El Coronel no tiene quien le escriba

The Colonel waits. They promised him a pension, which for years has remained a promise unfulfilled. Friday after Friday, solemn and dressed in his fines suit, the Colonel waits by the dock in anticipation of the letter announcing the arrival of his pension. Everyone in the small town knows that he waits in vain. He knows it too. Every friday, his wife watches him at the mirror dressing and preparing to pick up the letter that for years has eluded him. But the Colonel, eyes closed to the all too evident truth, stands by his dream, for it not, what else remains for him? There is hunger in the Colonel’s house. His wife is a sack of bones consumed by asthma, and the Colonel lives ashamed of his poverty with the shame befitting a decent man. As his needs become more prevalent.. no one writes to the Colonel.

El Coronel espera. Le prometierion una pensión y, desde hace años le incumplen la promesa. Viernes tras viernes, trajeadito y solemne, se para ante el muelle aguardando la carta que anuncie la llegada de su pensión. Todos en el pueblo saben que espera en vano. Lo sabe también su mujer, que cada viernes lo mira prepararse ante el espejo para recoger la carta que hace años lo esquiva. Pero el Coronel cierra los ojos ante esta verdad tan evidente y se aferra a su sueño. Y es que, si no ¿qué le queda?. Porque en la casa el Coronel hay hambre. Su mujer es un saco de huesos comidos por la tos asmática y, al Coronel lo abochorna su pobreza, con bochorno de hombre decente. Mientras las necesidades apremian… el coronel no tiene quien le escriba.