Alfonso Urcía | Alvaro

Today, with the permission of The Debate and its readers, I will address a particular kind of grief. I beg your forgiveness for misusing your patience.

It is now Saturday, August 12th at 8:45 am, I have received and accepted, how could it be otherwise, the news of the death of my brother Álvaro, who left Madrid for a mysterious place for the following reasons. pneumonia. He’s very nice, has a great sense of humor, and if he wasn’t my brother, I’d do everything I can to be his friend.

The truth is, since the untimely death of his wife Maria Pan de Solarus and the unexpected death of his best friend Inigo Canedo in the early days of the pandemic, Álvaro has been surrounded by grief. Due to a family accident, he has been confined to a wheelchair and hardly ever goes out. He sold his paradise to one of our nephews, a beautiful house in Candeleda where he spent the best time of his life with Maria. He was an amateur ornithologist and had the extraordinary ability to excel in all sports. There is one unique trait: he is bored with winning.

– Victory bores me more than eating with Catalans.

He was in the trophy final at the San Sebastian Tennis Tournament. He won the first set. All of us disliked his opponents except him.

“He was so unsympathetic, I thought it was funny”, and he lost. Winning is important to him. He took the glass home to celebrate with his family. How could I deprive him of that little glory?

As children, in La Moraleja, when a new priest visited our mother, he placed “indecent pillows,” those pink Balloons, they make a farting sound when they feel the pressure of a distracted butt. The greatest aesthetic illusion he shared with me, other siblings, and our mother was the opening ceremony of the Olympics, with athletes rising up with torches while the public cheered the nonsense. , tripped over a step and screwed up the torch show.

He plays football very well. He is a great fisherman of the ocean and a hunter in his spare time. If a deer enters the stall, he encourages it to follow suit: “Killing a deer is like shooting a double-decker bus.”

Álvaro loved the country, the noises, the sounds, the dogs, which Count Jebes summed up as “the song of the mountains”. He was tall, scrawny, with squinting eyes. They called him “China”. Like almost all great men, a Madridista at heart. Infinitely sensitive. Since it was the last one, it was favored by our parents. But in a family of ten siblings, there is no place for the pampered and selfish. Like a good Russian, spend when you have money, and be frugal when your wallet is damaged. He was amused by people falling down on the street. To him, his friends are more important than his brothers. Canedo Angoso, Casto, Jose, Inigo, Pedro, Luis, Maria and Diego. “The Goat” Luis Alvarez Estrada with his brother Jaime. Jose Aguirres… there are hundreds of these people with whom he has had the best time of his life and the worst time. He did not leave anyone indifferent. When he gets angry, once or twice a year, everything shakes until he bursts out laughing.

—How ridiculous it is to be angry about a meaningless thing.

He is analytical, we are all his brothers, and I omit his nickname out of kindness and caution. His library is dominated by nature books, vintage hunting trips from the early 20th century, bird guides and Woodhouse novels. But his favorite humor books are those of his hunting friends: “I don’t understand why it takes so much pain to hunt a bug.”

Álvaro was invited by some Zamoran ranchers to hunt wolves. The solitude of his post made him very bored. He also found a lecherous guy dressed as Little Red Riding Hood as a partner.

– Logically, the wolf moved into our position. Feroz fell in love with Little Red Riding Hood.

He got into his post. But amidst a burst of laughter from Red Riding Hood and Álvaro, the wolf had plenty of time to get out of his shooting range. The ranchers and other hunters were very angry.

He lived long and well until grief came. For several years, he had hoped for the chance to see Maria and her friend Inigo again. I have no news on this. But if anyone deserves a reunion, it’s him.

As usual. My wishes and prayers are inspired by the Irish proverb: “Alvaro, my brother, may the paths be smooth under your feet.” May the wind always be on your back. May the sun shine warmly on your face. May God protect you with his protective hand. “

Rest and smile.

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