The old house

 The old house

In one alley there was a very old house that was almost three hundred years old. Each floor protruded far from the one below, and under the roof they had put a dragon-headed gutter; the rainwater came out through its jaws, but also through its belly, because the carcass had a hole.

All the other houses on the street were new and nice. It was clear that they wanted nothing in common with the old woman, and surely they thought:

“How long will this old hulk continue, to the shame of the street? In addition, the balcony protrudes in such a way that from our windows no one can see what is happening there. The staircase is as wide as that of a palace and high as that of a bell tower. The iron railing looks like a pantheon door, and it also has brass knobs. It will have been seen!”

In front there were also new houses that thought like the previous ones; but in one of its windows lived a boy who liked the old house. He entertained himself looking at its decrepit walls, and he spent whole hours imagining the most singular paintings and the appearance that years ago the street must have offered.

It was really a remarkable house. On the upper floor lived an old man who wore shorts, a coat with large brass buttons, and a majestic wig. Every morning an old servant came to his room, took care of the cleaning and ran errands. The old man sometimes looked out the window; The boy then greeted him with his head, and the old man returned the same. This is how they met, and friendship was born between them, despite never having spoken; but this was not necessary.

The boy heard his parents say:

—The old man across the street seems to be living well, but he is terribly lonely.

The following Sunday the boy took an object, wrapped it in a piece of paper, went to the door and said to the old man's errand boy:

Hey, will you do me a favor and give this for me to the old gentleman upstairs? I have two tin soldiers and I give him one, because I know he is very lonely.

The old servant nodded in agreement and led the tin soldier into the old house. He then returned with the task of inviting the boy to visit his neighbor, and the boy went, after asking his parents' permission.

The brass knobs on the stair railing shone much brighter than usual; one would say that they had been polished on the occasion of that visit; and it seemed that the carved trumpeters, who were carved on the door out of tulips, were blowing with all their might and with cheeks much more swollen than usual.

- Taratatra! The boy is coming! taratatra! — played; and the door opened.

All the walls of the hall were covered with old paintings. Then came a staircase that descended again to lead to a very decrepit roof. The entire roof, the patio and the walls were covered with greenery, and even though it was only a terrace, it looked like a garden. There were old pots there with painted faces, and with donkey ears on their handles; but the flowers grew as they pleased, like wild plants. From one of the pots the branches and shoots of a thick carnation spread out in all directions, and the shoots spoke aloud, saying:

—I have received the caress of the air and a kiss of the sun, and this one has promised me a flower for Sunday, a little flower for Sunday!

He then went into a room whose walls were covered in gold flower-patterned leather.

There were high-backed chairs, picturesquely carved, with armrests on either side.

Sit down! Have a seat! -they were saying-. Oh! How I crack! I will surely have gout, like the old closet. The drop on the back, alas!

Finally, the boy entered the room with the bay window, in which the old man was.

"Thank you very much for the tin soldier, my little friend," said the old man. And thank you very much for your visit.

“Thank you, thank you!”, or “crrac, crrac!”, could be heard from all the furniture. There were so many that they almost got in the way of each other, because they all wanted to see the child.

In the center of the wall hung the portrait of a beautiful lady, looking cheerful and youthful; she didn't say thank you or crrac, but she looked at the little boy with sweet eyes. He asked the old man:

"Where did you get it from?"

"From the junkman across the street," the man replied. He has many portraits. No one knows or cares about them, for they are all dead and buried; but I knew this one in times; she died about half a century ago.

Beneath the painting hung a bouquet of withered flowers. The pendulum of the great clock ticked it, and the hands turned, and everything in the room grew still older; but they didn't notice.

"At home they say," observed the boy, "that you live very alone."

Oh! —smiled the old man—, not as alone as you think. Old thoughts often come to visit me, with all that they bring with them, and besides, now you have come. I have no reason to complain.

Then he took out a book of prints from the closet, among which were long retinues, very unique cars such as are no longer seen today, soldiers and citizens with the flags of the corporations: the one of the tailors carried scissors supported by two lions; that of the shoemakers was adorned with an eagle, without shoes, it is true, but with two heads, because the shoemakers want to have everything double, to be able to say: it is a pair. What a beautiful picture book!

The old man went into another room to get sweets, apples and nuts; indeed the old house was not without its charms.

"I can't resist it!" the tin soldier suddenly exclaimed from his place on top of the chest of drawers. This house is lonely and sad. Nope; he who has known family life cannot get used to this loneliness. I can't resist it! The day grows terribly long, and the night even longer. It's not like your house here, where your father and mother chat happily, and where you and the other kids are always making a fuss. How can the old man live so alone? Can you imagine what it's like to never get a kiss, or a friendly look, or a Christmas tree? A grave is all he hopes for. I can't resist it!

"You mustn't take it so hard," replied the boy. I feel very good here. Old thoughts come to visit, with all their company of memories.

"Yes, but I don't see them or know them," insisted the tin soldier. I can not stand it.

"Well, you'll have no choice," said the boy.

The old man came back and the little boy no longer remembered the soldier.

He returned to his house content and happy; days and weeks passed; between him and the old house there were not a few signs of sympathy, and one fine day the boy repeated the visit.

The carved trumpeters played: “Taratatrá! Here comes the little one! Taratatra!”; The sabers and the armor of the portraits of the old knights clashed, the silks rustled, the leather spoke, and the ancient armchairs that suffered from gout in the back let out their woe! Everything happened exactly the same as the first time, because there every day was the same, and the hours were no less so.

"I can't resist it!" exclaimed the soldier. I have cried tears of lead. How sad this house is! I prefer that you send me to war, even if I have to lose arms and legs. Even there is variation. I can't take it anymore! Now I know what it's like to be visited by old thoughts of him, with all the memories they bring with them. Mine have visited me too, and, believe me, they give you no pleasure in the long run; I almost jumped off the dresser. I saw them all there in front, at home, as clearly as if they were here; It was a Sunday morning again, you know what I mean.

All the children placed in front of the table, sang their song, that of every morning, with their little hands together. Her parents were also serious and solemn, and then the door opened and they brought her little sister Maria, who has not yet turned two years old and always starts dancing when she hears music, of any kind. It wasn't right for her to do it, but she started to dance; she couldn't follow the beat, because the notes were too long; she first stood on one leg and tilted her head forward, then on the other and tilted it again, but it didn't work. They were all there very serious, which did not cost you a little effort, but I laughed to myself, and, finally, I fell off the table and got a bump that is still hard on me; but I recognize that it was not good that I laughed. And now everything returns to parade through my memory; and these are the old thoughts, with what they bring with them. Tell me, do you still sing on Sundays? Tell me something about Marita, and how is my partner doing, the other tin soldier? Surely he is happy. Come on, I can't resist it!

"I'm sorry, but you don't belong to me anymore," the boy said. I have given you away, and you have to stay. Don't you understand?

The old man came in with a box containing many marvelous things: a little plaster house, a jar of balm, and old playing cards, large and golden, such as are out of style today. He opened many drawers, and also the piano, whose lid had a landscape painted on the inside; he gave a hoarse sound when the man touched him; and quietly, he began to sing a song.

"She really knew how to sing it!" He said, indicating with a nod the painting that he had bought from the rag picker; and an unusual sparkle appeared in his eyes.

"I want to go to war, I want to go to war!" the tin soldier yelled with all his might; and he fell to the ground.

"Where has he been?" The old man looked for him and the boy looked for him, but they couldn't find him.

"I'll find it," said the old man; but there was no way, the ground was too full of holes; the soldier had fallen through a crack, and he fell into an open ditch.

The day passed, and the boy returned to his house. That week and several others passed. The snow filled all the scrolls and inscriptions and accumulated on the stairs, as if no one was in the house. And, indeed, there was no one: the old man had died.

A few days later an auction was held in the old house, and the little boy could see from his window how everything was taken away. Some objects went in one direction, and others in the opposite. The portrait found in the junkyard's house went back to the junkyard, where it was left hanging forever, since no one knew the woman or was interested in the painting.

In the spring the house was torn down. From the street you could see the interior of the room upholstered in leather, torn and torn; and the plants on the roof hung withered around the decrepit beams. Everything was taken away.

-It was time! exclaimed the neighboring houses.

On the lot that had been occupied by the old house they built a new and beautiful one.

Many years passed, and the boy had become a man who was the pride of his parents. He had married, and, with his young wife, he moved into that house. One day he was in the garden with his wife, watching how she planted a field flower that he had liked. He did it with his tiny hand, pressing down on the earth with his fingers.

-Oh! What is this?

He had pricked himself; and he pulled a sharp object out of the ground.

It was him! The tin soldier! The same one that had been lost in the old man's apartment. Lost among wood and rubble, how many years had he been buried!

"Let me see it," said the young man, laughing and shaking his head. He surely he is not the same; but it reminds me of an episode I lived with a tin soldier when I was still very young.

And he told his wife about the old house and the old man and the soldier who had sent him because he lived so alone. And he told her so naturally, just as it happened, that tears came to her eyes.

"It is quite possible that he is the same soldier," he said. I'll put it away and think about everything you've told me. But I would like you to take me to the old man's grave.

"I don't know where he is," he answered, "and no one knows." All his friends had already died, nobody cared about him, and I was a kid.

"How lonely he must have felt!" -she said.

"Frightfully lonely!" exclaimed the tin soldier. But what a beautiful thing it is not to be forgotten!

--Very well! He yelled something very close; but apart from the soldier, no one saw that he was a shred of the leather tapestry. He was missing all the gold and blended in with the damp earth, but he had her opinion and expressed it: "The gold fades, but the leather stays."

However, the tin soldier did not think so.