Lunch\u2019s ready! Lunch\u2019s ready!
A child’s voice echoing throughout the courtyard.
Lunch\u2019s ready! Lunch\u2019s ready! <\/p>
From afar it sounded like an invitation. A Saturday morning, the voice escaping through the cement of the streets, reaching the passers-by. Saturday mornings, that concept of rest that will soon disappear. That day of shopping, of rummaging through the city… The day of fried peppers and short trips. As domestic history is circular (the general one is elliptical), there were and there will be some lunchbox Saturdays in which to look out over a sea in the last days of March. As domestic history never really goes away, there are Saturdays to try on trousers in narrow spaces and to see that we are never made like the rest of the world, that there is a lack of leg and a surplus of waist. That you have to roll up your sleeves to make things fit. Both in the fitting room and in the street. <\/p>
Sometimes the scent of the tropics returns. Or the smell, depending on the day. It arrives some hot midday, climbs up the walls, crawls across the chest and, like cocaine, reaches the brain in the form of a stimulant. It can be Java or Cartagena. It comes back without ever having been here. There must be chemical motives because memory is no exception in human behaviour. But crossing an esplanade between two shadows during a Saturday in August, a hot silk wind rises, seeming to come from somewhere else. And then Saturday becomes a holiday and memory works through the nose without the need to use euphemisms. <\/p>
There was a time when Saturdays off were a conquest of the proletariat, like a medal won generation after generation. A non-aggression pact between supply and demand for rest. Now they are a return. But all of this should be said without poetry. Because poetry transforms things, but not always for the better. Poetry transforms the explanation of things and we, who are always short of cash, think that it changes everything. If poetry changed everything, the best thing in the world would be to be a poet. The president of the employers’ association of employers would not agree at all and would try to lower the poets’ salary to leave them with nothing. To starve, which is the beauty of the proletariat devoted to poetry. But poetry is not all what they attribute to it because nothing that is dissimulation can be for good: neither good education nor the promises of a better world that force people to work on Saturdays. <\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Lunch\u2019s ready! Lunch\u2019s ready! A child’s voice echoing throughout the courtyard. Lunch\u2019s ready! Lunch\u2019s ready! From afar it sounded like an invitation. A Saturday morning, the voice escaping through the cement of the streets, reaching the passers-by. Saturday mornings, that concept of rest that will soon disappear. That day of shopping, of rummaging through the city… The …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":51,"featured_media":43701,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":"","_members_access_role":[],"_members_access_error":""},"categories":[92],"tags":[105],"class_list":["post-43709","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-narrativa-en","tag-narrativa-en"],"acf":[],"post_template":"narrativa","post_subscription":"no","pretitle":"","content_extract":"Lunch\u2019s ready! Lunch\u2019s ready! A child's voice echoing throughout the courtyard. Lunch\u2019s ready! Lunch\u2019s ready! From afar it sounded like an invitation. A Saturday morning, the voice escaping through the cement of the streets, reaching the passers-by. Saturday mornings, that concept of rest that will soon disappear. That day of shopping, of rummaging through the city... The...","reading_data":{"word_count":"428","reading_seconds":"102","reading_time":{"minutes":2,"hours":0,"seconds":42},"reading_string":"1'42''","reading_human":"2 minutos"},"announcement":{"finishdate":"","finishdate_text":""},"opinion":{"subject":"","subject_info":[]},"event_info":{"startdate":"","starttime":"","enddate":"","endtime":"","entertainer":null},"interview":{"interviewed":""},"phototext":{"text_author":"","text_photo":""},"video":{"video_source":""},"promotion":null,"categories_list":[{"name":"Narrative","id":92,"slug":"narrativa-en","parent":0,"template":"default"}],"visible_author":"Camilo Franco","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/pisofranco.gal\/en\/api\/wp\/v2\/posts\/43709"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/pisofranco.gal\/en\/api\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/pisofranco.gal\/en\/api\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pisofranco.gal\/en\/api\/wp\/v2\/users\/51"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pisofranco.gal\/en\/api\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=43709"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/pisofranco.gal\/en\/api\/wp\/v2\/posts\/43709\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":45805,"href":"https:\/\/pisofranco.gal\/en\/api\/wp\/v2\/posts\/43709\/revisions\/45805"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pisofranco.gal\/en\/api\/wp\/v2\/media\/43701"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/pisofranco.gal\/en\/api\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=43709"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pisofranco.gal\/en\/api\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=43709"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pisofranco.gal\/en\/api\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=43709"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}