Sunday, October 2

The year of immunity



The black grapes of the plague, fleshed out on the New Year’s Eve dish like the bones out of nowhere in the morgues, have soured the ticking of these two years without confetti. The lesser life, the anecdotal, takes place between the tremor of the smoked meat in the wind of the vedetes in the bells, the last folkloric vestige of underdeveloped Spain, and the refrains with mortar of the deniers and healers of the Covid, formerly UFO spotters and Marian apparitionists from olive grove. But the great things are hidden within the simple ones. Perhaps in the páramo de la Alcarria, a tapestry of lavender for bees that erupt streams of pollen. Perhaps in the Hoya de Guadix, where Sierra Nevada melts

and the porridge is curdled. Those two places are the austere habitat of the most important person in Spain. Araceli Hidalgo. She has not had to show the striations closest to the cave of the wolf to succeed. He has only shown his arm, a slit of the deltoid, to go down to posterity. He overcame war, hunger, dictatorship, fear, illiteracy and uncertainty. He has always lived to the fourth question, with no other ambition than the whistle of the pot tomorrow. He spends his last years in a residence in Guadalajara, far from his Granada birthplace, still with the youthful longing for hope intact. And despite the fact that destiny already only saves the last puff of the cigarette for her, she risked her life with the first needle of the antidote, that potion that arrived in the twilight of 2020 escorted by the icy fog of suspicion and with the sticker of the broker more visible than that of the manufacturer. Araceli put her difficult past at the disposal of a better future. That is the essence of his entire generation: that he does not have a grudge, that he does not want his miseries for us. Which is the most generous progeny in our history.

The new caste of well-being has reviled almost all the values ​​that exist in those women who could not get money from the bank without the signature of their husbands, or hire employees, or negotiate their salary … I myself grew up writing with a certain modesty in the School forms the expression “housewife” when I had to put my mother’s profession. And now I wonder if there is an engineer, architect or judge who improves it. We are all slaves to our circumstances. Fortunately, we have made progress and women have equaled men in opportunities, although there is still a long way to go to achieve pure equality. But beware of those who today dress up as savior feminists who come to rescue the subjugated of yesteryear. In Araceli’s bravery there is more exercise of freedom than in the entire choir of plugged in the Montero Ministry. That is the great lesson of the vaccine year. That is why 2022 will be the time of immunity from the troglodyte noise of the deniers. And the great Spanish protagonist of this advance is a humble woman. The first dose, the one that nobody wants to inject, was given by a “housewife.” Araceli, with her bare arm, has done more for progress than a thousand pedroches with her traditional thighs. Because this is going to be the year of the antibodies, not the year of the bodies.

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