Murmullos Recurrentes (english version)

I had always felt a strange fascination with the sparing and frugal behavior of that old man. I was mesmerized with his parsimonious step and the elongated shape of his body.

After parties, I usually walk alone down the alley leading to my house, and whenever I passed in front of the old man hut I felt a shiver through my body. I felt some fear. Sometimes I had to quicken my steps to avoid listening to the gurgles and murmurs that he issued due to his drunken state. Surely cheap liquor I thought. I had the impression that he knew the exact hour I came, even though it was never the same.

Sometimes I used to stare at him from upstairs. On the day he left opened the door of his hovel and I strongly tried to see what there was inside. Throughout my life I could only see a small cot. He lived alone of course. I liked to imagine that his drunkenness could cause him attacks of delirium tremens and write stories of suspense, as Edgar Allan Poe. I'm sure he didn’t.

One night, while returning from one of many meetings with my friends that went through conversations, music from the 80s and a few beers, I heard a screaming and felt more panic than usual. - Must be more drunk than I am, I thought. I ran to my house. I felt his screams stronger and closer each time. I could not open the door due to the desperation I felt. I did not want to see back. I was really scared, shaking. Once I was inside my house I was relieved.

Five days later, neighbors began to complain about the stench that was perceived in the environment which came from the old shack. It is rare, this time all they care. The old man had died for poisoning they said.

There's something I have not told anyone. Every night, when I walk alone to my house, I can still hear his whispers. I just quicken my steps.

C.