heaven had sent him, he looked up and thanked God. While the foot entered the shoe, heard screams and applause, slowly raised his face and ...
¡Was in a Baseball Stadium! Out of nowhere came a park full of fans, had never played in freshly cut grass, white boundaries delineated in the field , and the pads were new, so it seemed to him. He turned to one and elsewhere, the view is not enough to record such an event, your brain jerked time, and thought he was dreaming, small hands rubbed his eyes several times, but no. No, no, this was real. In a breath, there were two teams, and to be seen, looked new uniform was Chihuahua represented the state today, his homeland, the city where he was born, and his coat and shirt realm. At last he found a wooden bat virgin, could not believe it, the only new tree had seen up close, was in the window of a shop in town. He searched the creek again, and there was now a baseball field dwelt there and him on the field, wearing a baseball player. But only had a spike to play, was on time at bat and in the audience saw his parents and siblings, giving encouragement. Its name in the voice of the announcer, was another emotion that made him shiver
He has to bat, ¡Mario Mendoza!
He settled into the hitting zone, viewers apparently did not realize that briefly had a spike, just him. When the pitcher had the ball, was strengthening the feet and the ground chopping spike is said to give the ball coming throwing glares and hisses. The ball went between shortstop and third base, and crawling in the grass, bounced off the wall. Got the first base, inspired by the speed went to the second, and flushed with feet in front. At that time the owner of it, hit the spike and the umpire ruled him out, removing the dust began to discuss the failure of it. All you fought was useless because it was not in the play and this was in the book that day. On the blade of his history, that morning had great meaning for him, belonged to a stadium, land and grass would bound to him as daily bread, as favorite prayer, that place was his other skin in the end knew that baseball was his pure love. He went to the dugout with his boat ride, was ejected and neither the driver nor his anger subsided couches to try not to get him out of the game. In the course watching the spike, and his other foot dry, sad, so vulnerable as he, in midwinter crashing mercilessly cutting meat. But this morning I had a spike, at first light, a child was immensely fortunate. Always dreamed of baseball shoes, had a spike at the moment, and this was enough for him, for he had only rocks, logs, agile hands and bare feet. However, when he arrived at the house no one could console him for the suspension, at that time removed the spike, the only shoe, its spike, her dearest relic. And ... again he was alone there, in the river, sitting on the largest local stone, with the spike in hand. He thought he lived was part of his fantasy. A pitch could appear and go well, so suddenly, no time to save trophies and photographs. ¿Where would I played, discussion, exit the game and to your family? His family supporting him with shouts and cheers. - ¿Where does it live? - Was wondering. At that moment he was convinced that everything was blooming in your garden of illusions, the garden was giving a dream, which would tie eternally with discipline and hard work. The feeling of playing time, he would not lose the rest of his life. He put the spike between the jacket and the heartbeat agitated, feared to meet the boss and lose their wealth, the jewel that the river had given him and no one was going to confiscate. When he got home, put the spike wrapped in newspaper under the bed, still in doubt was with his mother and asked:

-¿Mom has you come today?
- Oh Mario! ¿Where do you want to go? So I have to wash clothes, you, and your brethren. Go, take the boiled corn to grind it that your father is almost here and I have to do many tortillas for today, and tomorrow's breakfast. In return, you get to the store and bring a candle bait, to heal the wounds of those hands.
-If Mom ...
Son, I don´t know how much time you lose playing baseball, do not know what will become of your life, you keep play and play and talking alone. Watch the feet and hands, all so cold cut made out there. Hopefully someday, baseball gives you to eat.

He brought the orders of his mother and without a doubt squeezing his stomach, went to check the place where he hid the spike, to not have it with him back calm. I was afraid, terror, that this also was a mirage, of the many that made in the river, rocky and lonely land, where baseball was his only companion. There, where it was assembled as the visiting team, and team, rival and friend, he and his best antagonistic, your favorite ghost, perfect elf visions. At the time, felt the spike and pulling the dark immediately, put it ...
Then again the voices and applause, covered her eyes and just left a gap between your fingers to see what was happening. Amazed took his hands. He was in a Baseball Stadium! His body had grown, and served as team short stop. This time, the uniform was the Pittsburgh Pirates, his body had grown, and served as team short stop. Today more than ever, sailing bait your mother used to cure the cold knife had made the miracle giving finesse, as if a worm had prodigious silk fabric with your hands. His hands moving pigeons in the field, with elegant movements, and accurate, how hard did simple, between them and his glove, came a long communion. The plot straight out of a storybook, the seats shiny, grass green looked its best, the pads as like the first and so different, they better workmanship, the exhibition was immense. When I mentioned the local sound, marveling heard his name on the park. This time his admirer was a American people, a people with a different voice, a village attached to it for a sport. Baseball! Incredulous limbs revised again ... wore a pair of spikes, clean, shiny, never would bare feet to a stadium. They were just as, as if heaven could have sent them, looked up and thanked God.

Navojoa Sonora October 23, 2005


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