The
lightning were seen
everywhere from the eighth floor of the central tower of Torres Cerdà, the place where I am working now. I arranged everything to get out quickly. The
sky almost had fallen on us and I didn’t like the idea to drive under a strong
storm; drivers put themselves nervous and make stupid things
when it rains, and I hate the idea of driving when the pavement of the
freeway becomes a mirror. Strangely, my short trip to
Santa Fe (of the
Penèdes, not of
New Mexico) was fantastic, there was little
rain, the
fast lane was free most of the time, and I arrived in forty minutes. Sometimes I am a lucky
commuter, although I prefer to be a
Rodríguez.
When I arrived at Santa Fe the light was wonderful, the weather forecast having just said on the radio that the storms were general in all the country (yes, I live in a small country). Our little town had to be the centre of the storm, because everything was calm. The light was incredible, leaking through the clouds with that orange-reddish tone of the dusk. When I arrived at the house the horn warned Sonia of my arrival. I manoeuvred the car to face the doors that give entrance to the garage and few moments later she opened the door.
" How is everything?". "a pair of power cuts, but everything is fine now." "There are storms throughout, they will be here soon too".
We went upstairs and we sat down, as she’s on holydays and I am working, we had to take advantage of the little time we spend together, so we started to chat. Suddenly, the lights went off.
Cal Ferret, that is the name of the house, is a big house of three plants that dates from the XVII century, and although is partially reformed, doesn’t have all the comforts of a modern house. In spite of that, we still depend on electrical energy, and a power cut means that there is no music, no TV, no computers (we have two!) nor water (the water pump is electric). While Sonia was lighting some candles and I was rolling the first joint of the day, I began to think that bringing all those household-electric devices here, we have turned the house into another mousetrap for humans dependent of electricity. Although I am already used to the telephone absence (but not to the absence of Internet), since the omnipresent cellular telephone accompanies to us, a blackout always is a good occasion to reflect on our dependency of the electricity. But also, a blackout is perfect to have a conversation without distractions. I tend to make too many things simultaneously, like reading the newspaper, watching TV and speaking with Sonia at the same time, so we enjoyed of the powerless calm of the house.
Outside, the lightning flashes were more and more spectacular, it wasn’t raining above us, but the wind was so strong that rain fell laterally from a big, nearby cloud. The cellular phone rang. Sonia went to the backyard, to have better coverage and a new and powerful lightning illuminated the dying dusk. It was so violent that we loosed the communication and we had to reset the phone, because it hung! We continued chatting calmly, enjoying the moment. Watching the candles, it seemed to me like a scene of Barry Lindon, everything was so calm that it seemed unreal. We had been without light for one hour and a half . We began to think that we had to cook, that the umpteenth repeat of Star Trek: The Next Generation was about to start, and other thoughts that demonstrate how slaves we are of the current of electrons we call electricity. However, the tranquillity won over us and nothing seemed to matter…
Then, light suddenly returned and both jumped and shouted like mad: yeah! well done! cool! I turned on the TV set, still lacking five minutes for our favourite program, we ran to the kitchen… and the enthusiasm bewildered again these incorrigible electric boys...