No espero lo probable, nada más lo inimaginable; un viaje a ninguna parte en un sitio conocido...

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El rey mocho

De Carmen Brenguer

 En un pequeño pueblo había un rey a quien le faltaba una oreja. Pero nadie lo sabía. Siempre tenia puesta su larga peluca de rizos negros. La única persona que conocía su secreto era el viejo barbero de palacio que debía cortarle el cabello una vez al mes. Entonces se encerraba con el rey en la torre más alta del castillo. Un día el viejo barbero se enfermo. Dos semanas después murió y el rey no tenia quien le cortara el cabello. Pasaron dos, tres días, dos tres semanas, y ya las greñas comenzaban a asomar por debajo de la peluca. El rey comprendió entonces que debía buscar un nuevo barbero. Bajó a la plaza un día de mercado y pego un cartel frente al tarantín donde vendían los mangos mas sabrosos:


"SE BUSCA BARBERO JOVEN, HABIL Y DISCRETO"

Esa noche llego al palacio un joven barbero. Y cuando comenzó a cortar el pelo, descubrió que el rey era mocho de una oreja.
-Si lo cuentas -dijo el rey con mucha seriedad-, te mando matar.

El nuevo barbero salió del palacio con este gran secreto "El rey es mocho" pensaba, ay no puedo decírselo a nadie. Es un secreto entre el rey y yo". Pero no podía dejar de pensar en el secreto, y tenia ganas de contárselo a todos sus amigos. Cuando sintió que el secreto ya iba a estallar por dentro, corrió a la montaña y abrió un hueco y grito durísimo:

¡El rey es mocho!

Tapó el hueco con tierra y así enterró el secreto. Por fin se sintió tranquilo y bajó al pueblo. Pasó el tiempo y en ese lugar creció una linda mata de caña. Un muchacho que cuidaba cabras paso por ahí y cortó una caña para hacerse una flauta, cuando estuvo lista sopló y la flauta cantó:

"El rey es mocho no tiene oreja por eso usa peluca vieja..."

El muchacho estaba feliz con esa flauta que cantaba con solo soplarla. Cortó varias cañas, preparo otras flautas y bajo al pueblo a venderlas. Cada flauta, al soplarla cantaba: "El rey mocho no tiene oreja, por eso usa peluca vieja..." Y todo el pueblo se enteró de que al rey le faltaba una oreja. El rey se puso muy rojo y muy bravo. Subió a la torre y se encerró un largo rato. Pensó, pensó, pensó... Luego bajo, se quito la peluca y dijo:
-La verdad es que las pelucas dan calor. Y sólo se la volvió a poner en carnaval.

Colección Libros del Rincón S.E.P.
México, 1986

The Iron Man

By Ted Hughes


 (Fragment)

1

The Coming of the Iron Man

The Iron Man came to the top of the cliff.

How far had he walked? Nobody knows. Where did he come from? Nobody knows. How was he made? Nobody knows.

Taller than a house, the Iron Man stood at the top of the cliff, on the very brink, in the darkness.

The wind sang through his iron fingers. His great iron head, shaped like a dustbin but as big as a bedroom, slowly turned to the right, slowly turned to the left. His iron ears turned, this way, that way. He was hearing the sea. His eyes, like headlamps, glowed white, then red, then infrared, searching the sea. Never before had the Iron Man seen the sea.

He swayed in the strong wind that pressed against his back. He swayed forward, on the brink of the high cliff.

And his right foot, his enormous iron right foot, lifted - up, out into space, and the Iron Man stepped forward, off the cliff, into nothingness.

CRRRAAAASSSSSSH!

Down the cliff the Iron Man came toppling, head over heels.

CRASH!
CRASH!
CRASH!

From rock to rock, snag to snag, tumbling slowly. And as he crashed and crashed and crashed.

His iron legs fell off. His iron arms broke off, and the hands broke off the arms.

His great iron ears fell off and his eyes fell out. His great iron head fell off.

All the separate pieces tumbled, scattered, crashing, bumping, clanging, down on to the rocky beach far below.

A few rocks tumbled with him.

Then
Silence.

Only the sound of the sea, chewing away at the edge of the rocky beach, where the bits and pieces of the Iron Man lay scattered far and wide, silent and unmoving.

Only one of the iron hands, lying beside an old, sand-logged washed-up seaman’s boot, waved its fingers for a minute, like a crab on its back. Then it lay still.

While the stars went on wheeling through the sky and the wind went on tugging at the grass on the cliff top and the sea went on boiling and booming.

Nobody knew the Iron Man had fallen.

Night passed.

Just before dawn, as the darkness grew blue and the shapes of the rocks separated from each other, two seagulls flew crying over the rocks. They landed on a patch of sand. They had two chicks in a nest on the cliff. Now they were searching for food.

One of the seagulls flew up - Aaaaaark! He had seen something. He glided low over the sharp rocks. He landed and picked something up. Something shiny, round and hard. It was one of the Iron Man’s eyes. He brought it back to his mate. They both looked at this strange thing. And the eye looked at them. It rolled from side to side looking first at one gull, then at the other. The gulls, peering at it, thought it was a strange kind of clam, peeping at them from its shell.

Then the other gull flew up, wheeled around and landed and picked something up. Some awkward, heavy thing. The gull flew low and slowly, dragging the heavy thing. Finally, the gull dropped it beside the eye. This new thing had five legs. It moved. The gull thought it was a strange kind of crab. They thought they had found a strange crab and a strange clam. They did not know they had found the Iron Man’s eye and the Iron Man’s right hand.

But as soon as the eye and the hand got together, the eye looked at the hand. Its light glowed blue. The hand stood up on three fingers and its thumb, and craned its forefinger like a long nose. It felt around. It touched the eye. Gleefully it picked up the eye, and tucked it under its middle finger. The eye peered out, between the forefinger and thumb. Now the hand could see.

It looked around. Then it darted and jabbed one of the gulls with its stiffly held finger, then darted at the other and jabbed him. The two gulls flew up into the wind with a frightened cry.

Slowly then the hand crept over the stones, searching. It ran forward suddenly, grabbed something and tugged. But the thing was stuck between two rocks. The thing was one of the Iron Man’s arms. At last the hand left the arm and went scuttling hither and thither among the rocks, till it stopped, and touched something gently. This thing was the other hand. This new hand stood up and hooked its finger round the little finger of the hand with the eye, and let itself be led. Now the two hands, the seeing one leading the blind one, walking on their fingertips, went back together to the arm, and together they tugged it free. The hand with the eye fastened itself on to the wrist of the arm. The arm stood up and walked on its hand. The other hand clung on behind as before, and this strange trio went on searching.

An eye! There it was, blinking at them speechlessly beside a black and white pebble. The seeing hand fitted the eye to the blind hand and now both hands could see. They went running among the rocks. Soon they found a leg. They jumped on top of the leg and the leg went hopping over the rocks with the arm swinging from the hand that clung to the top of the leg. The other hand clung on top of that hand. The two hands, with their eyes, guided their leg, twisting it this way and that, as a rider guides a horse.

Soon they found another leg and another arm. Now each hand, with an eye under its palm and an arm dangling from its wrist, rode on a leg separately about the beach. Hop, hop, hop , hop they went, peering among the rocks. One found an ear and at the same moment the other found the giant torso. Then the busy hands fitted the legs to the torso, then they fitted the arms, each fitting the other, and the torso stood up with legs and arms but no head. It walked about the beach, holding its eyes up in its hands, searching for its lost head. At last, there was the head - eyeless, earless, nested in a heap of read seaweed. Now in no time the Iron Man had fitted his head back, and his eyes were in place, and everything in place except for one ear. He strode about the beach searching for his lost ear, as the sun rose over the sea and the day came.

The two gulls sat on their ledge, high on the cliff. They watched the immense man striding to and fro over the rocks below. Between them, on the nesting ledge, lay a great iron ear. The gulls could not eat it. The baby gulls could not eat it. There it lay on the high ledge.

Far below, the Iron Man searched.

At last he stopped, and looked at the sea. Was he thinking the sea had stolen his ear? Perhaps he was thinking the sea had come up, while he lay scattered, and had gone down again with his ear.

He walked towards the sea. He walked into the breakers, and there he stood for a while, the breakers bursting around his knees. Then he walked in deeper, deeper, deeper.

The gulls took off and glided down low over the great iron head that was now moving slowly out through the swell. The eyes blazed red, level with the wavetops, till a big wave covered them and foam spouted over the top of the head. The head still moved out under water. The eyes and the top of the head appeared for a moment in a hollow of the swell. Now the eyes were green. Then the sea covered them and the head.

The gulls circled low over the line of bubbles that went on moving slowly out of the deep sea.

The Sleeping Beauty


From Charles Perrault

Once upon a time there was a king and a queen, who were very sorry that they had no children,—so sorry that it cannot be told.

At last, however, the Queen had a daughter. There was a very fine christening; and the Princess had for her godmothers all the fairies they could find in the whole kingdom (there were seven of them), so that every one of them might confer a gift upon her, as was the custom of fairies in those days. By this means the Princess had all the perfections imaginable.

After the christening was over, the company returned to the King's palace, where was prepared a great feast for the fairies. There was placed before every one of them a magnificent cover with a case of massive gold, wherein were a spoon, and a knife and fork, all of pure gold set with diamonds and rubies. But as they were all sitting down at table they saw a very old fairy come into the hall. She had not been invited, because for more than fifty years she had not been out of a certain tower, and she was believed to be either dead or enchanted.

The King ordered her a cover, but he could not give her a case of gold as the others had, because seven only had been made for the seven fairies. The old fairy fancied she was slighted, and muttered threats between her teeth. One of the young fairies who sat near heard her, and, judging that she might give the little Princess some unlucky gift, hid herself behind the curtains as soon as they left the table. She hoped that she might speak last and undo as much as she could the evil which the old fairy might do.

In the meanwhile all the fairies began to give their gifts to the Princess. The youngest gave her for her gift that she should be the most beautiful person in the world; the next, that she should have the wit of an angel; the third, that she should be able to do everything she did gracefully; the fourth, that she should dance perfectly; the fifth, that she should sing like a nightingale; and the sixth, that she should play all kinds of musical instruments to the fullest perfection.

The old fairy's turn coming next, her head shaking more with spite than with age, she said that the Princess should pierce her hand with a spindle and die of the wound. This terrible gift made the whole company tremble, and everybody fell a-crying.

At this very instant the young fairy came from behind the curtains and said these words in a loud voice:

—"Assure yourselves, O King and Queen, that your daughter shall not die of this disaster. It is true, I have no power to undo entirely what my elder has done. The Princess shall indeed pierce her hand with a spindle; but, instead of dying, she shall only fall into a deep sleep, which shall last a hundred years, at the end of which a king's son shall come and awake her."

The King, to avoid the misfortune foretold by the old fairy, issued orders forbidding any one, on pain of death, to spin with a distaff and spindle, or to have a spindle in his house. About fifteen or sixteen years after, the King and Queen being absent at one of their country villas, the young Princess was one day running up and down the palace; she went from room to room, and at last she came into a little garret on the top of the tower, where a good old woman, alone, was spinning with her spindle. This good woman had never heard of the King's orders against spindles.

"What are you doing there, my good woman?" said the Princess.

"I am spinning, my pretty child," said the old woman, who did not know who the Princess was.

"Ha!" said the Princess, "this is very pretty; how do you do it? Give it to me. Let me see if I can do it."

She had no sooner taken it into her hand than, either because she was too quick and heedless, or because the decree of the fairy had so ordained, it ran into her hand, and she fell down in a swoon.

The good old woman, not knowing what to do, cried out for help. People came in from every quarter; they threw water upon the face of the Princess, unlaced her, struck her on the palms of her hands, and rubbed her temples with cologne water; but nothing would bring her to herself.

Then the King, who came up at hearing the noise, remembered what the fairies had foretold. He knew very well that this must come to pass, since the fairies had foretold it, and he caused the Princess to be carried into the finest room in his palace, and to be laid upon a bed all embroidered with gold and silver. One would have taken her for a little angel, she was so beautiful; for her swooning had not dimmed the brightness of her complexion: her cheeks were carnation, and her lips coral. It is true her eyes were shut, but she was heard to breathe softly, which satisfied those about her that she was not dead.

"Let me see if I can do it."

The King gave orders that they should let her sleep quietly till the time came for her to awake. The good fairy who had saved her life by condemning her to sleep a hundred years was in the kingdom of Matakin, twelve thousand leagues off, when this accident befell the Princess; but she was instantly informed of it by a little dwarf, who had sevenleagued boots, that is, boots with which he could stride over seven leagues of ground at once. The fairy started off at once, and arrived, about an hour later, in a fiery chariot drawn by dragons.

The King handed her out of the chariot, and she approved everything he had done; but as she had very great foresight, she thought that when the Princess should awake she might not know what to do with herself, if she was all alone in this old palace. This was what she did: she touched with her wand everything in the palace (except the King and Queen),—governesses, maids of honor, ladies of the bedchamber, gentlemen, officers, stewards, cooks, undercooks, kitchen maids, guards with their porters, pages, and footmen; she likewise touched all the horses which were in the stables, the cart horses, the hunters and the saddle horses, the grooms, the great dogs in the outward court, and little Mopsey, too, the Princess's spaniel, which was lying on the bed.

As soon as she touched them they all fell asleep, not to awake again until their mistress did, that they might be ready to wait upon her when she wanted them. The very spits at the fire, as full as they could hold of partridges and pheasants, fell asleep, and the fire itself as well. All this was done in a moment. Fairies are not long in doing their work.

And now the King and Queen, having kissed their dear child without waking her, went out of the palace and sent forth orders that nobody should come near it.

These orders were not necessary; for in a quarter of an hour's time there grew up all round about the park such a vast number of trees, great and small, bushes and brambles, twining one within another, that neither man nor beast could pass through; so that nothing could be seen but the very top of the towers of the palace; and that, too, only from afar off. Every one knew that this also was the work of the fairy in order that while the Princess slept she should have nothing to fear from curious people.

After a hundred years the son of the King then reigning, who was of another family from that of the sleeping Princess, was a-hunting on that side of the country, and he asked what those towers were which he saw in the middle of a great thick wood. Every one answered according as they had heard. Some said that it was an old haunted castle, others that all the witches of the country held their midnight revels there, but the common opinion was that it was an ogre's dwelling, and that he carried to it all the little children he could catch, so as to eat them up at his leisure, without any one being able to follow him, for he alone had the power to make his way through the wood.

 The Prince did not know what to believe, and presently a very aged countryman spake to him thus:

— "May it please your royal Highness, more than fifty years since I heard from my father that there was then in this castle the most beautiful princess that was ever seen; that she must sleep there a hundred years, and that she should be waked by a king's son, for whom she was reserved."

The young Prince on hearing this was all on fire. He thought, without weighing the matter, that he could put an end to this rare adventure; and, pushed on by love and the desire of glory, resolved at once to look into it.

As soon as he began to get near to the wood, all the great trees, the bushes, and brambles gave way of themselves to let him pass through. He walked up to the castle which he saw at the end of a large avenue; and you can imagine he was a good deal surprised when he saw none of his people following him, because the trees closed again as soon as he had passed through them. However, he did not cease from continuing his way; a young prince in search of glory is ever valiant.

He came into a spacious outer court, and what he saw was enough to freeze him with horror. A frightful silence reigned over all; the image of death was everywhere, and there was nothing to be seen but what seemed to be the outstretched bodies of dead men and animals. He, however, very well knew, by the ruby faces and pimpled noses of the porters, that they were only asleep; and their goblets, wherein still remained some drops of wine, showed plainly that they had fallen asleep while drinking their wine.

He then crossed a court paved with marble, went up the stairs, and came into the guard chamber, where guards were standing in their ranks, with their muskets upon their shoulders, and snoring with all their might. He went through several rooms full of gentlemen and ladies, some standing and others sitting, but all were asleep. He came into a gilded chamber, where he saw upon a bed, the curtains of which were all open, the most beautiful sight ever beheld—a princess who appeared to be about fifteen or sixteen years of age, and whose bright and resplendent beauty had something divine in it. He approached with trembling and admiration, and fell down upon his knees before her.

 Then, as the end of the enchantment was come, the Princess awoke, and looking on him with eyes more tender than could have been expected at first sight, said:

— "Is it you, my Prince? You have waited a long while."

The Prince, charmed with these words, and much more with the manner in which they were spoken, knew not how to show his joy and gratitude; he assured her that he loved her better than he did himself. Their discourse was not very connected, but they were the better pleased, for where there is much love there is little eloquence. He was more at a loss than she, and we need not wonder at it; she had had time to think of what to say to him; for it is evident (though history says nothing of it) that the good fairy, during so long a sleep, had given her very pleasant dreams. In short, they talked together for four hours, and then they said not half they had to say.

In the meanwhile all the palace had woke up with the Princess; every one thought upon his own business, and as they were not in love, they were ready to die of hunger. The lady of honor, being as sharp set as the other folks, grew very impatient, and told the Princess aloud that the meal was served. The Prince helped the Princess to rise. She was entirely and very magnificently dressed; but his royal Highness took care not to tell her that she was dressed like his great-grandmother, and had a high collar. She looked not a bit the less charming and beautiful for all that.

They went into the great mirrored hall, where they supped, and were served by the officers of the Princess's household. The violins and haut boys played old tunes, but they were excellent, though they had not been played for a hundred years; and after supper, without losing any time, the lord almoner married them in the chapel of the castle. They had but very little sleep—the Princess scarcely needed any; and the Prince left her next morning to return into the city, where his father was greatly troubled about him.

The Prince told him that he lost his way in the forest as he was hunting, and that he had slept in the cottage of a charcoal-burner, who gave him cheese and brown bread.

The King, his father, who was a good man, believed him; but his mother could not be per- suaded that it was true; and seeing that he went almost every day a-hunting, and that he always had some excuse ready for so doing, though he had been out three or four nights together, she began to suspect that he was married; for he lived thus with the Princess above two whole years, during which they had two children, the elder, a daughter, was named Dawn, and the younger, a son, they called Day, because he was a great deal handsomer than his sister.

The Queen spoke several times to her son, to learn after what manner he was passing his time, and told him that in this he ought in duty to satisfy her. But he never dared to trust her with his secret; he feared her, though he loved her, for she was of the race of the Ogres, and the King married her for her vast riches alone. It was even whispered about the Court that she had Ogreish inclinations, and that, whenever she saw little children passing by, she had all the difficulty in the world to pre- vent herself from falling upon them. And so the Prince would never tell her one word.

But when the King was dead, which happened about two years afterward, and he saw himself lord and master, he openly declared his marriage: and he went in great state to conduct his Queen to the palace. They made a magnificent entry into the capital city, she riding between her two children.

Soon after, the King made war on Emperor Cantalabutte, his neighbor. He left the government of the kingdom to the Queen, his mother, and earnestly commended his wife and children to her care. He was obliged to carry on the war all the summer, and as soon as he left, the Queen-mother sent her daughter-in-law and her children to a country house among the woods, that she might with the more ease gratify her horrible longing. Some few days afterward she went thither herself, and said to her head cook:

— "I intend to eat little Dawn for my dinner tomorrow."

"Oh! madam!" cried the head cook.

"I will have it so," replied the Queen (and this she spoke in the tone of an Ogress who had a strong desire to eat fresh meat), "and will eat her with a sharp sauce."

The poor man, knowing very well that he must not play tricks with Ogresses, took his great knife and went up into little Dawn's chamber. She was then nearly four years old, and came up to him, jumping and laughing, to put her arms round his neck, and ask him for some sugar-candy. Upon which he began to weep, the great knife fell out of his hand, and he went into the back yard and killed a little lamb, and dressed it with such good sauce that his mistress assured him she had never eaten anything so good in her life. He had at the same time taken up little Dawn and carried her to his wife, to conceal her in his lodging at the end of the courtyard.

Eight days afterwards the wicked Queen said to the chief cook, "I will sup upon little Day."

He answered not a word, being resolved to cheat her again as he had done before. He went to find little Day, and saw him with a foil in his hand, with which he was fencing with a great monkey: the child was then only three years of age. He took him up in his arms and carried him to his wife, that she might conceal him in her chamber along with his sister, and instead of little Day he served up a young and very tender kid, which the Ogress found to be wonderfully good.

All had gone well up to now; but one evening this wicked Queen said to her chief cook:

— "I will eat the Queen with the same sauce I had with her children."

Now the poor chief cook was in despair and could not imagine how to deceive her again. The young Queen was over twenty years old, not reckoning the hundred years she had been asleep: and how to find something to take her place greatly puzzled him. He then decided, to save his own life, to cut the Queen's throat; and going up into her chamber, with intent to do it at once, he put himself into as great fury as he possibly could, and came into the young Queen's room with his dagger in his hand. He would not, however, deceive her, but told her, with a great deal of respect, the orders he had received from the Queen-mother.

"Do it; do it," she said, stretching out her neck. "Carry out your orders, and then I shall go and see my children, my poor children, whom I loved so much and so tenderly."

For she thought them dead, since they had been taken away without her knowledge.

"No, no, madam," cried the poor chief cook, all in tears; "you shall not die, and you shall see your children again at once. But then you must go home with me to my lodgings, where I have concealed them, and I will deceive the Queen once more, by giving her a young hind in your stead."

Upon this he forthwith conducted her to his room, where, leaving her to embrace her children, and cry along with them, he went and dressed a young hind, which the Queen had for her supper, and devoured with as much appetite as if it had been the young Queen. She was now well satisfied with her cruel deeds, and she invented a story to tell the King on his return, of how the Queen his wife and her two children had been devoured by mad wolves.

One evening, as she was, according to her custom, rambling round about the courts and yards of the palace to see if she could smell any fresh meat, she heard, in a room on the ground floor, little Day crying, for his mamma was going to whip him, because he had been naughty; and she heard, at the same time, little Dawn begging mercy for her brother.

The Ogress knew the voice of the Queen and her children at once, and being furious at having been thus deceived, she gave orders (in a most horrible voice which made everybody tremble) that, next morning by break of day, they should bring into the middle of the great court a large tub filled with toads, vipers, snakes, and all sorts of serpents, in order to have the Queen and her children, the chief cook, his wife and maid, thrown into it, all of whom were to be brought thither with their hands tied behind them.

They were brought out accordingly, and the executioners were just going to throw them into the tub, when the King, who was not so soon expected, entered the court on horseback and asked, with the utmost astonishment, what was the meaning of that horrible spectacle.

No one dared to tell him, when the Ogress, all enraged to see what had happened, threw herself head foremost into the tub, and was instantly devoured by the ugly creatures she had ordered to be thrown into it to kill the others. The King was of course very sorry, for she was his mother; but he soon comforted himself with his beautiful wife and his pretty children.


Harry Potter y la Piedra Filosofal

De J.K. Rowling
6
El viaje desde el andén nueve y tres cuartos
(Fragmento)

El último mes de Harry con los Dursley no fue divertido. Es cierto que Dudley le tenía miedo y no se quedaba con él en la misma habitación, y que tía Petunia y tío Vernon no lo encerraban en la alacena ni lo obligaban a hacer nada ni le gritaban. En realidad, ni siquiera le dirigían la palabra. Mitad aterrorizados, mitad furiosos, se comportaban como si la silla que Harry ocupaba estuviera vacía. Aunque aquello significaba una mejora en muchos aspectos, después de un tiempo resultaba un poco deprimente.


Harry se quedaba en su habitación, con su nueva lechuza por compañía. Decidió llamarla Hedwig, un nombre que encontró en Una historia de la magia. Los libros del colegio eran muy interesantes. Por la noche leía en la cama hasta tarde, mientras Hedwig entraba y salía a su antojo por la ventana abierta. Era una suerte que tía Petunia ya no entrara en la habitación, porque Hedwig llevaba ratones muertos. Cada noche, antes de dormir, Harry marcaba otro día en la hoja de papel que tenía en la pared, hasta el uno de septiembre.


El último día de agosto pensó que era mejor hablar con sus tíos para poder ir a la estación de King Cross, al día siguiente. Así que bajó al salón, donde estaban viendo la televisión. Se aclaró la garganta, para que supieran que estaba allí, y Dudley gritó y salió corriendo.


—Hum... ¿Tío Vernon?

Tío Vernon gruñó, para demostrar que lo escuchaba.

—Hum... necesito estar mañana en King Cross para... para ir a Hogwarts.

Tío Vernon gruñó otra vez.

—¿Podría ser que me lleves hasta allí?

Otro gruñido. Harry interpretó que quería decir sí.

—Muchas gracias.

Estaba a punto de volver a subir la escalera, cuando tío Vernon finalmente habló.

—Qué forma curiosa de ir a una escuela de magos, en tren. ¿Las alfombras mágicas estarán todas pinchadas?

Harry no contestó nada.

—¿Y dónde queda ese colegio, de todos modos?
—No lo sé —dijo Harry; dándose cuenta de eso por primera vez. Sacó del bolsillo el billete que Hagrid le había dado—. Tengo que coger el tren que sale del andén nueve y tres cuartos, a las once de la mañana —leyó.

Sus tíos lo miraron asombrados.

—¿Andén qué?
—Nueve y tres cuartos.
—No digas estupideces —dijo tío Vernon—. No hay ningún andén nueve y tres cuartos.
—Eso dice mi billete.
—Equivocados —dijo tío Vernon—. Totalmente locos, todos ellos. Ya lo verás. Tú espera. Muy bien, te llevaremos a King Cross. De todos modos, tenemos que ir a Londres mañana. Si no, no me molestaría.
—¿Por qué vais a Londres? —preguntó Harry tratando de mantener el tono amistoso.
—Llevamos a Dudley al hospital —gruñó tío Vernon—. Para que le quiten esa maldita cola antes de que vaya a Smeltings.

A la mañana siguiente, Harry se despertó a las cinco, tan emocionado e ilusionado que no pudo volver a dormir. Se levantó y se puso los tejanos: no quería andar por la estación con su túnica de mago, ya se cambiaría en el tren. Miró otra vez su lista de Hogwarts para estar seguro de que tenía todo lo necesario, se ocupó de meter a Hedwig en su jaula y luego se paseó por la habitación, esperando que los Dursley se levantaran. Dos horas más tarde, el pesado baúl de Harry estaba cargado en el coche de los Dursley y tía Petunia había hecho que Dudley se sentara con Harry, para poder marcharse.


Llegaron a King Cross a las diez y media. Tío Vernon cargó el baúl de Harry en un carrito y lo llevó por la estación. Harry pensó que era una rara amabilidad, hasta que tío Vernon se detuvo, mirando los andenes con una sonrisa perversa.

—Bueno, aquí estás, muchacho. Andén nueve, andén diez... Tú andén debería estar en el medio, pero parece que aún no lo han construido, ¿no?

Tenía razón, por supuesto. Había un gran número nueve, de plástico, sobre un andén, un número diez sobre el otro y, en el medio, nada.

—Que tengas un buen curso —dijo tío Vernon con una sonrisa aún más torva. Se marchó sin decir una palabra más. Harry se volvió y vio que los Dursley se alejaban. Los tres se reían. Harry sintió la boca seca. ¿Qué haría? Estaba llamando la atención, a causa de Hedwig. Tendría que preguntarle a alguien.

Detuvo a un guarda que pasaba, pero no se atrevió a mencionar el andén nueve y tres cuartos. El guarda nunca había oído hablar de Hogwarts, y cuando Harry no pudo decirle en qué parte del país quedaba, comenzó a molestarse, como si pensara que Harry se hacía el tonto a propósito. Sin saber qué hacer, Harry le preguntó por el tren que salía a las once, pero el guarda le dijo que no había ninguno. Al final, el guarda se alejó, murmurando algo sobre la gente que hacía perder el tiempo. Según el gran reloj que había sobre la tabla de horarios de llegada, tenía diez minutos para coger el tren a Hogwarts y no tenía idea de qué podía hacer. Estaba en medio de la estación con un baúl que casi no podía transportar, un bolsillo lleno de monedas de mago y una jaula con una lechuza.


Hagrid debió de olvidar decirle algo que tenía que hacer, como dar un golpe al tercer ladrillo de la izquierda para entrar en el callejón Diagon. Se preguntó si debería sacar su varita y comenzar a golpear la taquilla, entre los andenes nueve y diez.


En aquel momento, un grupo de gente pasó por su lado y captó unas pocas palabras.

—... lleno de muggles, por supuesto...

Harry se volvió para verlos. La que hablaba era una mujer regordeta, que se dirigía a cuatro muchachos, todos con pelo de llameante color rojo. Cada uno empujaba un baúl, como Harry, y llevaban una lechuza.

Con el corazón palpitante, Harry empujó el carrito detrás de ellos. Se detuvieron y los imitó, parándose lo bastante cerca para escuchar lo que decían.

—Y ahora, ¿cuál es el número del andén? —dijo la madre.
—¡Nueve y tres cuartos! —dijo la voz aguda de una niña, también pelirroja, que iba de la mano de la madre—. Mamá, ¿no puedo ir...?
—No tienes edad suficiente, Ginny. Ahora estáte quieta. Muy bien, Percy, tú primero.

El que parecía el mayor de los chicos se dirigió hacia los andenes nueve y diez. Harry observaba, procurando no parpadear para no perderse nada. Pero justo cuando el muchacho llegó a la división de los dos andenes, una larga caravana de turistas pasó frente a él y, cuando se alejaron, el muchacho había desaparecido.

—Fred, eres el siguiente —dijo la mujer regordeta.
—No soy Fred, soy George —dijo el muchacho—. ¿De veras, mujer, puedes llamarte nuestra madre? ¿No te das cuenta de que yo soy George?
—Lo siento, George, cariño.
—Estaba bromeando, soy Fred —dijo el muchacho, y se alejó. Debió pasar, porque un segundo más tarde ya no estaba. Pero ¿cómo lo había hecho? Su hermano gemelo fue tras él: el tercer hermano iba rápidamente hacia la taquilla (estaba casi allí) y luego, súbitamente, no estaba en ninguna parte.

No había nadie más.

—Discúlpeme —dijo Harry a la mujer regordeta.
—Hola, querido —dijo—. Primer año en Hogwarts, ¿no? Ron también es nuevo.

Señaló al último y menor de sus hijos varones. Era alto, flacucho y pecoso, con manos y pies grandes y una larga nariz.

—Sí —dijo Harry—. Lo que pasa es que... es que no sé cómo...
—¿Cómo entrar en el andén? —preguntó bondadosamente, y Harry asintió con la cabeza.
—No te preocupes —dijo—. Lo único que tienes que hacer es andar recto hacia la barrera que está entre los dos andenes. No te detengas y no tengas miedo de chocar, eso es muy importante. Lo mejor es ir deprisa, si estás nervioso. Ve ahora, ve antes que Ron.
—Hum... De acuerdo —dijo Harry.

Empujó su carrito y se dirigió hacia la barrera. Parecía muy sólida.

Comenzó a andar. La gente que andaba a su alrededor iba al andén nueve o al diez. Fue más rápido. Iba a chocar contra la taquilla y tendría problemas. Se inclinó sobre el carrito y comenzó a correr (la barrera se acercaba cada vez más). Ya no podía detenerse (el carrito estaba fuera de control), ya estaba allí... Cerró los ojos, preparado para el choque...

Pero no llegó. Siguió rodando. Abrió los ojos.

Una locomotora de vapor, de color escarlata, esperaba en el andén lleno de gente. Un rótulo decía: «Expreso de Hogwarts, 11 h». Harry miró hacia atrás y vio una arcada de hierro donde debía estar la taquilla, con las palabras «Andén Nueve y Tres Cuartos».

Lo había logrado.


El tenebroso Cirque Du Freak

De Darren Shan

(Fragmento)

CAPÍTULO DOCE

-No es cierto que todas las tarántulas sean venenosas –dijo míster Crepsley.

Tenía una voz profunda. Conseguí apartar la mirada de Steve y prestar atención a lo que sucedía en el escenario.

-La mayoría son tan inofensivas como una araña corriente de cualquier otro lugar del mundo. Y las venenosas no suelen tener más veneno que el justo para matar criaturas muy pequeñas.

“¡Pero algunas son mortales! –prosiguió-. Las hay capaces de matar a un hombre con una sola picadura. Son raras, sólo se las encuentra en lugares remotos, pero existen.

“Y yo tengo una de esas arañas –dijo, abriendo la cajita.

Pasaron unos segundos sin que sucediera nada, pero entonces apareció la araña más grande que hubiera visto nunca. Era de color verde, púrpura y rojo, y tenía largas patas peludas y un cuerpo enorme y rechoncho. No me daban miedo las arañas, pero aquella era terrorífica.

La araña avanzó lentamente. Luego flexionó las patas y pareció agazaparse, como si esperase al acecho una mosca.

-Madam Octa me acompaña desde hace varios años –dijo míster Crepsley-. Es mucho más longeva que las arañas corrientes. El monje que me la vendió dijo que algunas de sus congéneres habían vivido hasta veinte o treinta años. Es una criatura increíble, a la vez venenosa e inteligente.

Mientras él hablaba, una de las personas encapuchadas de azul sacó una cabra al escenario. Balaba lastimeramente e intentaba escapar. La persona encapuchada la ató a la mesa y se retiró.

La araña empezó a moverse al ver y oír a la cabra. Avanzó hasta el borde de la mesa y allí se detuvo, como si estuviera esperando una orden. Míster Crepsley sacó del bolsillo del pantalón un pequeño silbato –él lo llamó flauta- y tocó unas cuantas notas cortas. Madam Octa saltó al vacío de inmediato y fue a aterrizar en el cuello de la cabra.

Cuando la araña cayó sobre ella, la cabra dio un brinco y empezó a balar más fuerte. Madam Octa hizo caso omiso, siguió adelante y se acercó unos centímetros más a la cabeza. Cuando estuvo preparada, ¡sacó los quelíceros y los hundió en el cuello de la cabra! La cabra se quedó petrificada, con los ojos muy abiertos. Dejó de balar, y a los pocos segundos, se desplomó. Creí que estaba muerta, pero luego noté que todavía respiraba.

-Con esta flauta domino la voluntad de Madam Octa –dijo míster Crepsley, y yo aparté la mirada de la cabra tirada en el suelo.
Esgrimió la flauta lentamente por encima de su cabeza.

-Aunque llevemos juntos mucho tiempo, no es una simple mascota, y sin duda me mataría si alguna vez pierdo esto.

“La cabra está paralizada –dijo-. He adiestrado a Madam Octa para que no mate del todo con la primera picadura. Si la abandonáramos a su suerte, la cabra acabaría por morir –no hay antídoto contra la picadura de Madam Octa- pero tenemos que acabar con todo esto rápidamente.

Tocó su flauta y Madam Octa subió por el cuello de la cabra hasta detenerse junto a la oreja. Sacó los quelíceros de nuevo y mordió. La cabra se estremeció, luego quedó inerte.
Estaba muerta.

Madam Octa saltó de la cabra y avanzó hacia la parte delantera del escenario. La gente de las primeras filas se alarmó hasta el extremo de que algunos dieron un brinco. Pero se quedaron petrificados con una escueta orden de míster Crepsley.

-¡No se muevan! –silbó-. Recuerden lo que se les ha advertido: ¡cualquier ruido inesperado puede significar la muerte!

Madam Octa se detuvo al borde del escenario y se irguió sobre sus dos patas traseras, ¡como un perro! Míster Crepsley tocó suavemente la flauta y la araña empezó a caminar hacia atrás, todavía sobre dos patas. Cuando llegó a la altura de la pata más cercana de la mesa, se giró y subió de un salto.

-Ahora están a salvo –dijo míster Crepsley, y la gente de las primeras filas volvió a ocupar sus asientos, lo más lenta y silenciosamente que fueron capaces.

“Pero por favor –añadió-, no hagan ruido, porque si lo hacen puede que me ataque a mí.”

No sé si míster Crepsley sentía realmente miedo o no era más que parte de la actuación, pero parecía asustado. Se secó el sudor de la frente con la manga derecha de la chaqueta, volvió a llevarse la flauta a los labios y tocó una extraña y breve melodía.

Madam Octa levantó la cabeza y pareció saludar con una inclinación. Caminó sobre la mesa hasta ponerse frente a míster Crepsley. Él bajó la mano derecha y la araña empezó a subir por su brazo. La sola idea de aquellas largas y peludas patas caminando por encima de su piel me hacía sudar de pies a cabeza. ¡Y eso que a mí me gustan las arañas! Las personas a las que les dan miedo debieron de morderse las uñas hasta sangrar de puros nervios.

Cuando hubo recorrido todo el brazo, siguió subiendo por el hombro, el cuello, la oreja, y no se detuvo hasta colocarse encima de la cabeza, donde se agazapó. Parecía una especie de sombrero de lo más extravagante.

Al cabo de un momento, míster Crepsley empezó a tocar la flauta de nuevo. Madam Octa empezó a descender por el otro lado de la cara, siguiendo el trazo de la cicatriz, y paseó por su rostro hasta quedar boca arriba sobre el mentón. Entonces segregó un hilo de seda y se descolgó por él.

Ahora colgaba a unos diez centímetros por debajo de la barbilla, y poco a poco empezó a mecerse de lado a lado. Pronto consiguió columpiarse tan alto que llegaba de oreja a oreja. Tenía las patas flexionadas, y desde donde yo estaba sentado parecía una bola de lana.

De repente hizo un movimiento extraño, y míster Crepsley echó atrás la cabeza con tal fuerza que la araña salió volando por los aires. El hilo se rompió y ella empezó a dar vueltas de campana. Observé cómo subía y bajaba por el aire. Yo pensaba que aterrizaría encima de la mesa, pero no fue así. ¡En realidad fue a caer justo en la boca de míster Crepsley!

Casi me puse enfermo con sólo imaginar a Madam Octa deslizándose garganta abajo hasta el estómago. Estaba convencido de que le picaría, de que iba a matarle. Pero la araña era mucho más lista de lo que yo creía. Mientras caía, abrió las patas y se apoyó con ellas en los labios.

Él levantó la cabeza hacia delante para que pudiéramos verle bien la cara. Tenía la boca completamente abierta, y Madam Octa estaba suspendida entre sus labios. Su cuerpo latía dentro y fuera de la boca; parecía un globo que él estuviera hinchando y deshinchando.

Me pregunté dónde estaría la flauta y cómo se las arreglaría ahora para dominar a la araña. Entonces apareció míster Tall con otra flauta. No tocaba tan bien como míster Crepsley, pero sí lo bastante como para que Madam Octa se diera por enterada. Ella se paró a escuchar, y luego pasó de un lado a otro de la boca de míster Crepsley.

Al principio no sabía lo que estaba haciendo, así que estiré el cuello para ver mejor. Al ver los retazos de blanco en los labios de míster Crepsley lo entendí: ¡estaba tejiendo una telaraña!

Cuando hubo terminado, se dejó caer desde el mentón, como había hecho antes. Una telaraña grande y tupida ocupaba la boca de míster Crepsley. ¡Y empezó a lamerla y masticarla! Se la comió toda, luego se acarició la tripa (con mucho cuidado de no tocar a Madam Octa) y dijo:

-Delicioso. No hay nada más sabroso que una buena telaraña recién hecha. En el lugar del que procedo son un manjar.

Hizo que Madam Octa jugara encima de la mesa con una pelota, y hasta que se sostuviera en equilibrio sobre ella. Luego dispuso diminutos aparatos de gimnasia, pesas en miniatura, cuerdas y anillas, y le hizo hacer ejercicios con ellas. Era capaz de hacerlo todo con la misma destreza que un ser humano: levantar pesar, trepar por la cuerda y colgarse de las anillas.

A continuación sacó una minúscula cena esmeradamente servida. Había platos, cuchillos y tenedores diminutos, así como vasos chiquititos. Los platos estaban llenos de moscas muertas y otros pequeños insectos. No sé qué era lo que contenían los vasos. Madam Octa tomó su cena con una pulcritud admirable. Era perfectamente capaz de coger los cubiertos –cuatro cuchillos y tenedores a la vez- y comer con ellos. ¡Tenía hasta un falso salero con el que sazonó uno de los platos!

Creo que fue cuando bebía del vaso cuando decidí que Madam Octa era la mascota más extraordinaria que hubiera visto nunca. Habría dado cualquier cosa por poseerla. Sabía que era imposible –mamá y papá no me dejarían tenerla aun en el caso de que pudiera comprarla-, pero eso no evitaba que lo deseara con todas mis fuerzas.

Al terminar su número, míster Crepsley volvió a meter a la araña en su caja y saludó con una inclinación a un público enfervorecido. Oí decir a alguien que era injusto haber matado a la pobre cabra, pero había sido sensacional.

Me giré hacia Steve para comentarle lo extraordinaria que me había parecido la araña, pero él observaba fijamente a míster Crepsley. Ya no parecía asustado, pero tampoco tenía un aspecto del todo normal.

-Steve, ¿qué te pasa? –pregunté.

No respondió.

-¿Steve?
-¡Shhh! –musitó, y no pronunció ni una palabra hasta que míster Crepsley se hubo ido.

Observó atentamente cómo aquel hombre de aspecto extravagante desaparecía entre bambalinas. Luego se volvió hacia mí y balbució:

-¡Es increíble!
-¿La araña? –pregunté-. Ha sido fantástico. ¿Cómo crees tú que lo hace para...?
-¡No estoy hablando de la araña! –me espetó- ¿A quién le importa un estúpido arácnido? Hablo de... de míster Crepsley.

Se interrumpió un instante antes de pronunciar su nombre, como si hubiera estado a punto de llamarle de alguna otra forma.

-¿Míster Crepsley? –pregunté, desconcertado-. ¿Qué tiene él de fantástico? Lo único que ha hecho es tocar la flauta.
-Tú no lo entiendes –se impacientó Steve-. No sabes quién es en realidad.
-¿Y tú sí lo sabes? –pregunté.
-Sí –dijo-, ya que lo preguntas, sí que lo sé.

Se frotó la barbilla; pareció inquietarse de nuevo.

-Sólo espero que él no se dé cuenta de que lo sé. De lo contrario... puede que nunca salgamos con vida de aquí.