Breathe
By Mariana Conde
Today I decided to reread a book of short stories by Adela Fernández that captivated me the first time I read it, Iwas looking to occupy my mind with valuable readings to get away from a story of my own that I am in the process of writing and in which I am stuck. I remembered that Duermevelas, a misleading tome because of its diminutive dimensions -my husband asked when he saw it: "what about that little book?
I opened the first page and, upon seeing the unmistakable signature stamped on it, I remembered that it had been given to me by my first literary teacher, the writer Eusebio Ruvalcaba. He was a man full of chiaroscuro, of monumental talent who never wanted to commit himself to any convention. I have a perhaps more affable memory of him, who, as a workshop leader, treated my incipient literary ability -or lack thereof- with the delicacy of someone handling an insect's fragile egg. And he was like that: behind his rough and edgy persona, his disdain for the manicured and false, you found an exceptional teacher who sought to squeeze the many or few virtues that someone had to offer, demanding according to the ability of each student, while trying to expand as much as possible; he always shared his enormous knowledge evenly. There was no small apprentice and that made him, for me, great.
I remember the pleasure I felt when I read this book by Fernández, which he gave me as a gift saying: "I am sure you will appreciate this jewel". I was always grateful that he had brought me closer to this iconic Mexican writer, playwright and screenwriter.
Turning my attention back to the present, I was sad to see that the paste of my Duermevelas was peeling off and I started to think about how I could repair it. Checking the back cover to see if there was a way to glue it, I found the best surprise, one that in all this time of having the book, even after having read it, I never saw: the small page is covered with something that Eusebio wrote, probably in a hurry. It is not clear to me if they are reflections, a love/dislike letter or even the end of a poem.
