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Los que aman... ¿odian?
por Delfina Morganti.-
|La pintora Frida Kahlo junto a |
"su salvador", el artista Diego Rivera.
Con el permiso de la autora, publico la traducción de la columna ¿Segundas partes son buenas?, traducción que comencé por inercia apenas había terminado el segundo párrafo de la nota original. Dada la belleza del texto, la temática y el tenor con el que Carrizo lo encara, la necesidad de responderle al texto se materializó en una traducción al inglés.
El artículo, que recopila casos de gente común y personalidades famosas, parecería poner de manifiesto que la pasión desmedida, el afecto sin escrúpulos y la "debilidad" que sobrecoge al ser humano ante la mera presencia de su ser más querido pueden llevar al perdón de las mil y una querellas, infidelidades y falsas promesas.
Desde una incógnita Nilda S. que se casa, se divorcia y se vuelve a reunir con el hombre de su vida hasta Frida Kahlo (quien perdona, quizás, más de lo que cualquier mujer del siglo XXI estaría dispuesta a perdonar respecto de su cónyuge), Carrizo despliega una variada pasarela de personajes y tramas que revelan las sospechas y conjeturas de la autora sobre las segundas oportunidades, los terceros y hasta infinitos intentos de reconciliación a pesar de los pesares.
Si los vaivenes de una relación amorosa, incluso aquellos que en una primera instancia "destruyen" la pareja, logran fortalecer el vínculo a largo plazo, quizás sí sea justo preguntarse si segundas partes son buenas. Quizás, dice Carrizo, "querer a alguien sea precisamente esa sensación poderosa que permite comprenderlo todo para perdonarlo todo".
Sequels… Are they never as good?
*By Noemí Carrizo**
Nilda S. had just reached her twenty-two years of marriage and accomplished a harmonious match with two grown-up daughters to an appealingly moderate husband. One day, when he popped and picked her up from work for a cup of coffee, she was taken aback but far from the verge of fright. Without lingering, he told her he wanted a divorce, because even if he did esteem her greatly, he was in love with another woman. Though the unforeseen blow struck her speechless, she realised there was no point in trying to go over the matter. And yet, it seemed to her that her invaluable partner, the man she had dearly admired and respected ever since her early teenage, was looking rather sad at the prospect of separation despite his determined resolution that could leave no room even for conversation. The painful legal proceedings began, but Nilda never really came to hate him. She soon came to terms with the idea of her daughters meeting their father every now and then, and he was even appointed godfather to one when the eldest got married.
Nilda and her ex used to get together for a drink and talk about how things were going at their once pristine home. It will never be known whether it was the cleverness of a wife who genuinely knew her man, the good disposition of her character or the bravery to avoid all future regrets of any possible kind whatever prompted, three years later, the making up that would join them in emotional maturity and plain transparency over matters of the heart. He admitted he had made a mistake, and was welcomed back without a note of hesitation on her part. However, I’ve born witness to another story which, though similar in kind, differs in that the gentleman in question’s return failed to do away with the once-stranded lady’s resentment. She can't but admit she shares her place with the man who once went away launching a surprise attack that almost cost her life, the man who fled in spite of the home they had built—plus the four kids they had raised—together.
Frida Kahlo, the extraordinary painter who owed Diego Rivera not just her artistic awakening but also her own life (he financed the numberless surgeries and treatment that would help her through survival), was a wild-spirited woman who adored “her saviour.” On behalf of this unscrupulous, inevitable feeling, she kept putting up with his countless love affairs until Rivera’s eyes fell on Frida’s own sister. Already a public figure, Frida went in the quest for independence and moved to
where she immediately met with the love of a brilliant young man who supplied
her with the peace and respect that were her due. Still, her economic and
emotional independence wouldn’t last very long, for she soon went back to the
man she couldn't do without, the one man she would never again part ways with
until the day of her death. New York
Actress Natalie Wood married Robert Wagner twice, and so did, on several occasions, the well-known Elizabeth Taylor to Richard Burton. The latter was suddenly stricken by death while he was pouring down in writing his profound and almost alienated passion for the star he somehow couldn’t bear to live with… yet whose heart he hoped to regain. It was only after Liz vanished that the letter in which he begged for her return was brought to light.
Fair it is, then, to wonder if sequels are always never as good as the original when affection is so strong that no flaws on the other’s part will do away with feeling. Perhaps to love somebody may actually imply the conquest of those powerful feelings which make allowances for everything thus leading to the forgiveness of everything.
Let us recall author Julio Cortázar’s words on the matter:
As if one could choose in love, as if it were not a lightning striking our bones and leaving us stranded in the middle of nowhere [...] One does not choose Beatrice, one does not choose Juliet. You don't choose the rain that will hit against your bones once the concert has ended.
Love “happens”, like beauty. And perhaps, just as someone hinted to me lately, there are but two or three powerful bonds waiting for us within the boundaries of one century and one continent—which, I suspect, sounds a little far-fetched, although that titan into which a loving heart is turned will often gather the strength to do away with every sense of loss, temptation, flee and betrayal.
It is often said—and I am finding it more and more acceptable with time—that true love between two human beings bears great resemblance to such love as is bestowed from a mother to her child. It is the one love that will indulge in everything, that will forgive everything; the sort of love that with everything will come to terms. And without batting an eyelash.
*University Professor in Letters, journalist and writer.
**Article written by Noemí Carrizo, published in Nueva magazine, UNO Medios,
La Capital ( ), March 11th, 2012. Rosario, Argentina
Translated by Delfina Morganti.