Jonas

(English version)

Through the wood holed window the sunshine was entering and designing some parallel risks on the bedroom’s floor. The light was reflected up to the rest of the room and the last dream of the night was slowly dissolving, mixed inch by inch into the reality of the morning. Jonas was waking up by soft bumps, as the light obligated him to slide to the other side of the bed. No alarm clock was sounding. It was Sunday.


When waking, Jona’s used to quickly sit down on the bed and vigorously stretch out. To down to the floor, the right foot was always the first, beginning this way the set of little daily rituals, as necessary as the air. Jonas accurately groped his glasses, which he always left on the bed table, next to the aspirins. Those were reading glasses, but Jonas used to wear it all day long. He believed that, acting this way, he would soon not need them anymore.

There was not much furniture in his bedroom, for a guy like him it was not needed. Although so much free space, he had no wife to share the chores with him, then he was always charged to make his bed before taking a shower. Even in the rainy days, he was responsible for open the windows and the maid never entered in his room and never bothered him before hearing the first signal that he had already woke up. This caprice to deal with the maids he had handed down from his mother, a respectable woman and admirable wife.

It occurs that every day was becoming more ritualistic than the last one. Taking a shower, for example, meant to have a special care to the particularly dirty sensitive parts, like the vain between the toes, the genitalia and behind the ears: some half-hours later and the job was done. Clean like a baby.

The routine was becoming so mechanic that the only excuse for the sunday morning walking was the fresh news on the journal, bought on the Martinez’s store, two blocks from his house. Thirty steps, one cigarette, then six steps more.

“When it is raining, take the umbrella; If it is sunny, use a cap, boy!” – said the old Dr. Sebastian, who was known as a very cautious lawyer when alive and, reasoned by economic scruples, was also an absent father for Jonas. Mrs. Blake was just a prize for exhibition in the living room. Tickets for a high price and very important people joining the show. “Please, Anna, ask the maid to take Jonas away, we will have a dinner tonight”.

Martinez represented a kind of father for Jonas; in the terms of a good agreement, of course: Martinez sale, Jonas bought, “see you next sunday, boy, take care”. A good advice to start the week. No hugs. Even the moustache looks like Dr. Sebastian.

Thanks to the Health news, Jonas’ feeding habits was criteriously depurating along the time. Juice for the breakfast: grape, orange, pineapple, mango and peach. Five was a good number. Cheese and salad, bread and tomatoes. With toasted bread, preferably mango or peach juice. A lot of fruits, cereals, milk; Lunch, dinner, thanks to the maid, “very qualified”.

A few moths ago, Jonas’ cat, Jack, disappeared, then Jonas rather to sit on the chair, letting the great couch to Jack when he comes back. Jonas always felt a terrible jealousy for Jack, he was like a brother or a son, a friend to talk with and have the most kind answers. The cat food was about to became trash. There were kids around the neighborhood and they could have kidnapped Jack, or worst. Jonas spent the last months looking through the window, waiting for a signal from Jack or anything. “Back Jack, back Jack…”

Maybe the people were scared about him because of it, but he was just a busy man looking for company; a regular guy who used to park his shiny yellow car outside of his garage. “There is so much to have.”

Some ideologies were needed to keep Jonas’ acting, and his opinions usually helped him to hunt lonely ladies, take them to his cave and do everything that they could tolerate and he could afford. A healthy professional relationship, based on strong ideas and silence. No wives. This caprice to deal with the women he had handed down from his father.


This Sunday, this set of things could not happen.
The light was reflected up to the rest of the room and the last dream of the night was slowly dissolving, mixed inch by inch into the reality of the morning. Jonas was waking up by soft bumps, as the light obligated him to slide to the other side of the bed. No alarm clock was sounding. He was waking quietly when a noisy scream inside his head threw him out from the bed, and his soul out from his body. He never looked for the glasses; first stepped the floor with the left foot; never thought about open the windows; down the stairs until the living room, scrubbing the eyes he barely saw the cat Jack ripped on the great couch, curdy-blood washed. The eyes of the pet, death-yellow opened, perfectly matching the orange coat. On the chair there was a dirty toil, a shiny knife and a fish steak stinking for the flies. Jonas sat down, watched the scene for a couple of seconds, squeezed his eyes to see the silent garden and decided to go upstairs to look for the glasses.