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[ESP-ENG] Un pasado imborrable (VI) by juniorgomez

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· @juniorgomez · (edited)
$2.29
[ESP-ENG] Un pasado imborrable (VI)
<div class=text-justify>


<center>![ESPAÑO.png](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/juniorgomez/23tkdTBrNsze3CNt9QSuk5gtMftGbTPyJdJhX3Z2q8rxDEgDE65NDCykShiYSP7xBGevg.png)</center>


<center>![](https://images.unsplash.com/photo-1461359618866-5a5bff23c9bd?ixlib=rb-4.0.3&ixid=MnwxMjA3fDB8MHxwaG90by1wYWdlfHx8fGVufDB8fHx8&auto=format&fit=crop&w=1171&q=80)</center>

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<center>![Cap6.png](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/juniorgomez/23uEeqy9V3WAtQiu8WgUHSJxUqrMJAk8pZPACpXqGPYjixBR3Fbsgn8ZnyuAg4QD57vNG.png)</center>


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<div class=text-justify>

&nbsp;&nbsp;Robert despertó a las ocho de la mañana. Desayunó una arepa rellena de jamón y queso amarillo, en compañía de café recién colado. Al terminar de comer, volvió a servirse otra taza de café y se sentó en la mesa de la cocina, frente a la laptop, dispuesto a escribir algo, aunque no sabía qué. La puerta de vidrio que daba hacia el balcón permanecía abierta, dejando entrar y salir una brisa fresca y matinal. El panorama, como solía pensar él, era agradable a aquellas horas cuando el sol aparecía a espaldas del edificio y su esplendor no era un problema.  

&nbsp;&nbsp;Escribió lo primero que le pasó por la mente, de manera compulsiva, como si se le fuera la vida en ello. Una hora después, releyó lo que había escrito y se decepcionó de aquel texto largo y farragoso en el que los nombres de Natasha y Katherine se entremezclaban con sus sentimientos más profundos. Sentía que lo mejor era desahogarse con el papel para no terminar hablando de sus problemas con un extraño en la barra de algún bar, pero ya estaba cansado de lo mismo. Desde que empezó a escribir <i>Un pasado imborrable</i> no había dejado de contar historias de su vida, como si el inicio de aquella novela fuera sido el punto final de la ficción.   

&nbsp;&nbsp;Observó la estantería que había en el rincón de la sala y pensó que tal vez necesitaba leer más para escribir mejor. Tenía alrededor de un mes sin leer textos literarios, algo contraproducente para todo escritor. En aquella estantería estaban las obras de autores que escribían como a él le hubiera gustado hacerlo, junto a sus cinco libros —cuatro novelas y uno de relatos— y las dos novelas de Natasha que ella le había regalado con dedicatoria incluida. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;Mientras pensaba en estas cosas, sonó el teléfono fijo y por un instante deseó que Natasha estuviera llamándolo; pero la voz al otro lado era la de Randy, su editor. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;—Aló, ¿Robert? 

&nbsp;&nbsp;—Buenos días, Randy. ¿Cómo te encuentras? 

&nbsp;&nbsp;—Impaciente por leer lo que tienes para mí —respondió Randy—. Nos vemos hoy a la una en <i>La isla</i>. Y no me digas que no puedes. Ya estoy cansado de esperar. Recuerda que firmaste un contrato con nosotros. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;—Está bien, nos vemos allí. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;Colgó. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;<i>La isla</i> era un restaurante situado en la Av. Universidad. Un istmo entre la estación de servicio <i>Santa Ana</i> y la estación de servicio <i>Valencia</i>. A izquierda y derecha del restaurante los carros iban y venían; unos para echar gasolina, otros pasaban de largo y algunos se paraban a comer en aquel lugar que era atendido por un hombre gordo, moreno, de cabello ralo y rostro severo, cuyo gesto se tornaba afable siempre que hablaba con un cliente, pero que parecía de piedra cuando se dirigía hacia algún empleado. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;El nombre de aquel hombre que rondaba los sesenta era Luis Antonio Coronel, conocido por todos como Luigi. Robert le tenía gran aprecio, conocía su historia y la del restaurante. Quería escribir algo sobre él y sobre aquel lugar que tantas veces había frecuentado desde que se mudó a Naguanagua; pero nunca se había animado a hacerlo. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;Llegó quince minutos antes de lo previsto y estacionó <i>El bólido</i> a pocos metros de allí. Mientras caminaba hacia el restaurante, notó que Luigi lo estaba esperando cerca de la entrada y dedujo que Randy ya había llegado y le había informado al comerciante sobre la reunión.

&nbsp;&nbsp;—¡Luigi! ¡Amigo mío! ¿Cómo te trata la vida? —saludó Robert con los brazos abiertos.

&nbsp;&nbsp;—No puedo quejarme, Robert —dijo Luigi antes de acercarse a él y abrazarlo—. ¿Qué te trae por acá? —preguntó como si no lo supiera. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;—Aquel sujeto —respondió Robert, señalando a Randy que estaba en la mesa del fondo. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;—El trabajo es prioridad —dijo Luigi—. ¿Cómo está tu madre? 

&nbsp;&nbsp;—Bien, parece que a ustedes los viejos no les afectan los años. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;—Díselo a mi mujer que no puede ni levantarse de la cama, chico —replicó Luigi con la mirada triste. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;—¿Cómo sigue ella? —preguntó Robert, preocupado. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;—Mal. La osteoporosis está empeorando y últimamente le sube mucho la tensión. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;—¿Y el muchacho? ¿Aún no aparece?

&nbsp;&nbsp;—Ni me nombres a ese sinvergüenza —dijo Luigi cambiando el semblante a uno más duro y severo—. El otro día se comunicó con nosotros para decirnos que tenía problemas de dinero por allá en España, que se había quedado sin trabajo, que íbamos a ser abuelos y que si podíamos ayudarlo. ¿Puedes creerlo? Dos años sin llamarnos y cuando lo hace es para pedir dinero. Te juro que si lo tuviera al frente lo mato, por sinvergüenza. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;—No digas eso, Luigi. A lo mejor es verdad. Tal vez ha estado tan metido en el trabajo y haciendo su vida que por un momento se olvidó de sus viejos. Ya sabes cómo son los jóvenes.

&nbsp;&nbsp;—Una cosa es ser joven y otra es ser irresponsable y malagradecido. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;Robert iba a decir algo al respecto; pero Randy se adelantó y los interrumpió. Se había levantado hacia unos segundos y acababa de acercarse a ellos, parecía molesto.

&nbsp;&nbsp;—De malagradecidos está lleno el mundo, Luigi —dijo observando a Robert como un padre que mira a un niño que ha hecho algo malo. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;Robert ignoró aquellas palabras, sonrió y le tendió la mano. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;—Tiempo sin verte, Randy, ¿cómo te encuentras? 

&nbsp;&nbsp;Randy correspondió el saludo. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;—He tenido días mejores —dijo secamente. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;—¿Qué les parece si se sientan a comer mientras hablan de trabajo? —exclamó Luigi sonriente. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;—No es mala idea —replicó Robert caminando hacia el fondo del local, en compañía de ambos.

&nbsp;&nbsp;—¿Y qué van a comer los señores? —preguntó Luigi. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;—Yo quiero lo de siempre —dijo Randy. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;—Yo también, Luigi —exclamó Robert—. Y con la cerveza más fría que tengas —añadió.

&nbsp;&nbsp;Luigi asintió y se retiró hacia la barra para anunciar a la dependienta cuál era el pedido. Mientras tanto, editor y escritor tomaron asiento en la mesa del fondo, uno frente al otro. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;—¿Y? ¿Qué tienes para mí, Robert? —dijo Randy cuando quedaron a solas en la mesa. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;Robert respiró hondo y dijo:

&nbsp;&nbsp;—Nada. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;Randy lo observó en silencio durante unos segundos. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;—¿Me estás jodiendo?

&nbsp;&nbsp;Robert negó.

&nbsp;&nbsp;—¿Y qué pasó con <i>Un pasado imborrable</i>? 

&nbsp;&nbsp;—No la continuaré. Se convirtió en algo autobiográfico. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;—Mmm… ya veo. Sí, es mejor escribir algo que sea ficción, a la gente no le interesa la vida de los autores —dijo Randy en tono sarcástico—. ¿Y qué piensas hacer? ¿Ya tienes algo en mente?

&nbsp;&nbsp;Robert se quedó pensativo. En ese momento, apareció la mesonera con una cerveza y un vaso de Coca-Cola. Le tendió la cerveza a Robert, quien agradeció sonriente por el servicio. Luego retiró la taza de café vacía que Randy tenía al frente y colocó en su lugar el vaso de Coca-Cola. Anunció que en diez minutos les traerían los almuerzos y se retiró.  

&nbsp;&nbsp;—A tu salud, Randy —dijo Robert, levantando la botella, y bebió un largo trago. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;—Ese es el problema, ¿cierto? —cortó Randy. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;—¿Qué? —preguntó Robert. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;—El alcohol te está acabando y ya no puedes escribir más que tus críticas sobre arte contemporáneo y tu opinión sobre el mundo de la política —dijo Randy. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;Robert se puso serio. Aquellas palabras dolían; eran verdades. 



</div>

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<center>![Continuará.png](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/juniorgomez/23vhAoEMWcnH94DCxmT8LvxiUZfQY868U4PM6aNWXwUVBthXCmjnpD8jMq4RABfWeUYpA.png)</center>

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<center>Capítulos anteriores: [I](https://peakd.com/hive-132410/@juniorgomez/esp-eng-un-pasado-imborrable-i), [II](https://peakd.com/hive-132410/@juniorgomez/esp-eng-un-pasado-imborrable-ii), [III](https://peakd.com/hive-132410/@juniorgomez/esp-eng-un-pasado-imborrable-iii), [IV](https://peakd.com/hive-132410/@juniorgomez/esp-eng-un-pasado-imborrable-iv), [V](https://peakd.com/hive-132410/@juniorgomez/esp-eng-un-pasado-imborrable-v)</center>

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<center><sup>Todos los personajes y acontecimientos de esta novela son ficticios. Gracias por leer.</sup></center>

<center><sup>La imagen utilizada pertenece a [Mr Cup / Fabien Barral](https://unsplash.com/photos/YmsmIv1IMRU), fotógrafo de [Unsplash.com](unsplash.com)</sup></center> 

<center><sup><a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/"><img alt="Licencia Creative Commons" style="border-width:0" src="https://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/4.0/88x31.png" /></a><br />Esta obra está bajo una <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/">Licencia Creative Commons</a>.</sup></center>

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<center>![perfil b&w.png](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/juniorgomez/23xyGTpZUWkjVwzP3WsYn1Bt9Nk2QJN5smnVqTYEKsod436jnbouZh8QDZ9jY9UBcir9Q.png)</center>

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<center>![ENGLISH.png](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/juniorgomez/23tkdTBrNszZmPSXtKZxxSeazmqEZMXYinUZAuM8xfdhh2jkbsRvAsGEFnJ8CFZa8Dfbx.png)</center>


<center>![](https://images.unsplash.com/photo-1461359618866-5a5bff23c9bd?ixlib=rb-4.0.3&ixid=MnwxMjA3fDB8MHxwaG90by1wYWdlfHx8fGVufDB8fHx8&auto=format&fit=crop&w=1171&q=80)</center>

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<center>![Chap6.png](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/juniorgomez/23uEeqxrLXXt7bHmzjf1XCY7c9Xt9QM4vXnbzJzWAsR5ve212q5tQ3w4QmeVe2qgnERUq.png)</center>


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<div class=text-justify>

&nbsp;&nbsp;Robert woke up at eight in the morning. He had an arepa filled with ham and yellow cheese for breakfast, accompanied by freshly brewed coffee. When he finished eating, he poured himself another cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table in front of the laptop, ready to write something, although he didn't know what. The glass door leading out onto the balcony remained open, letting a cool, morning breeze in and out. The panorama, as he used to think, was pleasant at those hours when the sun appeared behind the building and its splendor was not a problem.

&nbsp;&nbsp;He wrote the first thing that came to his mind, compulsively, as if his life depended on it. An hour later, he reread what he had written and was disappointed with that long and rambling text in which the names of Natasha and Katherine intermingled with his deepest feelings. He felt that the best thing to do was to unburden himself on paper so as not to end up talking about his problems with a stranger at a bar, but he was already tired of the same thing. Since he started writing <i>An indelible past</i>, he had not stopped telling stories of his life, as if the beginning of that novel was the end point of fiction.

&nbsp;&nbsp;He looked at the bookshelf in the corner of the room and thought that maybe he needed to read more to write better. He had not read literary texts for about a month, something counterproductive for any writer. On that shelf were the works of authors who wrote as he would have liked to write, along with his five books -four novels and a book of short story- and Natasha's two novels that she had given him with a dedication included. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;As he thought about these things, the landline rang and for an instant he wished Natasha was calling him; but the voice on the other end was that of Randy, his publisher.

&nbsp;&nbsp;"Hello, Robert?

&nbsp;&nbsp;"Good morning, Randy. How are you feeling? 

&nbsp;&nbsp;"Impatient to read what you have for me.," Randy replied. "I'll see you today at one o'clock on <i>La isla</i>. And don't tell me you can't. I'm tired of waiting. Remember you signed a contract with us. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;"All right, see you there. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;Hung up.

&nbsp;&nbsp;<i>La isla</i> was a restaurant located on Av. Universidad. An isthmus between the <i>Santa Ana</i> gas station and the <i>Valencia</i> gas station. To the left and right of the restaurant cars came and went; some to get gas, others passed by and some stopped to eat in that place that was attended by a fat, dark, thinning-haired man with a stern face, whose gesture became affable whenever he spoke to a customer, but who seemed stony when he turned to an employee. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;The name of that man, who was in his sixties, was Luis Antonio Coronel, known to everyone as Luigi. Robert was very fond of him, he knew his story and that of the restaurant. He wanted to write something about him and about that place he had frequented so many times since he moved to Naguanagua; but he had never had the courage to do it.

&nbsp;&nbsp;He arrived fifteen minutes ahead of schedule and parked <i>The bolide</i> a few meters away. As he walked towards the restaurant, he noticed that Luigi was waiting for him near the entrance and deduced that Randy had already arrived and had informed the merchant about the meeting.

&nbsp;&nbsp;"Luigi, my friend, how is life treating you? "Robert greeted with open arms.

&nbsp;&nbsp;"I can't complain, Robert," said Luigi before approaching him and hugging him. "What brings you here? -he asked as if he didn't know. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;"That guy," Robert replied, pointing to Randy at the back table. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;"Work is a priority," said Luigi. "How is your mother?

&nbsp;&nbsp;"Good, it seems that you old people are not affected by the years. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;"Tell that to my wife who can't even get out of bed, boy," replied Luigi with a sad look on his face.. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;"How is she doing? "asked Robert, concerned.. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;"Bad. Osteoporosis is getting worse and lately his blood pressure is very high. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;"And the boy? Still no sign of him?

&nbsp;&nbsp;"I don't even want to hear the name of that scoundrel," said Luigi, changing his countenance to a harder and sterner one. "The other day he contacted us to tell us that he had money problems back in Spain, that he had lost his job, that we were going to be grandparents and that we could help him. Can you believe it? Two years without calling us and when he does it is to ask for money. I swear that if I had him in front of me I would kill him for being a scoundrel. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;"Don't say that, Luigi. Maybe it's true. Maybe he's been so wrapped up in work and doing his life that for a moment he forgot about his old folks. You know how young people are.

&nbsp;&nbsp;"It is one thing to be young and another to be irresponsible and ungrateful. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;Robert was about to say something about it; but Randy stepped forward and interrupted them. He had stood up a few seconds ago and had just approached them, looking annoyed.

&nbsp;&nbsp;"The world is full of ungrateful people, Luigi," he said, looking at Robert like a parent looking at a child who has done something wrong. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;Robert ignored those words, smiled and held out his hand. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;"Long time no see Randy, how are you feeling? 

&nbsp;&nbsp;Randy returned the greeting. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;"I've had better days," he said dryly. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;"How about sitting down to eat while you talk about work? "exclaimed Luigi with a smile. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;"Not a bad idea," replied Robert, walking towards the back of the store, accompanied by both of them.

&nbsp;&nbsp;"And what are the gentlemen going to eat? -asked Luigi. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;"I want the usual," said Randy. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;"So am I, Luigi," exclaimed Robert, "And with the coldest beer you have," he added.

&nbsp;&nbsp;Luigi nodded and went back to the bar to announce the order to the sales assistant. Meanwhile, editor and writer took a seat at the back table, facing each other. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;"So, what do you have for me, Robert? "said Randy when they were alone at the table. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;Robert took a deep breath and said:

&nbsp;&nbsp;"Nothing. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;Randy watched him silently for a few seconds. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;"Are you kidding me?

&nbsp;&nbsp;Robert denied.

&nbsp;&nbsp;"And what happened to <i>An indelible past</i>? 

&nbsp;&nbsp;"I will not continue it. It became autobiographical. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;"Mmm... I see. Yes, it's better to write something that is fiction, people don't care about authors' lives," said Randy in a sarcastic tone. "And what do you plan to do? Do you already have something in mind?

&nbsp;&nbsp;Robert remained thoughtful. At that moment, the waitress appeared with a beer and a glass of Coca-Cola. She handed the beer to Robert, who smilingly thanked her for the service. Then she removed the empty coffee cup Randy had in front of him and put the glass of Coke in its place. He announced that their lunches would be delivered in ten minutes and left. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;"To your health, Randy," said Robert, raising the bottle, and took a long drink. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;"That's the problem, isn't it? -Randy said. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;"What? "asked Robert. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;"The alcohol is wearing you down and you can't write anything but your reviews on contemporary art and your opinion on the world of politics," said Randy. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;Robert became serious. Those words hurt; they were true. 



</div>

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<center>
![Continuará 2.png](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/juniorgomez/23uEerLmvd8vvuprYfGcye6s19nENfNPNDLgA1sEGmP9fxauEXnnMQEFTzsF5Zkhy52Yn.png)
</center>

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<center>Previous chapters: [I](https://peakd.com/hive-132410/@juniorgomez/esp-eng-un-pasado-imborrable-i), [II](https://peakd.com/hive-132410/@juniorgomez/esp-eng-un-pasado-imborrable-ii), [III](https://peakd.com/hive-132410/@juniorgomez/esp-eng-un-pasado-imborrable-iii), [IV](https://peakd.com/hive-132410/@juniorgomez/esp-eng-un-pasado-imborrable-iv), [V](https://peakd.com/hive-132410/@juniorgomez/esp-eng-un-pasado-imborrable-v)</center></center>

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<center><sup>All characters and events in this novel are fictional. Thank you for reading.</sup></center>

<center><sup>The image used belongs to [Mr Cup / Fabien Barral](https://unsplash.com/photos/YmsmIv1IMRU), photographer of [Unsplash.com](unsplash.com)</sup></center> 

<center><sup><a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/"><img alt="Licencia Creative Commons" style="border-width:0" src="https://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/4.0/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/">Creative Commons License</a>.</sup></center>


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<center>![perfil2 b&w.png](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/juniorgomez/23xyGTpEGrupsomfZEoYMRqwHNFusMJzLBdQekFRNEYztJaqoeaP54DPC613ipekc3AXs.png)</center>

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@jesuspsoto ·
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@juniorgomez ·
Agradecido por el apoyo.
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@tipu ·
<a href="https://tipu.online/hive_curator?jesuspsoto" target="_blank">Upvoted  &#128076;</a> (Mana: 0/55) <a href="https://peakd.com/hive/@reward.app/reward-app-quick-guide-updated" target="_blank">Liquid rewards</a>.
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