by Daniel de Culla
A Congress of Writers and Poets coming from all over the Globe was being held at the Atocha Hotel Madrid, promoted by the World Poetry Movement, of which I was the official Delegate for Madrid and the two Castiles.
To say that this World Poetry Movement seeks to contribute, through globalization and carrying out poetic actions, in the construction of a true humanism, promoting intercultural dialogue through the fraternal and universal language of Poetry, for the benefit of a humanity in peace, reconciled with nature and cultural diversity.
Among the places of interest near the hotel today, the Reina Sofía Museum stands out, which did not exist before, the Puerta del Sol, the San Miguel market and the Atocha Train Station, of course.
If its breakfast room was good, its terrace was even better, on the top floor, from where you could enjoy a panoramic view over the rooftops of the center of Madrid, even seeing the roof of the Prado Museum.
A Japanese writer, with whom I had met, through having seen some of our literary works published in magazines or anthologies such as Poetry Japan (Japanese Poetry), Kafla Intercontinental (India), Korean Poetry (Korean Poetry) had written me four letters with the desire to greet me, establish a friendship, and learn about the lifestyle of a Spanish family.
I agreed. I went to look for him at the doors of the Hotel, and brought him home, leaving, halfway started, a literary talk that, at that time, was given in English and Spanish.
At the time of the journey, already past twelve, what a mischievous Japanese man! He told me that he would like to marry a Spanish woman or get into her bed with her.
Ironically, I asked him:
-Do you carry paper and pen? You already know that the ink remains at home.
He ate with appetite; rather, he devoured the three courses: first, second and dessert with red wine from Aragon “Cariñena”, and soda “La Pitusa”.
For coffee, with a glass and a cigar, he took out of a briefcase he was carrying a bottle of rice liquor: Sake, which is an institution in Japan. National drink of the Country that, in some religions, is even a spiritual drink, such as the Tizona Liqueur made by the monks of the Monastery of San Pedro de Cardeña, in Burgos, for the people of Burgos.
After dinner, he hit on Guadalupe. In English he told her:
-How good the food has been. Your kisses will be better if you let me stew that lamb inside you.
Guadalupe smiled. She didn’t understand much, but she did notice the way he looked at her. She made a questioning gesture at me, and I said, in her ear:
-He wants to fuck you, wow!
-And what is his name, brother? Guadalupe asked me.
I answered her:
– Nakawaba Nakawaba.
-Well, tell him that I don’t sleep with anyone called “Nada Cago” (Nothing Shit), Guadalupe told me.
Tell him it in English, brother.
-Nakawaba: This is what my sister tells you; that she doesn’t sleep with someone called “Nothing Shit”. Ella no quiere domir con alguien quea se llame “Nada Cago.”
He said goodbye with good manners, marching to the Hotel taking a taxi that we ordered by phone. I didn’t see him again until I went to say goodbye to him at the Atocha Station, as he was leaving for Barcelona.
When saying goodbye, when the train started, he didn’t wave goodbye to me. He took out his dick by crushing it against the window glass!
I stuck out my tongue and turned my back on him.
