Text by Antonio Ramos
Translated to the English by Alfredo Hinojosa
Translated to the English by Alfredo Hinojosa
Said Javier, her husband.
Martha watched on television when Ana crossed the finish line. The Mexican had won. Once again she was going to kiss her biceps as a way of showing her strength. After that Martha extended a hand towards the bowl with peanuts on the small center table, they had a bitter taste.
Ever since the Mexican had won the Golden League prize, Javier followed her races. Martha could only remember the distant triumphs of Raúl González, "El Matemático", in the 1984 Olympic Games, but now Javier was in charge of maintaining his wife well informed of all the races of "La Gacela de Sonora" which appeared in "Milenio" and in "El Norte"[1].
Like a rumor in the wind, whenever a new competition of "La sonorense" approached, Javier arrived home with news of Anita’s childhood. All of a sudden he started naming the Mexican champion in a warmth way, her name floated with pride in his lips: A n i t a. And now, after getting comfortable in the armchair, with the competition already over and after drinking more beer, Javier returned to the comparison.
—You have never had any dreams. Do you really think that getting married is the dream of a real winner? No way —he said roughly to his wife while Ana received roses, applauses and cheers as she tried to pull back some air and get herself together—. You only think about going to your mother’s. The truth is that nothing can be done about it. Anita doesn’t go along with her mother to every place she goes. She arrives to the competition, appears in the track, she puts on her aerodynamic lenses, starts the race, she runs and she wins.
Javier drank more from his beer bottle. Exasperating, in spite of the open windows and doors that allowed the sun light inside, making heat adhered itself to the walls. The peanuts had run out, Javier burped at the very moment he was undoing his belt. The fan in the corner of the room threw fresh thin air that disappeared in the afternoon’s passivity. Martha got up and went to the kitchen. She sat at the table and with shaky hands said:
—Fucking Ana.
It didn’t take that long for Javier to get up and go to the kitchen for another Beer.
—The problem with mommy loving girls —he said making fun of her—, is that you can never make them happy. But as I already told you, the door is open, feel free to leave whenever the hell you want to.
—One of these days…
—Come on, do it, just do it.
Javier played soccer on Sundays. He would get up early no matter what, It didn’t mind if it was cold or hot, he would leave towards the soccer fields in "La Leon XIII"[2] already dress for the game: soccer studs with their cover hanging out, lycra socks over acrylic stockings, red short, and his favorite team shirt of "Los Rayados del Monterrey"[3], he wouldn’t return home until night fall, half drunk, with a strong desire to make love.
Martha hated Sundays. When they were just friends she would accompany him to the flatland where he played. It always called her attention all those fat dark soccer players, dressed with colorful uniforms. It’s like a carnival, she said to herself when those men march in front of her with their celestial shirts in orange, black with yellow numbers in front, red with green stripes, violet with black numbers in the back and flames in front, furious tigers logos in the chest. Javier had strong legs. He had always wanted to play with "Los Rayados".
Years back, on a Sunday, she returned along with him to the flatland where he used to play. The fields were almost vanished by all the suburbs in the area. At the end of the flatland where he used to buy tostadas[4] and juice, one could only see half way built houses. Javier had also changed. With his new heavy beer belly he moved as stubborn armadillo badly placed inside the game. He would take the ball only to give it away with a bad pass sending it out of the field. He played in such a strange way that if no one took the ball away from him, he could always find a way of getting trapped with his own leg movements. The old playing habits, the usual pain gestures, had grown in theatrical ways that no longer surprised anybody. He didn’t return to field for the second half of the game, from the sides he would pay attention to the players who ran up and down trying poorly to get the ball, with noon’s heat falling just over his back. He stood there crest fallen, nostalgic, vacillating between the idea of going away or seeing how others played.
—And where would you go? —said Javier in the living room, when he saw her appear on the door, with a brown wrinkled dress, and a bracelet with snail’s counts in her wrist—. Let me think, mother’s place?
—I wish you would go the hell away —she answered—, with another man I would have…
—What would you have? Tell me?
—Children, I would have children.
—You don’t understand —he answered as Martha remembered her daily insomnia, inside the hot sticky sheets full of sweat—. You don’t understand.
She returned to the living room and seated next to him, after that Martha began to read a magazine. The warm weather of the afternoon made her sleepy. Javier kept on zapping channels, impatient. Outside on the street a balloon man passed by and thru the open door appeared lots of red and yellow balloons with their round and clumsy happiness.
—But anyway in spite of all, you’re my beautiful Martha —said Javier to her as he turn off the television set. Martha cursed herself as he grabbed her by the waist and attracted her towards him.
His beer breath fell on her face while she kept on reading the celebrity’s gossip in the magazine. Javier interrupted her just when she was about to finish a test: "How tolerant are you with your fiancé?" She let herself be taken away by his hands. The first kiss tasted as a lost marathon run, a weaken marathon, no water, no sun. As Javier kissed her, she imagined "El Matemático" giving that final triumphal run in the Los Angeles Coliseum. The magazine stayed opened over the armchair in a page where a woman was smiling unaware of her solitude.
She wouldn’t close her eyes when he kissed her. It seemed to her as an absurd gesture. Martha look at the door and found a cleared street, the ash trees outside filled the sidewalks with clumsy shadows, at the end of her view a lonely hill full of grass appeared. Hopefully I’ll go away, she thought while Javier kissed and rubbed her breasts.
—The door is open —he said—. I’ll go and close it.
—No —responded Martha—, just leave it like that, let them see us.
On a Saturday, some weeks earlier, while Martha finished washing the clothes, Javier arrived before his accustomed hours. He couldn’t disguise his joy when he extended his paycheck to her. When she got up to prepared him lunch, Javier spanked her.
—Today we’re eating out. Go get dressed.
—And why is that?
—I’m going to drop some documents with my friends first, and see if Anita wins another race, after that we can go and have dinner.
—Is she going to run this late?
—At these hour in Europe is night already.
She got dressed reluctantly. Anita, Anita, I wish you break your legs so this idiot would stop annoying me, she said putting on her earrings.
The cloudless sky allowed her to recognize the distant spot of the television antenna on "El Cerro de la Silla"[5]. Who knows how long would Ana take to run all the way up, perhaps forty eight seconds? Two days? Could "El Matemático" go all the way up without getting tired?
They grabbed a taxi and Javier seated on front, with such a joy for his decision. He ordered the taxi driver to head up downtown, to Ocampo and Zaragoza.
—Where are we going? —she asked him.
In “El Reforma”[6] some of Javier friends had reserved a table close to the television. She stood for a moment by the door while he said hello to his friends.
—What are you doing there? Come on —he said between laughter.
The place was empty. Their nonsense got trapped in the ventilators and sent to all the corners of the bar. Before Martha began to get bore, it called her attention a close table where three mature men, in their early forties, and a young man not over twenty five, sat there watching television like idiots, eating peanuts. At first with an uncertain feeling Javier’s friend didn’t know how to start talking, but after a while they started telling stories about sports and soccer, they all mention with excitement the 1994 World Coup when Mexico tied with Italy. Martha had fallen in a deep boredom without anybody to talk to; Javier was the first one to scream when Ana appeared on television running towards the infinite. Hopefully she loses. I should’ve stayed at home.
—She’s out on track number three. It’s not the best place to start the race but from there she can see her rivals; even the Jamaican runner. That one can be a problem —said Javier with serious face—. She used to run against deer’s in her island.
Martha closed her eyes and wished not to be there, she thought about running those forty eight seconds far away from her own life. Darkness seems eternal for her. She felt during that time a lot of things could happen. Martha tried to imagine Ana as housewife but she couldn’t. Ana was always running. How long would it take me to run 400 meters? She asked herself. Martha made calculations. She made herself comfortable in the chair, and calculated that even nine months would be nothing of importance for star athlete like Ana. She tried to guess how many races Anita could win in nine months and counted a lot of them. Martha didn’t estimated an individual number, nor how many meters would fall behind before Anita won all of her races; but she did thought about the number of intents of getting pregnant, in how many repeated times she would hear the words: "You are not like Anita".
—Hopefully she falls —said aloud as soon as she listened that the race had started and, when she opened her eyes, Javier contemplated her with amazement.
The applauses sounded and all turned around towards the television. Ana had crossed the finish line in first place. Without getting her lenses off, the runner knelt down on the track and kissed her biceps while the television cameras illuminated her face.
Martha could not stop seeing the images in spite of the burning pinch in her leg. Javier’s fingers had found her meat and gave her two, three fast tiny pinches, but the fourth one was slow, as slow as forty eight seconds without a rush, while in the Bar everybody was cheering up because of the triumph of "La Gacela de Sonora", world champion in the 400 meters.
The house had sunk in the penumbra of the afternoon. She watched the closed door. Thru the window entered all the noises from the children playing outside on the street. She imagined them hiding between cars, running behind a ball. Martha pulled her skirt all the way up to her waist and observed carefully the smooth skin and touched her own soft thighs. She had some variz[7] in her legs but no sign of the pinches. How many times could I go away? Martha asked herself while smelling her hands with their semen aroma.
Close to her was the gossip magazine. She opened it in the answers of the test: "How tolerant are you with your fiancé?" that were left unfinished. If your majority of answers is A, you are a free woman. You like to mark your limits. Don’t forget that love is between two. Keep on like that. If you have majority of answers in B, be careful. Your space is well delimited but sometimes you tolerate more than you have to. Remember you are worth a lot more. If you have more answers C type, danger. You allow too many interferences of your fiancé in your life. If you keep on like that you will allow harmful conducts. Avoid that person. Martha closed the magazine. They should put a test on how not to fall in love with the first idiot that gets in your way with a soft voice; she kept on talking as if she was telling that to someone else.
Martha got up and prepared supper. Javier came down after taking a shower. He gave her a kiss that tasted as nothing to her. After that she asked herself how long she would stay on living like that. After that they went to have supper in the living room. Martha opened the door.
—To let the air in —she said—. I’m tired of this confinement.
On television they showed the same programs as always, although she got interested in a particular commercial where they said what the Antelopes in Nairobi ate. Javier hugged her and did not let go until he fell asleep, after that she got loose. Martha heard him snored, listened to his farts. Javier was already asleep when she told him to go upstairs, in that particular moment she reconciled with Ana Guevara. Who knows where the sprinter would be in that moment, in what part of her wonderful triumphant life she was. After that Martha reviewed the answers of the test, in fact her answers were A’s, which really meant her answers were C’s; she imagined the son they didn’t have, that they would never have. She got her skirt up and no matter how hard she looked for the pinches didn’t find any sign of them. She hardly remembered those fingers that tightened her legs some days a go. You are not like Anita. You have no dreams. No desires.
Martha stayed for about an hour cleaning the kitchen, when she went back to the living room; she took a quick look to all those T.V. channels where they sold strips, knives, kitchen fair appliances. She chose one where they announced peeling creams. A gorgeous actress would take a walk in the beach as she continued telling the benefits of the product. There were interviews with famous singers and insignificant people. Martha slid her hands by her legs. She turned off the television and at the same time her bedroom door open. Javier passed by her in underpants. She listened to all of her husband’s noise in the kitchen, and soon he returned towards the bedroom. After a while, in the dark, Martha walked towards the open door. In the distant horizon she could see the red light of the antenna flashing its way in the night. She wanted to have a son and yearned to have dreams. Standing there she thought of ways of escaping her own life. She would run in forty eight seconds thru that street while escaping. She would fly away faster than anyone else towards a different life, towards a world where the entire tests in magazines were accurate, where Javier could stay quiet all sixty minutes of a game on Sundays. Martha kept on thinking about that when some lights appeared in the street, minutes later a car stopped in front of the house. The driver called her.
—How can I get to La Pastora Avenue? —he asked with a tired voice, as if he was lost for a long period of time, hours perhaps.
—It’s that way —she pointed her finger towards the end of the street—, go straight a head till the end of the road, then turn left and there you’ll see a church. That’s the way —she gave those directions knowing there were no left turns and no church—. After that you take Acapulco and that one takes you where you want to go.
—Thanks —the man responded.
She saw him go away. Stood there for some minutes waiting for that man to return, but he didn’t came back. While entering the house she thought about how long would that man continued trapped in that part of the city, it seemed to her that all his life would be insufficient to be lost in those streets, a life without triumphs. Before getting inside she took a quick view at all the houses in the block. Many of them had open windows so that fresh air could find its way inside at night. The facades in the dark resembled shady faces. She imagined beds and men as Javier and women like her sharing the same room, and thought about all the children sleeping in small beds. After those thoughts she touched her hollowed sad womb. Martha went to sleep; she turned of the lights, got up the stairs without looking back, without looking towards the open door that was letting in the cold air from dawn. Far away she could see the antenna in the hill; some times it seemed to be so far away, and sometimes even farther.
Martha watched on television when Ana crossed the finish line. The Mexican had won. Once again she was going to kiss her biceps as a way of showing her strength. After that Martha extended a hand towards the bowl with peanuts on the small center table, they had a bitter taste.
Ever since the Mexican had won the Golden League prize, Javier followed her races. Martha could only remember the distant triumphs of Raúl González, "El Matemático", in the 1984 Olympic Games, but now Javier was in charge of maintaining his wife well informed of all the races of "La Gacela de Sonora" which appeared in "Milenio" and in "El Norte"[1].
Like a rumor in the wind, whenever a new competition of "La sonorense" approached, Javier arrived home with news of Anita’s childhood. All of a sudden he started naming the Mexican champion in a warmth way, her name floated with pride in his lips: A n i t a. And now, after getting comfortable in the armchair, with the competition already over and after drinking more beer, Javier returned to the comparison.
—You have never had any dreams. Do you really think that getting married is the dream of a real winner? No way —he said roughly to his wife while Ana received roses, applauses and cheers as she tried to pull back some air and get herself together—. You only think about going to your mother’s. The truth is that nothing can be done about it. Anita doesn’t go along with her mother to every place she goes. She arrives to the competition, appears in the track, she puts on her aerodynamic lenses, starts the race, she runs and she wins.
Javier drank more from his beer bottle. Exasperating, in spite of the open windows and doors that allowed the sun light inside, making heat adhered itself to the walls. The peanuts had run out, Javier burped at the very moment he was undoing his belt. The fan in the corner of the room threw fresh thin air that disappeared in the afternoon’s passivity. Martha got up and went to the kitchen. She sat at the table and with shaky hands said:
—Fucking Ana.
It didn’t take that long for Javier to get up and go to the kitchen for another Beer.
—The problem with mommy loving girls —he said making fun of her—, is that you can never make them happy. But as I already told you, the door is open, feel free to leave whenever the hell you want to.
—One of these days…
—Come on, do it, just do it.
Javier played soccer on Sundays. He would get up early no matter what, It didn’t mind if it was cold or hot, he would leave towards the soccer fields in "La Leon XIII"[2] already dress for the game: soccer studs with their cover hanging out, lycra socks over acrylic stockings, red short, and his favorite team shirt of "Los Rayados del Monterrey"[3], he wouldn’t return home until night fall, half drunk, with a strong desire to make love.
Martha hated Sundays. When they were just friends she would accompany him to the flatland where he played. It always called her attention all those fat dark soccer players, dressed with colorful uniforms. It’s like a carnival, she said to herself when those men march in front of her with their celestial shirts in orange, black with yellow numbers in front, red with green stripes, violet with black numbers in the back and flames in front, furious tigers logos in the chest. Javier had strong legs. He had always wanted to play with "Los Rayados".
Years back, on a Sunday, she returned along with him to the flatland where he used to play. The fields were almost vanished by all the suburbs in the area. At the end of the flatland where he used to buy tostadas[4] and juice, one could only see half way built houses. Javier had also changed. With his new heavy beer belly he moved as stubborn armadillo badly placed inside the game. He would take the ball only to give it away with a bad pass sending it out of the field. He played in such a strange way that if no one took the ball away from him, he could always find a way of getting trapped with his own leg movements. The old playing habits, the usual pain gestures, had grown in theatrical ways that no longer surprised anybody. He didn’t return to field for the second half of the game, from the sides he would pay attention to the players who ran up and down trying poorly to get the ball, with noon’s heat falling just over his back. He stood there crest fallen, nostalgic, vacillating between the idea of going away or seeing how others played.
—And where would you go? —said Javier in the living room, when he saw her appear on the door, with a brown wrinkled dress, and a bracelet with snail’s counts in her wrist—. Let me think, mother’s place?
—I wish you would go the hell away —she answered—, with another man I would have…
—What would you have? Tell me?
—Children, I would have children.
—You don’t understand —he answered as Martha remembered her daily insomnia, inside the hot sticky sheets full of sweat—. You don’t understand.
She returned to the living room and seated next to him, after that Martha began to read a magazine. The warm weather of the afternoon made her sleepy. Javier kept on zapping channels, impatient. Outside on the street a balloon man passed by and thru the open door appeared lots of red and yellow balloons with their round and clumsy happiness.
—But anyway in spite of all, you’re my beautiful Martha —said Javier to her as he turn off the television set. Martha cursed herself as he grabbed her by the waist and attracted her towards him.
His beer breath fell on her face while she kept on reading the celebrity’s gossip in the magazine. Javier interrupted her just when she was about to finish a test: "How tolerant are you with your fiancé?" She let herself be taken away by his hands. The first kiss tasted as a lost marathon run, a weaken marathon, no water, no sun. As Javier kissed her, she imagined "El Matemático" giving that final triumphal run in the Los Angeles Coliseum. The magazine stayed opened over the armchair in a page where a woman was smiling unaware of her solitude.
She wouldn’t close her eyes when he kissed her. It seemed to her as an absurd gesture. Martha look at the door and found a cleared street, the ash trees outside filled the sidewalks with clumsy shadows, at the end of her view a lonely hill full of grass appeared. Hopefully I’ll go away, she thought while Javier kissed and rubbed her breasts.
—The door is open —he said—. I’ll go and close it.
—No —responded Martha—, just leave it like that, let them see us.
On a Saturday, some weeks earlier, while Martha finished washing the clothes, Javier arrived before his accustomed hours. He couldn’t disguise his joy when he extended his paycheck to her. When she got up to prepared him lunch, Javier spanked her.
—Today we’re eating out. Go get dressed.
—And why is that?
—I’m going to drop some documents with my friends first, and see if Anita wins another race, after that we can go and have dinner.
—Is she going to run this late?
—At these hour in Europe is night already.
She got dressed reluctantly. Anita, Anita, I wish you break your legs so this idiot would stop annoying me, she said putting on her earrings.
The cloudless sky allowed her to recognize the distant spot of the television antenna on "El Cerro de la Silla"[5]. Who knows how long would Ana take to run all the way up, perhaps forty eight seconds? Two days? Could "El Matemático" go all the way up without getting tired?
They grabbed a taxi and Javier seated on front, with such a joy for his decision. He ordered the taxi driver to head up downtown, to Ocampo and Zaragoza.
—Where are we going? —she asked him.
In “El Reforma”[6] some of Javier friends had reserved a table close to the television. She stood for a moment by the door while he said hello to his friends.
—What are you doing there? Come on —he said between laughter.
The place was empty. Their nonsense got trapped in the ventilators and sent to all the corners of the bar. Before Martha began to get bore, it called her attention a close table where three mature men, in their early forties, and a young man not over twenty five, sat there watching television like idiots, eating peanuts. At first with an uncertain feeling Javier’s friend didn’t know how to start talking, but after a while they started telling stories about sports and soccer, they all mention with excitement the 1994 World Coup when Mexico tied with Italy. Martha had fallen in a deep boredom without anybody to talk to; Javier was the first one to scream when Ana appeared on television running towards the infinite. Hopefully she loses. I should’ve stayed at home.
—She’s out on track number three. It’s not the best place to start the race but from there she can see her rivals; even the Jamaican runner. That one can be a problem —said Javier with serious face—. She used to run against deer’s in her island.
Martha closed her eyes and wished not to be there, she thought about running those forty eight seconds far away from her own life. Darkness seems eternal for her. She felt during that time a lot of things could happen. Martha tried to imagine Ana as housewife but she couldn’t. Ana was always running. How long would it take me to run 400 meters? She asked herself. Martha made calculations. She made herself comfortable in the chair, and calculated that even nine months would be nothing of importance for star athlete like Ana. She tried to guess how many races Anita could win in nine months and counted a lot of them. Martha didn’t estimated an individual number, nor how many meters would fall behind before Anita won all of her races; but she did thought about the number of intents of getting pregnant, in how many repeated times she would hear the words: "You are not like Anita".
—Hopefully she falls —said aloud as soon as she listened that the race had started and, when she opened her eyes, Javier contemplated her with amazement.
The applauses sounded and all turned around towards the television. Ana had crossed the finish line in first place. Without getting her lenses off, the runner knelt down on the track and kissed her biceps while the television cameras illuminated her face.
Martha could not stop seeing the images in spite of the burning pinch in her leg. Javier’s fingers had found her meat and gave her two, three fast tiny pinches, but the fourth one was slow, as slow as forty eight seconds without a rush, while in the Bar everybody was cheering up because of the triumph of "La Gacela de Sonora", world champion in the 400 meters.
The house had sunk in the penumbra of the afternoon. She watched the closed door. Thru the window entered all the noises from the children playing outside on the street. She imagined them hiding between cars, running behind a ball. Martha pulled her skirt all the way up to her waist and observed carefully the smooth skin and touched her own soft thighs. She had some variz[7] in her legs but no sign of the pinches. How many times could I go away? Martha asked herself while smelling her hands with their semen aroma.
Close to her was the gossip magazine. She opened it in the answers of the test: "How tolerant are you with your fiancé?" that were left unfinished. If your majority of answers is A, you are a free woman. You like to mark your limits. Don’t forget that love is between two. Keep on like that. If you have majority of answers in B, be careful. Your space is well delimited but sometimes you tolerate more than you have to. Remember you are worth a lot more. If you have more answers C type, danger. You allow too many interferences of your fiancé in your life. If you keep on like that you will allow harmful conducts. Avoid that person. Martha closed the magazine. They should put a test on how not to fall in love with the first idiot that gets in your way with a soft voice; she kept on talking as if she was telling that to someone else.
Martha got up and prepared supper. Javier came down after taking a shower. He gave her a kiss that tasted as nothing to her. After that she asked herself how long she would stay on living like that. After that they went to have supper in the living room. Martha opened the door.
—To let the air in —she said—. I’m tired of this confinement.
On television they showed the same programs as always, although she got interested in a particular commercial where they said what the Antelopes in Nairobi ate. Javier hugged her and did not let go until he fell asleep, after that she got loose. Martha heard him snored, listened to his farts. Javier was already asleep when she told him to go upstairs, in that particular moment she reconciled with Ana Guevara. Who knows where the sprinter would be in that moment, in what part of her wonderful triumphant life she was. After that Martha reviewed the answers of the test, in fact her answers were A’s, which really meant her answers were C’s; she imagined the son they didn’t have, that they would never have. She got her skirt up and no matter how hard she looked for the pinches didn’t find any sign of them. She hardly remembered those fingers that tightened her legs some days a go. You are not like Anita. You have no dreams. No desires.
Martha stayed for about an hour cleaning the kitchen, when she went back to the living room; she took a quick look to all those T.V. channels where they sold strips, knives, kitchen fair appliances. She chose one where they announced peeling creams. A gorgeous actress would take a walk in the beach as she continued telling the benefits of the product. There were interviews with famous singers and insignificant people. Martha slid her hands by her legs. She turned off the television and at the same time her bedroom door open. Javier passed by her in underpants. She listened to all of her husband’s noise in the kitchen, and soon he returned towards the bedroom. After a while, in the dark, Martha walked towards the open door. In the distant horizon she could see the red light of the antenna flashing its way in the night. She wanted to have a son and yearned to have dreams. Standing there she thought of ways of escaping her own life. She would run in forty eight seconds thru that street while escaping. She would fly away faster than anyone else towards a different life, towards a world where the entire tests in magazines were accurate, where Javier could stay quiet all sixty minutes of a game on Sundays. Martha kept on thinking about that when some lights appeared in the street, minutes later a car stopped in front of the house. The driver called her.
—How can I get to La Pastora Avenue? —he asked with a tired voice, as if he was lost for a long period of time, hours perhaps.
—It’s that way —she pointed her finger towards the end of the street—, go straight a head till the end of the road, then turn left and there you’ll see a church. That’s the way —she gave those directions knowing there were no left turns and no church—. After that you take Acapulco and that one takes you where you want to go.
—Thanks —the man responded.
She saw him go away. Stood there for some minutes waiting for that man to return, but he didn’t came back. While entering the house she thought about how long would that man continued trapped in that part of the city, it seemed to her that all his life would be insufficient to be lost in those streets, a life without triumphs. Before getting inside she took a quick view at all the houses in the block. Many of them had open windows so that fresh air could find its way inside at night. The facades in the dark resembled shady faces. She imagined beds and men as Javier and women like her sharing the same room, and thought about all the children sleeping in small beds. After those thoughts she touched her hollowed sad womb. Martha went to sleep; she turned of the lights, got up the stairs without looking back, without looking towards the open door that was letting in the cold air from dawn. Far away she could see the antenna in the hill; some times it seemed to be so far away, and sometimes even farther.
[1] Northeastern newspapers from Mexico.
[2] Popular suburbs in Monterrey, Mexico.
[3] A known professional soccer team from Monterrey.
[4] Popular Mexican food that can be eaten as a snack.
[5] The highest mountain in Monterrey, Mexico.
[6] A known sports bar in Monterrey, Mexico.
[7] Varicose veins
[2] Popular suburbs in Monterrey, Mexico.
[3] A known professional soccer team from Monterrey.
[4] Popular Mexican food that can be eaten as a snack.
[5] The highest mountain in Monterrey, Mexico.
[6] A known sports bar in Monterrey, Mexico.
[7] Varicose veins
