reproduce below the article Rick wrote for the magazine on the occasion of 11-M. It was the latest in a series of stories-stories-stories that had to do with Madrid and the first delivery, paradoxically, and as noted below, was published on 10 March. In this link have the whole series. Photos: Pedro Martinez Corada
MADRID AND BLOOD
Incredibly gave the first report of this series on 10 March. So I promised myself that I bind it to the original idea and not let fear, anger, sadness in my Madrid meanders more than the essentials. But unfortunately, there is a mother weeping and trembling, which reviews each bag with the look of subway, bus, train Suburban ... and do not think it's just not talk about it. Close your eyes as children. Imagine that never happened.
But it passed, and although there is evidence on this in Santa Eugenia, El Pozo, in Alcalá, Vallecas, EntrevĂas ... I prefer to stay in time with the most obvious: the so-called "sanctuary" from the Atocha station. Let no one imagine it monumental and grandiose as the noun seems to indicate, remember that Madrid is little given to the show, as if regardless of the display win in intensity. The "sanctuary" is at this point, more than two months later, on a poster of the Association of Victims of Terrorism and a corner of the lobby with flowers and candles.
The walls and columns are filled with autographs, poems, insults, propaganda, children's drawings, flags, soccer teams, pictures of the dead to stop being a figure .. . There was something about that in principle it does not excite me: I'm not as good as the Madrid melodrama and poems seem smug, vicious insults, propaganda miserable ... But I can not stop looking. I do not know if the smell of incense forcing me to stay there along the fence. In silence. Suddenly, you realize that you are not alone, that there's at least ten people around you: quiet, exposed, with a touch of emotion in the gesture. Ecuadorians, Bulgarians, Romanians, Moroccans, Argentina, Dominican ... Madrid. There
thousand things to say about Atocha is basically repeated the same feeling in a thousand pamphlets. I've said before: I have difficulty with emotion. But there is a green overalls with a phrase scribbled in pen: "I only regret not having saved more lives." And then I remember other blood. It is not that of the dead, which is boiled in the hearts of all those who risked their lives. Which give mass that morning at the health centers ... Madrid's blood running through the veins of the suburban rail network. I do not know what a hero, and if I tell the truth, I have some fear of that word. But even granting that it was an exaggeration when do you keep the hype if not for the moment? For firefighters, SAMUR, neighbors, citizens ultimately who gave their all for others.
funny thing is that the station Atocha, nevertheless, remains upright with the dignity of a proud old age, as if it did not go with her. Remember what we said de la Cibeles in the first chapter? This is Madrid must have been born in May because he is stubborn as a Taurus. Perhaps because it generates so much hatred. Soon the shabby shrine means nothing. The last candle will go out, the poems will be covered by graffiti and people forget. It's inevitable: Madrid needs to forget. But now what remains is a gaping wound. Misery eroded. There is something to mind the slaughter every day, and sadness, and behind the sadness, fear. Y behind the fear, again, pride.
But it passed, and although there is evidence on this in Santa Eugenia, El Pozo, in Alcalá, Vallecas, EntrevĂas ... I prefer to stay in time with the most obvious: the so-called "sanctuary" from the Atocha station. Let no one imagine it monumental and grandiose as the noun seems to indicate, remember that Madrid is little given to the show, as if regardless of the display win in intensity. The "sanctuary" is at this point, more than two months later, on a poster of the Association of Victims of Terrorism and a corner of the lobby with flowers and candles.
The walls and columns are filled with autographs, poems, insults, propaganda, children's drawings, flags, soccer teams, pictures of the dead to stop being a figure .. . There was something about that in principle it does not excite me: I'm not as good as the Madrid melodrama and poems seem smug, vicious insults, propaganda miserable ... But I can not stop looking. I do not know if the smell of incense forcing me to stay there along the fence. In silence. Suddenly, you realize that you are not alone, that there's at least ten people around you: quiet, exposed, with a touch of emotion in the gesture. Ecuadorians, Bulgarians, Romanians, Moroccans, Argentina, Dominican ... Madrid. There
thousand things to say about Atocha is basically repeated the same feeling in a thousand pamphlets. I've said before: I have difficulty with emotion. But there is a green overalls with a phrase scribbled in pen: "I only regret not having saved more lives." And then I remember other blood. It is not that of the dead, which is boiled in the hearts of all those who risked their lives. Which give mass that morning at the health centers ... Madrid's blood running through the veins of the suburban rail network. I do not know what a hero, and if I tell the truth, I have some fear of that word. But even granting that it was an exaggeration when do you keep the hype if not for the moment? For firefighters, SAMUR, neighbors, citizens ultimately who gave their all for others.
funny thing is that the station Atocha, nevertheless, remains upright with the dignity of a proud old age, as if it did not go with her. Remember what we said de la Cibeles in the first chapter? This is Madrid must have been born in May because he is stubborn as a Taurus. Perhaps because it generates so much hatred. Soon the shabby shrine means nothing. The last candle will go out, the poems will be covered by graffiti and people forget. It's inevitable: Madrid needs to forget. But now what remains is a gaping wound. Misery eroded. There is something to mind the slaughter every day, and sadness, and behind the sadness, fear. Y behind the fear, again, pride.
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