The ruins are ancient. They have been there since her mother took her to see them, just like her grandmother, great-grandmother and great-great-grandmother had done with their own children before. The ruins have always been there, and they will be there when everything else will be gone.
She, however, has never seen them. On moonless nights like this, she puts on the mask her mother had given her in the past. It was essential that she gave the offerings without seeing anything. Others had looked through the veil, and there was no blood or flesh left of them... Nothing.
“What's on the other side, mother?”
Her mother had never known the answer but surely, as a child, she had disobeyed the orders and had walked the endless rows of columns, touching its cold surface too. Surely she had felt breathless, had shuddered at the broken, crushed bodies, and had heard the ghostly cry that seemed to come from the decomposed lips of the statues. And for certain, she had felt the vaporous caress of the veil as well, no matter how far from the entrance she had been.
She can’t see anything now, but still, she comes with her offering... And she listens.
The veil slips. The veil dances. She notices it spreading as if it is looking for her. But it lurks, and not precisely in the distance. She listens more attentively. The sand slides over the dunes, the wind blows. Something huge moves.
She stands very still.
And, for a moment, she is sure that the veil opens, and from the other side of the big door comes the wailing of people who are screaming and being crushed.
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Las ruinas son antiguas. Han estado ahí desde que su madre las llevara a verlas, igual que hicieran su abuela, bisabuela y tatarabuela. Las ruinas siempre han estado ahí, y estarán cuando todo desaparezca.
En las noches sin luna, su madre la cubría con un velo la cara. Era indispensable que entregara las ofrendas sin ver nada. Otros habían mirado a través del velo, y de ellos no quedó sangre, carne... Nada.
-¿Qué hay al otro lado, madre?
Su madre nunca supo la respuesta, pero seguro que, de niña, también desobedeció órdenes y recorrió las interminables hileras de columnas. Seguro que palpó, sin aliento, y se estremeció ante los cuerpos quebrados, aplastados, y escuchó el grito de fantasmal que parecía surgir de los descompuestos labios de las estatuas.
Seguro que también sintió la vaporosa caricia del velo, sin importar lo lejos que estuviera de la entrada.
Ahora no puede ver nada, pero aun así, acude con su ofrenda... Y escucha.
El velo se desliza. El velo danza. Lo nota extenderse, como si la buscara. Pero acecha, y no precisamente en la distancia. Aguza el oído. La arena se desliza sobre las dunas, el viento sopla. Algo enorme se desplaza.
Se queda muy quieta.
Y, por un momento, está segura de que el velo se abre y del otro lado de la gran puerta llega el lamento de gente que grita y es aplastada.
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