NYU Black Renaissance Noire Spring 2015 - Page 20

By IVÁN OÑATE (ecuador) THE BORDER Translated by JULIO MARZÁN 1. Once again the border. Once again this awaking in a ratty hotel on the brink of nothingness, Right up to the line that demarcates of everything; Country, dream, home sweet home, the evolution of the species, social security, the family. Up to the vertigo, where my bones lose their nerve, detach from my skin, on sensing the approach of nothingness. Think it through, they say, think about it, and huddle in a knot in the center of the fear. The border. 2. Downstairs, at one hundred meters from my window, two men argue and each threatens to shoot the other. No far from them, on an abandoned highway of this broken-down country, zigzagging not to hit fallen posts, disemboweled horses, and the mist not of morning arising from the backs of dogs, a dim-wit motorcyclist plays at postponing his suicide. 18 Bang! At that moment somebody felt bad for him. BRN-SPRING-2015.indb 18 In the air I can make out the release of his spirit blending with gasoline fumes. 3/29/15 11:41 AM