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The bedroom light had been on and the blinds closed for many hours, just as the front door to the flat had remained locked and bolted. It had been like this for so long now that night had already fallen.
Inside the bedroom, ten empty and dented beer cans were resting on the floor next to the head of the bed, whilst one that was half-full was balanced precariously on the bed itself, threatening to topple over at the slightest hint of movement. On top of the bedside table, there was another can of beer waiting to be opened. It was the first in a line of objects there, brushing up against the butt of his pistol, behind both of which lay his badge. This arrangement was not accidental. At certain times, one’s life depends on such attention to detail.
Miguel was sitting on the bed, still dressed. He had not moved from there since he had returned from the police station that afternoon, and also finalised the details of his imminent holiday at the travel agency. Now all he had to do was wait, and allow the hours to pass and the night to consume him, and then for the sun to bring the new day.
Once more, Miguel crossed his hands over his lap and listened for a moment. All was silent in the apartment, deserted. He was in total solitude. Just the same as every other night for the last year: a detail that, under normal circumstances, tortured him relentlessly. However, in spite of that, he now had a special, newfound appreciation for it, as if his life depended on it.
He closed his eyes slightly and leaned back against the headboard. He thought about how at that time the following day, he would be in an aeroplane, flying over the Atlantic, on his way to Cuba. There awaiting him was a luxurious hotel room, and a thousand sensations to discover on its beaches and intriguing leisure venues, designed for tourists eager for amusement at any cost. Then he would no longer be wishing for that silence, or have to wait holed up like a prisoner in his own flat. He thought that tomorrow, perhaps, he would not be alone. Imagining his immediate future made him feel good. The Caribbean holiday represented a total oasis of tranquillity within the tense desert of the last few days.
Almost without even realising it, the unmistakable aroma of the sea flooded into his bedroom. An aroma of seaweed and sand, pleasant and invigorating. He breathed deeply, several times, filling his lungs with air and then exhaling slowly, enjoying the sensation. Miguel saw how the water surrounded him, as he found himself in a blue, crystalline sea. The water hardly came up over his knees. He felt relaxed. The feeling of sand beneath his feet gave them a pleasant massage with every step, and the gentle waves spread the water evenly around his thighs. He noticed the wet hair, flattened down on legs that were now extremely tanned, as opposed to their usual white for the majority of the year. It was not hot, although he realised the water did not actually feel any colder than the air. It was as if the air and the sea were the same temperature. And when he tried to see the shore, more out of curiosity than a desire to approach it, he found that it was out of sight. Yet however, for some reason, he knew that it was there, close by, within his reach, and as such he was not bothered by the situation.
Standing in that ideal and almost infinite sea, Miguel found himself surrounded by people who were also enjoying the water. The children were laughing and playing, and the adults were walking from one place to another just for the fun of it, without a care in the world. Miguel watched, unable to understand their attitude because, to the right of him, was a hole in the sea into which the water was falling. The hole was of considerable dimensions, and could engulf more than one person in the event that they approached the edge. He wanted to warn them of the danger, but he realised that although everybody was moving from one side to the other, nobody was falling into it. They all avoided it without even having to alter their path. Both adults and children acted as if it didn’t exist; the adults walked in straight lines, which never crossed paths with the hole, and the children played with balls to the side of it without any of them falling inside.
Miguel then noticed that, on the other side of the hole, to his left, his mother was also in the water. However, unlike all the other people, she remained motionless, completely still, as if she were anchored to the seabed. It wasn’t that she couldn’t move, but rather it seemed as though her own movement had never been within her control. She was talking to him, and making gestures. She seemed to want to point out something important to him, but he was not managing to understand her. He began to walk towards where she was. Deep down, he was only really trying to see her face up close, to contemplate it once more, to remember her.
He had only taken a few steps forward in the water when it dawned on him that with each step he took he was, for some incomprehensible reason, getting further away from her, and closer to the hole. Miguel was nonplussed, because although he was walking to the left, he continued to advance to the right. He stopped for a moment and checked his surroundings. The hole was still in the same place. He was the one who was moving, but no matter how much he tried to reach where his mother was, all he did was get further away from her. Miguel then decided not to move, but he was no longer able to stay still, and every movement he made, no matter how small, brought him irredeemably closer towards danger. He also realised that his mother’s gestures were becoming increasingly expressive and telling, and by now were almost desperate. She seemed to be trying to tell him to move away from where he was, but he was incapable of making her see that he didn’t know how to. All around him, the children continued throwing the ball to each other, and their parents continued their walks as if he didn’t even exist: oblivious to his situation. He wanted to shout out, but couldn’t, and when he tried to look at his mother once more, he felt himself falling completely into the hole, into infinity.
Mid fall, Miguel suddenly opened his eyes, startled. With his vision restored, he could see that his beer had spilled on top of his bed, reaching down to his knees. He also remembered that his mother had been dead for ten years, and that there had never been an ocean by Ourense.
He placed the now empty can on the floor, next to all the others, and reached out to grab the one that was still waiting on the bedside table. He opened it, took a long swig, and started to listen again, expectantly.
All was still silent and solitary within the flat. His subconscious dream was over.