We entered our 40s with the unspoken idea that our simple and silent sibling marriage was a necessary closure of the genealogy, started by our great grandparents in our house. Irene had turned down two suitors for no particular reason, María Esther died on me before we became engaged. At times we came to believe that it was the one who would not let us get married. It was a pleasant lunch for us, thinking about the profound and silent house and how the two of us were sufficient to keep it clean. We would eat lunch at noon, always punctual then there was nothing left to do outside of a few dirty dishes. We cleaned in the morning, getting up at 7, and at 11 I would leave Irene the last bedrooms to go over and I would go the kitchen. Irene and I became used to persisting alone in it, which was a fortune as in that house eight people could live there without getting in each other’s way. We liked the house because apart from its spaciousness and antiquity (today old houses succumbed to the more advantageous sale of their materials) it kept the memories of our great grandparents, our paternal grandfather, our parents and our childhood. The following is an English translation of Casa tomada.
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