NOCTURNO

Hoy, a eso de las 7.30 de la noche -sí, aquí la noche empieza en cuanto se pone el sol, y no solo es una convención, es realmente de noche, justo ese momento en que empiezas a sentir el agotamiento del día- volvía a casa caminando tras un paseo por el Downtown de Davis, y de pronto, me he dado cuenta de que... nadie más andaba en Davis. Mucha gente en bici, por supuesto, y mucho coche -cómo no, esto no deja de ser Estados Unidos- sin embargo, nadie caminando, absolutamente nadie. Y me he sentido, espeluznada, protagonista de la alucinante novela de Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451, en la que, entre muchas otras cosas, el riesgo de andar podía ser mortal. Por si acaso, voy a guardar mis libros...

The last few nights he had had the most uncertain feelings about the sidewalk just around the corner here, moving in the starlight toward his house. He had felt that a moment prior to his making the turn, someone had been there. The air seemed charged with a special calm as if someone had waited there, quietly, and only a moment before he came, simply turned to a shadow and let him through. Perhaps his nose detected a faint perfume, perhaps the skin on the backs of his hands, on his face, felt the temperature rise at this one spot where a person’s standing might raise the immediate atmosphere ten degrees for an instant. There was no understanding it. Each time he made the turn, he saw only the white, unused, buckling sidewalk, with perhaps, on one night, something vanishing swiftly across a lawn before he could focus his eyes or speak.