Sense Papers
Sense Papers
Tots els presents esperaven amb candeletes que el regal del seu aniversari fos espectacular. En feia setze, ja no eren quinze. Els postres varen ser prou bons, però ara tocava que la Mariona es posés al mig del menjador a punt per rebre´l. El sospir de la mare va fer moure les cadires, i en un tres i no res la rodona estava feta. Ara, vida, vés a l´habitació i quan et cridem surts. La tieta, com cada any, va dur a penes i treballs una caixa molt grossa tapada amb mig llençol de puntes. Caram. Semblava que anava de debò. Ja pots venir!, cridà la seva mare. En un moment era allà. Es notava que estava acostumada a obrir-ne. No li va costar gens fer volar el llençol i desfer el llaç, estripar el paper ratllat de rosa i groc, i aixecar les fulles. Però ara ve la bona, perquè allò que semblava una caixa molt grossa va resultar ser una capsa de sabates. Caram, si que s´ha empetitit!, va deixar anar l´avi Pom. Veiam què serà? Veiam, veiam...?
Els ulls de la Mariona varen ser els primers a veure-ho. Però ara pla: la capsa de sabates era plena de papers, papers arrugats. No hi ha res!!, es queixà enfurida. Apa, nena, què dius! El seu cosí, en Nan, tot un homenet, li va etzibar sorneguer: papers en tens molts! El paper de diari va molt car. La Mariona, irada, va llençar-li d´una grapada tots els papers, caixa també, però ell no es va quedar curt i li va tornar: ara ets una sense papers, cosineta! No era el primer dia que se les tenien. Ningú dels presents, ni el criaturam, va gosar dir res. Tothom sap quan hi ha mala mar.
La Mariona estava rabiosa, tant, que sent al mig de la rotllana es va deixar anar a terra amb els braços creuats i els ulls ben negats. Encara era una criatura. La mare, veient l´escena i la mofa que la canalla en començava a fer, va perdre els papers. Qui ho ha fet això? Què us heu cregut!! Si hagués pogut, n´hagués agafat algun pel coll. Bromes d´aquesta mena no se n´han de fer! Un disgust d´aquests et pot quedar per tota la vida! Es va aixecar de la cadira amb la intenció de fotre-li un calbot a n´en Nan, però encara va ser pitjor perquè tothom va veure que duia una llufa de paper a l´esquena. Benzina cap al foc.
Estava clar que hi havia alguna ànima de mal plec darrere de tot plegat. Sort que l´avi Pom, faltant el pare, sabia fer tots els papers i d´una embranzida va saltar al mig de la rotllana on la neboda es tapava la cara amb les mans, i sent ell, es va treure de la butxaca de l´americana un feix de paper moneda. Aquest cop no havia agafat cap paperina. Ningú dels presents, ni els de més edat, va gosar dir res. Tothom sap que els calés no volen soroll. Té, nineta dels meus ulls. Això sí que és un bon regal. I tu, senyalant amb el dit tort a la seva germana, si tu et cuidaves del regal, l´has ben cagada. Devies dur els papers molt molls quan l´has anat a comprar. No retires pas els de Can Ribes, que sempre els hem dut ben estirats! A la tieta, tot sigui dit, el regany del seu germà davant de tots li va saber molt greu, tot i que tampoc va caure d´esquenes: ja feia temps que a la família ella no hi tenia cap paper.
Aquella nit, la Mariona, sentida ella, malgrat que la mare va agafar el mòbil i va arreglar la festa com va poder, va saber per primer cop què és no tenir un regal quan toca, encara que fos per una estona. Els papers que va rebotir i que l´àvia Poma va allisar i desar al calaix de dalt del moble de la vitrina —de vegades has d´embolicar menuderies i trobes a faltar un tros de paper—, estaven doblegats de tal forma que eren ocells que podien moure ales i cues, els mateixos que se l’haguessin endut lluny enllà si ella hagués volgut. Els ocells, fets de paper de diari, duien escrites les històries d´aquells que no saben qui són. Els papers eren propis. No eren només papers. No calen papers per volar lluny enllà, per damunt de totes les lletres imaginables que reporten noms, llocs, nombres, i et maregen dient-te qui ets. Calen ocells.
La Mariona no tenia papers. Però ella els havia llençat. Vés a saber quan tornaria a fer-li un regal l´ànima de mal plec.
Tots els presents esperaven amb candeletes que el regal del seu aniversari fos espectacular. En feia setze, ja no eren quinze. Els postres varen ser prou bons, però ara tocava que la Mariona es posés al mig del menjador a punt per rebre´l. El sospir de la mare va fer moure les cadires, i en un tres i no res la rodona estava feta. Ara, vida, vés a l´habitació i quan et cridem surts. La tieta, com cada any, va dur a penes i treballs una caixa molt grossa tapada amb mig llençol de puntes. Caram. Semblava que anava de debò. Ja pots venir!, cridà la seva mare. En un moment era allà. Es notava que estava acostumada a obrir-ne. No li va costar gens fer volar el llençol i desfer el llaç, estripar el paper ratllat de rosa i groc, i aixecar les fulles. Però ara ve la bona, perquè allò que semblava una caixa molt grossa va resultar ser una capsa de sabates. Caram, si que s´ha empetitit!, va deixar anar l´avi Pom. Veiam què serà? Veiam, veiam...?
Els ulls de la Mariona varen ser els primers a veure-ho. Però ara pla: la capsa de sabates era plena de papers, papers arrugats. No hi ha res!!, es queixà enfurida. Apa, nena, què dius! El seu cosí, en Nan, tot un homenet, li va etzibar sorneguer: papers en tens molts! El paper de diari va molt car. La Mariona, irada, va llençar-li d´una grapada tots els papers, caixa també, però ell no es va quedar curt i li va tornar: ara ets una sense papers, cosineta! No era el primer dia que se les tenien. Ningú dels presents, ni el criaturam, va gosar dir res. Tothom sap quan hi ha mala mar.
La Mariona estava rabiosa, tant, que sent al mig de la rotllana es va deixar anar a terra amb els braços creuats i els ulls ben negats. Encara era una criatura. La mare, veient l´escena i la mofa que la canalla en començava a fer, va perdre els papers. Qui ho ha fet això? Què us heu cregut!! Si hagués pogut, n´hagués agafat algun pel coll. Bromes d´aquesta mena no se n´han de fer! Un disgust d´aquests et pot quedar per tota la vida! Es va aixecar de la cadira amb la intenció de fotre-li un calbot a n´en Nan, però encara va ser pitjor perquè tothom va veure que duia una llufa de paper a l´esquena. Benzina cap al foc.
Estava clar que hi havia alguna ànima de mal plec darrere de tot plegat. Sort que l´avi Pom, faltant el pare, sabia fer tots els papers i d´una embranzida va saltar al mig de la rotllana on la neboda es tapava la cara amb les mans, i sent ell, es va treure de la butxaca de l´americana un feix de paper moneda. Aquest cop no havia agafat cap paperina. Ningú dels presents, ni els de més edat, va gosar dir res. Tothom sap que els calés no volen soroll. Té, nineta dels meus ulls. Això sí que és un bon regal. I tu, senyalant amb el dit tort a la seva germana, si tu et cuidaves del regal, l´has ben cagada. Devies dur els papers molt molls quan l´has anat a comprar. No retires pas els de Can Ribes, que sempre els hem dut ben estirats! A la tieta, tot sigui dit, el regany del seu germà davant de tots li va saber molt greu, tot i que tampoc va caure d´esquenes: ja feia temps que a la família ella no hi tenia cap paper.
Aquella nit, la Mariona, sentida ella, malgrat que la mare va agafar el mòbil i va arreglar la festa com va poder, va saber per primer cop què és no tenir un regal quan toca, encara que fos per una estona. Els papers que va rebotir i que l´àvia Poma va allisar i desar al calaix de dalt del moble de la vitrina —de vegades has d´embolicar menuderies i trobes a faltar un tros de paper—, estaven doblegats de tal forma que eren ocells que podien moure ales i cues, els mateixos que se l’haguessin endut lluny enllà si ella hagués volgut. Els ocells, fets de paper de diari, duien escrites les històries d´aquells que no saben qui són. Els papers eren propis. No eren només papers. No calen papers per volar lluny enllà, per damunt de totes les lletres imaginables que reporten noms, llocs, nombres, i et maregen dient-te qui ets. Calen ocells.
La Mariona no tenia papers. Però ella els havia llençat. Vés a saber quan tornaria a fer-li un regal l´ànima de mal plec.
No Papers
Everyone impatiently expected the birthday gift to be spectacular. She was turning 16 after all. The desserts had been fine, but now the time had come for Mariona to walk to the centre of the living room and receive her present. Her mother sighed so deeply the chairs almost moved. In the blink of an eye, the circle was made. Now go to the bedroom darling, and we’ll call you when it’s time. Her aunt, just like every year, had with great effort brought a huge box wrapped in a crochet sheet. Gosh, she really took this seriously. You can come now! called her mother. Mariona was there in a second. You could tell she was used to opening presents. She opened the sheet with ease and undid the ribbon, and unwrapped the pink and yellow striped wrapping paper. But then came the surprise —what had initially looked like a huge box had suddenly become a meagre shoe-box. Goodness, it has really shrunk, hasn’t it!, Grandpa Pom said. Let’s see what’s inside, shall we? Let’s see, let’s see...
Mariona’s eyes were the first to see it. But surprise surprise... the shoe-box was full of paper. Crumpled balls of paper. There’s nothing here!, she shouted angrily. What do you mean, kid? His cousin, Nan, all grown-up, blurted out mockingly. You’ve got a lot of paper already! Newspapers are very expensive, you know. Mariona, furious, grabbed the balls of paper in her hand, box and all, and threw them towards him; but Nan, not to be undone, retorted, Now you’re paperless, little cousin! It wasn’t the first time they were arguing. No-one, not even the children, dared say anything. Everyone could tell the atmosphere had soured.
Mariona was so upset that, still in the middle of the circle, she let herself fall on the floor with crossed arms and tearful eyes. She was still a kid. Her mother, watching the scene and seeing the tantrum the scoundrel was about to throw, lost her papers. Who did this? Who do you think you are?! If I could, I would take one of you by the neck. These kinds of pranks are not to be done! Disappointing someone like this can scar them for life! She stood up from her chair with the intention of giving Nan a slap on the back of his neck, but it would have made matters worse as everyone would see that she had a paper doll hidden behind her back. Fuel to the fire.
It was clear that there was a creased soul behind all of this. Luckily Grandpa Pom, what with the girl’s father missing, knew how to play all the papers, and in a heartbeat jumped right into the centre of the circle where his granddaughter was covering her face with her hands and, being him, took out of his coat pocket some paper money. He hadn’t been drinking this time. No-one, not even the older ones, dared say anything. Everyone knows money doesn’t like noise.
Here, apple of my eye. Now that’s what I call a good gift. And you, signalling her sister with his crooked finger, you’ve really screwed up now, haven’t you! You must’ve been carrying wet papers when you went to buy it. Hard to believe you’re one of the Can Ribes —we have our papers in order. Auntie was very upset by her brother’s scolding her in front of everyone, but then again she had it coming: it’s been a while now since she last played a role in the family.
Later that night, despite her mother taking out her mobile phone and fixing the party as best she could, a saddened Mariona felt for the first time what it’s like to not receive a gift when it is expected, even if the disappointment was short-lived. The balls of paper she refused and which Grandma Pom had straightened and left in the top drawer of the dresser —sometimes you have to wrap up some silly little thing and you find that you’re missing some paper— had previously been folded in such a way as to resemble birds with moving wings and tails, the same birds that would have taken her far away had she allowed them to. The birds, made out of newspaper, carried the stories of those who don’t know who they are. They were personal. They weren’t only paper. One doesn’t need papers to fly away, above all the imaginable letters that form names, places, numbers, and which confuse you by telling you who you are. Birds are needed, not papers.
But Mariona had no papers —she had thrown them away. Who knows when the creased soul would give her another gift.
Everyone impatiently expected the birthday gift to be spectacular. She was turning 16 after all. The desserts had been fine, but now the time had come for Mariona to walk to the centre of the living room and receive her present. Her mother sighed so deeply the chairs almost moved. In the blink of an eye, the circle was made. Now go to the bedroom darling, and we’ll call you when it’s time. Her aunt, just like every year, had with great effort brought a huge box wrapped in a crochet sheet. Gosh, she really took this seriously. You can come now! called her mother. Mariona was there in a second. You could tell she was used to opening presents. She opened the sheet with ease and undid the ribbon, and unwrapped the pink and yellow striped wrapping paper. But then came the surprise —what had initially looked like a huge box had suddenly become a meagre shoe-box. Goodness, it has really shrunk, hasn’t it!, Grandpa Pom said. Let’s see what’s inside, shall we? Let’s see, let’s see...
Mariona’s eyes were the first to see it. But surprise surprise... the shoe-box was full of paper. Crumpled balls of paper. There’s nothing here!, she shouted angrily. What do you mean, kid? His cousin, Nan, all grown-up, blurted out mockingly. You’ve got a lot of paper already! Newspapers are very expensive, you know. Mariona, furious, grabbed the balls of paper in her hand, box and all, and threw them towards him; but Nan, not to be undone, retorted, Now you’re paperless, little cousin! It wasn’t the first time they were arguing. No-one, not even the children, dared say anything. Everyone could tell the atmosphere had soured.
Mariona was so upset that, still in the middle of the circle, she let herself fall on the floor with crossed arms and tearful eyes. She was still a kid. Her mother, watching the scene and seeing the tantrum the scoundrel was about to throw, lost her papers. Who did this? Who do you think you are?! If I could, I would take one of you by the neck. These kinds of pranks are not to be done! Disappointing someone like this can scar them for life! She stood up from her chair with the intention of giving Nan a slap on the back of his neck, but it would have made matters worse as everyone would see that she had a paper doll hidden behind her back. Fuel to the fire.
It was clear that there was a creased soul behind all of this. Luckily Grandpa Pom, what with the girl’s father missing, knew how to play all the papers, and in a heartbeat jumped right into the centre of the circle where his granddaughter was covering her face with her hands and, being him, took out of his coat pocket some paper money. He hadn’t been drinking this time. No-one, not even the older ones, dared say anything. Everyone knows money doesn’t like noise.
Here, apple of my eye. Now that’s what I call a good gift. And you, signalling her sister with his crooked finger, you’ve really screwed up now, haven’t you! You must’ve been carrying wet papers when you went to buy it. Hard to believe you’re one of the Can Ribes —we have our papers in order. Auntie was very upset by her brother’s scolding her in front of everyone, but then again she had it coming: it’s been a while now since she last played a role in the family.
Later that night, despite her mother taking out her mobile phone and fixing the party as best she could, a saddened Mariona felt for the first time what it’s like to not receive a gift when it is expected, even if the disappointment was short-lived. The balls of paper she refused and which Grandma Pom had straightened and left in the top drawer of the dresser —sometimes you have to wrap up some silly little thing and you find that you’re missing some paper— had previously been folded in such a way as to resemble birds with moving wings and tails, the same birds that would have taken her far away had she allowed them to. The birds, made out of newspaper, carried the stories of those who don’t know who they are. They were personal. They weren’t only paper. One doesn’t need papers to fly away, above all the imaginable letters that form names, places, numbers, and which confuse you by telling you who you are. Birds are needed, not papers.
But Mariona had no papers —she had thrown them away. Who knows when the creased soul would give her another gift.
