Put plastic gloves. Put the apron. Take the yellow bottle and small brush, kneels in front of the oven door open, put the brush inside the bottle and leaves smeared with a thick beige liquid.
She gets half his body in the oven and brush passes through the wall. experience says you should start with the wall. Before smeared the walls of the oven with this paste and smeared itself out and the substance burned, it left a red trail on the skin. Now it does wall wall begins with the background. Then make the left, then the right. Finally the glass door of the oven.
is stuck there, in the virtual oven. The tiny light on it makes you feel like a miner in a dark tunnel. Think of the darkness in the mines. The dark depths of the oven. Reminds canaries that are at the bottom of the mines as they are the first to die in case of gas leakage. think you should put the canary in there with her, just in case.
Get the body and more paste smeared on the brush. Re-enter .
Think boredom. Think about it because that's what makes her feel this little place, that awkward position. The certainty of that task will not get too excited but I just do. No one else in the house would. For a moment he is without moving the arm. Just seeing the side walls. Dirt. old Manteca, sticky and dark. Think animals like to live in the ovens. Cockroaches love such traces of old grease and the soft background mice insulation kitchens, which they destroyed and fit for their nests. Everyone needs a home, sweet home.
Sale, sits on his heels, sigh.
do not like that. But you have to. a nuisance that you think cleaning the home, something nearly meaningless. It takes weeks clean all screens on the windows and clean glass, tiles, bathrooms, kitchen, toilets, laundry (actually just put it in the washer and then hang), watering plants , polished wood furniture, dusting the books. And when the round ends, you have to start over, because the mosquito that cleaned at the beginning as they are dirty again, a couple of weeks. And everything starts again as identically as ever.
to those things a little machine (now crawls back in the oven with a cloth to remove the pasta). were the few moments that had to be herself, to think, to listen. why did it when everyone was out, the husband in the office, the kids at school. The home was half time and came only in the afternoon and made it worse, soil cleaning, ironing, sweeping the garden and entrance.
Now imagine an archaeologist, removing the earth of some Egyptian mural, and of dark tunnels should also be within the tombs of the pharaohs. He looked with small brush dusting of thousands of years, and her photo appear in National Geographic, she, with brush in hand, illuminated by a small flashlight, discovering something that humanity did not know about the ancient Egyptians.
Fold the cloth that wiped the wall and put it aside. begins with the left wall.
Sylvia Plath. the oven. absconding gas under the door foresight she had covered with towels so that their children did not realize she was committing suicide. children slept. as she would be kneeling in the oven. Aspiring gas.
Stops brush. Try to imagine the time they found the body. also has the facade of a London street in your head (or at least I believe, to imagination that seems that you have in your head, because she has never been to London, but has seen so often in movies ... )
read this biography of Plath years ago, but do not forget that small Details of the towels and sleeping children.
back to sit on the ankles and another sigh. just goes down the middle. Re-enter .
While cleaning wonders what happens to the food there. Where does all that sticky grease on the walls? explode things "in there? Who left the oven walls as well? "The pig, chicken, rolls, desserts?
Think back to the Plath. imagines are cleaning your oven. Will had the idea to do so, just as she is at that moment? How many times I have thought and postponed and re-think?
Remember film images. But movies always misinform. always save them in the last minute to suicide, which melt away into the oven. anyone except to Plath. She was not a movie.
goes with the right wall.
remember having read in the newspaper a few years ago, a woman committed suicide with his cat. oven She got the cat. The two found dead. must have been in France, the French love cats, but in reality does not remember. itself is criticized for failing to note that the newspaper cut.
She liked the story, the details of the cat. thought she would do the same. commit suicide with her cat. The dead must have spoken to the cat, you should have explained what they were doing. The cat agreed, because otherwise it would not have left so calmly put in the oven. Imagine the cat and the woman with a calm expression, can almost see the smiling cat (the cat should have been a those cats scratched and yellow fat so spoiled, and she, a lonely fifties without major attributes and intelligence, able to make a formidable apple pie, but unable to because of their age to seduce a man.)
Actually she imagines the woman kneeling in front of the oven, and the yellow cat, also kneeling beside her, his head and his legs stuck in the oven. The two piles, side by side, waiting for death. Vision impossible.
the oven and for a while. position causes pain in the legs. Walk to the clothes line, hanging clothes touches. is now dry, but the oven will finish first.
Open the refrigerator. The closed.
always does that. Open the refrigerator, see what's there, close again. It does this without any particular reason. Nothing more to see.
Sometimes thirst, and want to take something special, something different, and know that inside the refrigerator that does not exist to satisfy your craving, but anyway open it and see. And close.
Drink some water. Rinse the cloth. Turns to kneel.
The dark interior. holes where the heat rises. Down lighting the fire. She always had a horror of the furnaces. Once, as a child, burned eyebrows because the gas was an air bubble that exploded at the right moment when she had lighted match in hand.
This oven likes. has a hole and the match must be put in, and the fire is down. She is always cautious with the ovens from that incident. stings like when hot peppers. When going to get a fork and knife, face away. O closes his eyes. already has happened more than once, that clicking a chile, a drop jump right into their eyes.
Just the door and exit.
Spread pasta. Sits on the ankles to wait for the minutes required to serve the pasta before removal. Next time buy the spray, may be less eager. But spreads the paste with a brush ... she imagines painting a picture, painting many pictures and preparing his next exhibition and to hear all the "uhhhs" and "ahhhs" of admiration for his work and interviews in newspapers and television and travel would do with all that money he would win, a yacht in the Mediterranean, all major cities, Cannes, Monte Carlo. codearía to be famous. buy a house in Marseille, overlooking the sea and surrounded by palm trees. And watching paint the sea.
Look inside the oven. 's clean, bright. Almost shines. As in the commercials. But she feels disgusting. has sweated like a pig and makes cleaning up a heat that execrable and feels that now she has dark sticky fat "on it. The emerging business models smiling, clean and perfectly combed from the depths of the newly cleaned oven. Despite the care, she is fat even in the face.
Clean the door. ends. is tired.
think the oven will open a couple of hours to dissipate the smell of cleaning paste. now sits on the floor. Look the oven clean. Puts reconsideration. is really clean. I hate cleaning. It annoys dirt and disorder. Nobody asks you to clean the oven, but she has to. Her husband has probably never been inside the oven. Much less know if it is clean or dirty. But she is not quiet when they know something dirty at home. Therefore devoted many hours to clean the domestic things that will never happen if she did not indicate it. And besides, would not do so conscientiously, with as much fervor in the details, absolute cleanliness, as she does.
feel proud of their work. one can always do so. But I always feel that satisfaction. produces a special feeling you get something clean. Remove dirt or grease, and trash and find a clean, polished, disinfected.
Wondering about the position. How placed in the oven? "Kneeling? And the head? Is lay with against the grille?
Remember. you wash before starting grid. is drying on the clothesline. going to bring. Place in their slots. Notes awhile.
decided to pull and lower level.
kneels and rests his head on his right side on the rack. What arms? What to do with the arms? Puts them in the oven too.
is strange. Despite being physically uncomfortable position, feel a great sense of peace there in the oven.
and several minutes were left. With eyes open, but without focusing on anything in sight. Think in Plath. would be in that position. Think fifties and cat. She'd turned on his left side. not know why, I imagine so. Sale and settles to get in the position of the suicidal cat. Think cat. Obedient and loyal. oven must have been larger than she has to accommodate a cat also yellow and chubby.
is so well and is in the oven, which could fall asleep. A long and peaceful sleep. As those naps sometimes allows mid-morning and which disturbs him awake.
Get the right arm searches for the gas oven knob.
the tour. Just curious. To learn how it smells, how they are the first effects.
From Jacinta Escudos Salvadoran writer, content in his book "domestic bliss & other scary things," published by Editorial X in May 2002 . Jacinta Shields was awarded the Prize Centroamericano de Novela "Mario Monteforte Toledo" in 2003 for his novel " AB-Shroud" (For those interested, it soon). To learn more about Jacinta Escudos can access http://filmica.com/jacintaescudos/ . His new book of stories, "Chronicles for Sentimental" was released in July by FG \u200b\u200bPublishers
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