La partitura desmembrada // The dismembered score
Pixabay
No requirieron cuchillos ni acero frío; en cambio, sentí una paciencia húmeda brotando en la muñeca y subiendo sin dolor por mi brazo, como si una presencia invisible lanzara un hilo de seda dentro de mis venas, quitando la carne de la articulación con delicadeza quirúrgica y sobrenatural.
Mientras los demás cantaban con las palmas arriba, sus voces llenaron el sótano. Hipnotizado por el zumbido, miré mi mano suspendida. Con horror vi que no tenía dedos; ahora eran bocas de labios pálidos que se abrían y cerraban juntos, repitiendo la letra de esa partitura maldita.
Al ver terminado el cambio, el maestro sonrió con devoción y murmuró: Ahora eres el coro. Fue entonces cuando entendí que lo realmente aterrador no era el corte ni la falta de sangre, sino la perfección abrumadora de la armonía.
Mi brazo cortado ya no obedece, pues canta con el tono de quienes pasaron antes, mezclándose en un eco duradero. Al querer hallar mi esencia en aquel sonido eterno, comprendo que el hilo oculto llevó mi parte y mis memorias, así que no sé qué voz cautivada es realmente la mía.
Ingles
Twelve hands asked for the rite, but we lived only eleven. The teacher didn't change at the odd number; with a calmness that chilled my blood, he asked everyone to give their share, telling me that mine, being the youngest and purest, would be the ideal partner to fill the twelfth position.
They didn't require knives or cold steel; instead, I felt a moist patience rising from my wrist and moving painlessly up my arm, as if an invisible presence were casting a thread of silk into my veins, removing the flesh from the joint with surgical and supernatural delicacy.
While the others sang with their palms raised, their voices filled the basement. Hypnotized by the buzzing, I looked at my suspended hand. With horror I saw that he had no fingers; now they were pale lips opening and closing together, repeating the lyrics of that cursed score.
Seeing the change completed, the master smiled devoutly and murmured: You are now the choir. That's when I understood that what was truly terrifying wasn't the cut and lack of blood, but the overwhelming perfection of harmony.
My severed arm no longer obeys, for it sings with the tone of those who have gone before, blending into a lasting echo. As I seek to find my essence in that eternal sound, I realize that the hidden thread has taken away my part and my memories, so I don't know which captivating voice is truly mine.