Simulate Usb Harddrive To Network Drive

Scott Crazy

Pedraglio Raúl Tola (Lima, 1975) studied at the Catholic University. One of the best-known journalists in Peru. Since 1992 he works in print media, and in 1999 joined laTelevisión, which has led newscasts and talk shows and opinion. In 1999 he published Night of crows, whose version in the cinema - Bala loss, led by Aldo Salvini - won the Prize of Film in the V Latin American Meeting of centrocultural Film Catholic University. Published in 2002 Enel Private Wound, his second novel. In 2007 he won an honorable mention in the First Contest Matalamanga CuentoGastronómico a version of " 's Eve." His most recent work is the storybook Curfew

the Pack

to George and Eva

" I left my house, I pursued
and who knows what happens to me
no passport and no visa I,
sail against the tide and the breeze
and if I get to the bank, I will be back
wet mat,
you will be my refuge,
what a long and sad it is this fantasy. "

Tam Tam Go!
" Wetback."

Santiago provides silent. What will they think, asks: so full of fear at a glance they can differentiate. That little man, for example, dark, short hair and trinchudo, devoutly embraces a bundle with their clothes and a rug, obviously, will leave forever. Poor, sympathizes Santiago, forgetting for a moment that he will soon be added to the huge pack of migrants.
You embrace your bound
, Saul, uploading your fears, the sweat falling jets for your neck and your back. There is so much to fear, you think. Will you be doing the right thing? Is it the best decision? Yes, dammit, I answer, there is nothing you join this earth. No need to hold the same doubts as a child when, killed your family (mommy, daddy, your younger siblings), ran away from your village to the capital, mounted in the hopper of a truck, including sheep, pursued by shadows had come home very early, when it lowered your river to collect water, and had shot all by refusing to surrender a sack of rice. You felt his presence very close chasing as the truck crossed paths, dodging cliffs, devouring kilometers of road and, finally, entered the stretch of track and houses in the hills of Lima. Saul No, you say, if you were a child being able to survive, alone, begging first and then work anywhere, any adventure, as you undertake, be a breeze.

What will they think?, Santiago was turning to the question as she watched them line up in the immigration queue, waiting their turn in front of the window, afraid of not getting an exit stamp. He surrendered his passport open, and the officer saw him just before the pass stamped red. He had time and purchased "El Comercio" next to the boarding area and flipped through it from beginning to end. He heard the last call to board, folded the newspaper, and formed in a long line that moved slowly. He showed his ticket, entered the plane, located his seat, sat down, found carrying a note with your contact phone number in your wallet and adjusted his belt. The takeoff was smooth. Soon a waiter offered him a tray of food and a bottle of wine.

One more trip, Henry, think, delivering trays of bad food, putting a cup of weak coffee, holding the snoring and complaints from passengers. Required to show the best your smiles, deep hate this job with all your strength. Would like to dedicate to something else, a job that without this deal with the mob, but until you find something better, you should resign. And the truth is that, were it not for that detail, the work would not be bad. In fact, your life changed when you came into the airline. Stop being insecure and that skinny kid and started to travel around the world, New York, Madrid, Paris, exotic destinations, Bankgok, Sao Paulo, Prague, staying in five star hotels, services and discovering new worlds. And getting rich, too. Your bags cross the border without being checked by the control Customs, filled to bursting with toothpaste tubes, tampax, auto parts, appliances, disposable diapers, shoes, vitamins, shampoo, candy, cosmetics, betamax cassettes. With the closure of imports, each consignment is a fortune. In just two years you could buy a small apartment in Miraflores and a late-model convertible, with which you walk around town with your new friends, drinking whiskey first, smoking Cuban cigars and listening to music that does not sound radios Lima. You got much out with that occupation can not leave. Perhaps that is why you do not dare, like many others, to flee the country. Santiago

ate, hung awake for a while, saw the beginning of a movie, and fell asleep. Ten hours later, the shaking and rattling of the wheels of the plane landing was awakened with a start. It was seven in the morning in Madrid, where, the tousled hair and eyelids glued to the crusting, down to earth. According to other passengers, passed immigration controls and picked up his bags, which meandered over a long carousel. Sought a pay phone and tried to call his contact, which he hoped would help him make a good start, getting some chub, introducing friends and, if necessary, providing shelter. Dialed the number kept in your wallet and heard the ring without answer. "It is too early, should be sleeping," he said, and hung up. Loaded with baggage and left the airport, at the dawn of dry air. Found a taxi and asked to take him to a cheap hotel. The driver, a large, mustachioed man with black eyes and heavily accented Arabic, helped him up the bags into the trunk.

Remember to tourists, Mahi? Sitting around a campfire, smoking dope, eating charred marshmallows, drank beer and sang to the tune of a guitar. Were a group of Swedish, French and English, wrapped in blankets and fleece coats, which celebrated the arrival of New Year. Kneeling on the tip of the boat, without feeling the fingers and toes, hearing the pounding of water against the bow, almost vanished tiredness, you guessed several hundred meters above the sea. The journey had begun in your native Morocco, continued through the waters of the Strait of Gibraltar chukar, and not all crew members had been able to finish it. On the way had been the weakest, an old man and a child, parent and child of a woman who had to restrain from several to not throw into the sea after the bodies. Fortunately this macabre adventure was over, along with your bewilderment of newcomers. Your life has not been very different those of other Africans you know. You sold hashish and dealing with contraband goods, while sleeping in a Lavapiés floor, shoulder to shoulder with a dozen miserable as you. Downhole out took time. Before you had to learn English, which still speak evil and shame, and then met Manuela, Mahi, that evening in the Gran Via, how to forget. It was a tiny, lush English, who spent at least once a month on your corner to buy a handful of marijuana. One day, both were discovered in conversation, and found it natural to be together, with a beer in a cafe in the area, and then, at night, with a Porritt in a nearby square. Over time, almost by accident, they would become lovers, and yet overcome the opposition of his father, a staunch Franco, would marry. English citizenship paved your way, allowing you better jobs, move, save, have children, retire, buy a taxi.

"Here we are. Santiago

shirt was stuck to the back by the sweat:

- Is it cheap?

"I have understood. Why do not questions. I wait.

The hotel was one block from Main Street, on the second floor. He climbed the suitcases and came to a dark lobby, in front of a wooden door. Hit until it opened. Asked for the price and it seemed appropriate. Santiago

felt renewed in their first day in Madrid. For the first time in long time thought he had reason to celebrate. Tried to call back to your contact, and although he found the phone busy for half an hour, remained optimistic. Walking

arrived at noon to a park. He had not eaten since the plane and was hungry. Find a place where lunch and found an Argentine restaurant at the corner. The black pudding, sausage, organ meats and wine and even sang it when he came out into the street, after a double espresso, I was so happy that wonderful day decided that he could not stop.

note this is a far cry that is not here, you think, with that look of wonder, hey, mouth open, and that accent so different from the locals. You laugh a minute, Ezekiel, and then you regret it, because you think you're talking as if you, in your time, you had not acted with the same innocence of any newcomer. True, you did not need much time to adapt, even opened his own business, the restaurant, but at first was not easy. You had to forget your idyllic life in Argentina, Ezequiel, and run under siege by the dictatorship, the suspicion that you, at your age, with that white Christmas beard, that barrigota and those lumberjack shirts, you were a collaborator with the rebels. That summer you were investigated by the intelligence services, remember, all your movements and your family are registered. But the real fear was unleashed on the day you catch warned Dora and Hannibal, a pair of montoneros that tortured in the School of Mechanical, had slipped your name. No more news to this rumor, you had to make a quick decision. Burned much of your savings, you left your house, and I rode with yours on the first flight to Madrid, where exiliarían and where, full of enthusiasm that would break the isolation, homesickness or age, you built your life again.

had much to do, he thought. Everywhere he looked was an open bar that seemed to call it. How different to Lima, he thought, where the lights eyes closed early, and people seemed to ask permission before speaking. Fell at a subway terminal. It was the busiest time, but just as he admired the amount of people and order and respect, unthinkable in the whereabouts of his hometown, where buses fought like beasts hungry for a passenger. He bought a ticket and joined a parade of retired punks black jackets and employees who ended his day early. Random, entered one of the trains, found a seat in the last car and occupied. In the background, hidden, discovered the Latino and African immigrants, which are wound as chicks. In the midst of the crowd, a man caught his attention. His demeanor, unlike the others, revealed security. Dressed

your soccer shoes and your coat thermal Salvador, holding briefcase, you lean against the car window. The darkness of the tunnel frames your silhouette slender, who returns home after evening training, to stick the work overalls, and then from the woodwork, where you will overcome fatigue and fulfill your part time hammering, sawing, gluing the planks . Still dream of making the big leap to the first division, but you know it's becoming less likely. With thirty years are no longer the same boy who came to Spain blinded by the illusion to succeed and reach, if luck was with him, to share stardom in "the fifth of the Vulture." Low back pain is chronic and has made you a couple of accidents have been on the verge of ending your career, not excel, you filled with joy. In addition, the club has begun to recruit very young Africans who have completed postergándote. Tonight, when you return to your flat, you sit in the living room couch, turn on the TV and have time to meditate, while waiting for the TV news brings you news from distant Bolivia will return to think so. Realistically, you will say, most likely, your opportunity has passed.

Santiago moved through two underground stations and decided to get off at Piazza Spain. Nearby found a pub nearly full. It leaned on the bar and ordered a gin and tonic, which downed three drinks. He sighed and asked for another cup, which took more patience, accompanied by a plate of shrimp to coat and Ducados. With the cigarette between his fingers, he surveyed the room. He went through the walls and decorated with pictures of old Madrid, the crowd, men and women who left the youth and talked to cries, under a cloud of smoke and stopped when, at his side, he found an old man dressed in suits, drinking a glass of sherry, assisted by a nurse. She was busy as he could to serve you well, dried sherry was left on the lips, cut the sandwiches into small pieces and gave them to the mouth, with patience, Don Gonzalo, do not worry, accompanied him to the bathroom help to sit down and wipe the poop, and was alert to each of your needs.

Everything was so easy that it seems part of a dream, Nimia, it cost you hardly adapt to this new world. Now you're happy and even if you live austerely earn enough to send some money to your family and to save, and do not even need to work harder. With just take care of Don Gonzalo, the Syrian and charming old man, your budget is covered. What troubles those who lived in your land, women, when Dona Rosa, ancient and fruitful old woman, decided to die once and for all. Almost twenty years wore strapped to his bed, ensuring their health, supporting their whims and grief, that seemed eternal. Alzheimer's was to attack and a leg had to quebrársele in the shower for pneumonia, which finally took her, found her off guard. You felt just one of their children, and we wept at the wake and burial. Do you happen the same with Don Gonzalo?, ask yourself: encariñarte come to him until the end of suffering and suffers when a parent dies? Maybe you should not commit so much, you think. As do other nurses, should maintain a distance to discourage any affection. But just you, and it is too late to change. Surely Don Gonzalo, before long, the tomb will be a part of your soul and so mutilated, you must start over.

Santiago had lost count of the gin and tonic. Not to remember the time of his departure, nor the old man and his nurse were more in the bar, and the last diners gave the final sip their beer, their coats were sheathing and out into the street. He paid with a ticket and let the change as a tip, without counting. He walked without a compass between streets and squares, looking for a place that closed in the early hours of Monday. Had to go to a very narrow street, with cars narrowing the pass, where a young crowd shouted, sang and drank beer.



When James woke up the next morning, caught the confusion by changing the time and alcohol, and checked his wallet, he discovered with alarm that had almost settled their budget. Tried to take account of their expenses, reached into his mind, but a patch covering the hours that had elapsed since leaving the bar to return to the hotel.

shower with trouble, determined not to lose a second, and went out, still dazed, with a city map and a list of employment agencies that he knew specialized in placing illegal. He walked all day, stopping only to take an iced tea and make a new call to your contact, which again went unanswered. At dusk, all appointments met, looked among the booksellers of the Paseo del Prado, where he found a group of youths who played "El Condor Pasa." The singer, who also played the charango, seemed to be like no other, and therefore was the center of all eyes.

was tired of the twelve hours on the loom, Thomas. So long standing, weaving and wire crimping, shaping ponchos, rugs, and wall prints and landscapes typical of condors, I left ground, unwilling to wield the charango and sing some yaravíes. Your soul was suffering, were losing the will to live. Until one day more and you could not before rotting inside, decided expatriarte. I made contact with several musicians, and agreed on a plan to travel and be in Europe. At this point I have tried almost everything like street musicians, but what results has so embarrassed you at first: after much testing, had to dress up in a plume and shalt face the Indians of North America, but to interpret the usual repertoire, including skirts and Huaylash. The experience has also taught that every part of Europe has a station that the generosity of the public depends on the season. So traveling nonstop. Soon, you dream, return to your homeland. When you do, you will become a big star.

Santiago returned late last night in a hotel that could be paid. Desperate, he tried to phone his contacts, again without success. He descended into the subway station and found the empty platform, illuminated by a flashing light. It an ice dragged and dropped metal with a sigh. She cradled her face in her hands, rubbed his eyes and his fingers to accommodate the sparse hair on the temples. The train arrived, swiftly, and was arrested a few seconds. Then he left. A little later came another, then another and another.


Madrid, New Year 2007.