Home Entertainment The new story of Marcelo Birmajer: The Towers of Lozbel

The new story of Marcelo Birmajer: The Towers of Lozbel

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The new story of Marcelo Birmajer: The Towers of Lozbel

The New Story Of Marcelo Birmajer: The Towers Of Lozbel - Light Home News

Irineo Cocker enjoyed your newly acquired good luck, with a Martini by the side and Ema waiting for him in the room. His house, on that paradisiacal island, barely met the security standard of being locked, without lock or keys. More so that a lost animal would not enter than for fear of a human intruder.

That’s why it opened like the wind, but Professor Lozbel entered. Irineo took a moment to stop typing on his portable typewriter, and he smiled unkindly. Lozbel was known as a “professor” for his dedication as a teacher to university life, his subject was architecture: he was the most important architect of the Empire.

Although Lozbel did not detract from the nickname or title of “professor”, and appreciated that of “most relevant” architect; it had never been reconciled with the definition of Empire: we have defeated hideous tyrannies, it argued. “We are not an empire: yes, a conglomeration of geographically dispersed and culturally diverse communities that decide to share a free and civil mode of association ”.

But most of his fellow citizens found it less difficult to consider themselves part of an “Empire.” All those debates, his title of professor and that of architect, already they did not represent a concept or a label.

His prestige, his fame, and his fortune had all vanished, as if the Empire, or the Conglomerate, as he called it, had been suddenly shattered, in an instant, by one of the two great threats of the past: the black or the red. .

The Torres de Lozbel, the residential building as well as a monument to the Conglomerate’s values ​​- freedom and hope – were not his authorship. The landmark architectural piece of its time had emerged in the mind of a young architect: Irineo Cocker.

The details and twists and turns through which inspiration and design had passed from the young man’s imagination to the old man’s mind no longer interested anyone. The newspapers, radio and television had specified it: plagiarism.

Lozbel had taken the blame silently. But what was he doing there now, Irineo wondered. He did not believe that he was going to kill him, or take revenge in any other way: he knew that the acknowledgment of the fact was in turn a waiver of any kind of retaliation. The old man was finished, but he still had some of his implicit dignity.

However, the elderly architect wanted to establish the truth. Perhaps a value – the truth – that was not expressed in the Towers. I needed, Lozbel, to clear it up between the two of them, before disappearing in the mists of time.

“You knew I’d be inspired by that design,” Lozbel said.

Irineo only raised his eyebrows. It was an uncommitted mode of confirmation.

“You don’t have to sign it,” Lozbel continued. I will give as valid all the answers that you do not contradict. Just like I took the blame without saying a word.

Strangely, Irineo’s silence became even more significant. Between these two men, the silence took on a devastating loquacity: like telepathy without words.

“I didn’t know who you were,” Lozbel repeated. There is only one way that inspiration came to me without any prior contact between us: a girl.

Irineo made an enormous effort to suppress his smile. The old man was a fox! He had fallen into the trap like a fox, but he also figured it out like an old fox. An old fox that he understood his mistake before he died from the last shot.

“What I’m wondering,” Lozbel mused aloud, “is how she managed to implant that drawing in my head.” Was it a word he said, the way he arranged his legs, a geometric shape that he put together with the empty bottles?

“I drank a lot,” Lozbel admitted, after a silence unlike any they had. I drank a lot that afternoon with Miss Ludmila. I drank because I couldn’t believe that he had come to meet me, that we ended up knowing that way, and above all because I feared that I would not be able to face the challenge of his body.

I drank so much that I remember everything. And now I am here, defeated as a hick. I would have chosen that noon against anything but this infamy. Using someone else’s idea: I can’t think of anything worse for me. That’s the hell of my Conglomerate. From my personal Conglomerate.

Irineo drank his Martini. He would not have imagined that the old man could get to like him so well. But the Empire itself testified: for the new to emerge, the old had to die. Life did not ask about it. It happened.

“I only understood the spell today,” Lozbel took a seat.

The only thing Irineo feared at that moment was that Ema (Lozbel knew her as Ludmila), would suddenly appear between them, generating a pathetic scene. With the disqualification. He had promised him heaven after Irineo finished his speech for the re-inauguration of the Towers the next day – he had decided to leave them without a surname: the Towers.

It was missing a few lines and a correction. If Ema accidentally interrupted them, and guilt chilled her reward for seeing Lozbel, the old man’s unexpected visit would end up being revenge, albeit not deliberate.

“You knew if you submitted the plan yourself, no one would finance it,” Lozbel finally revealed. I needed the proposal to be mine. I needed to get the project approved, built, become an icon … and then yes.

Appear suddenly, out of nowhere, to claim his authorship. You used my decades of prestige, and a five-year period of glory – my glory for the Towers – to climb half a century of history, like someone jumping down a step.

If Ema appears now, Irineo thought, these are her last words. The perfect epitaph ”. And as if the telepathy that united them reached its prodigy culminated, Lozbel bet: – Do you know the girl?

Lozbel cleared his throat, for the first time since he had entered his nemesis’s abode; and he repeated, without question marks: – You know the girl.

“Not that I want to see her again,” Lozbel muttered, “just …

Irineo intervened: – Professor, tomorrow is the inauguration. I have yet to finish the speech. You are invited. There were no legal causes, nor did people boo him on the streets. Mercy, darling? Chi knows. If he shows up, like one more assistant, soon this whole mess will begin to be forgotten. He may not be able to practice the profession, but he is not of age either.

There are other islands. You will not miss a place to rest. I think a chance appearance tomorrow, plus a sneaky, silent departure in a couple of months, would be the perfect cocktail. With that said, Irineo drank the rest of the Martini, waved him farewell and reviewed the last lines of his speech. Professor Lozbel vanished into the night.

The next day, when the almost two thousand guests started with furious applause, after Cocker’s vibrant finish of emotion, the columns of the Unnamed Towers faltered, and from the foundations the construction collapsed on the men, like the monumental Philistine temple over Samson and his enemies.

Hundreds died. Thousands of injured. The building incubated a basic error in its design. Unexpectedly, Lozbel, in ordering its construction, had missed a rookie mistake.

WD

Reference from clarin