Time was running fast in the nineties of the last century, and I had located a way to achieve objectives through certain strange codes introduced in public texts, when I decided to go to Tenerife to visit two places. One of them, carried by the hand of an old pro-independence friend, was a lithophone hidden in one of the steepest areas of Teno Alto, that is to say, a large stone, twice our normal height, which when touched emitted music, and which, since ancient times, had become a place where couples made pilgrimages to seek fertility. The other place was also steep, close to the Fuente de Pedro, and there I was looking for some recordings on a tree, called pareidolias by clever Western psychologists, and which were nothing more than the appearance of images of sacred beings, from chance. of an excrescence in the tree bark.
As they were scrutiny tasks asking here, there and everywhere, I asked for help from a journalist friend of extranormal cases, very famous at that time, and whose journalist was, however, skeptical about it. He was only looking for a rational explanation, and he had already been disappointed in an onion field in the north of Gran Canaria, which had been trampled by a gigantic device in the shape of a flying saucer and which had descended without permission on a peasant’s orchard , who was furious at having lost, by being crushed, the season’s harvest.
But let’s go back to Tenerife. I arrived and went for a customary professional visit. At that time I was less powerful in money and I rented a Seat Panda, which I left parked on the street, times when neither the blue zone nor the garages were used, because there was space for everyone. When I had finished with my client, I went downstairs to get in the car and go look for my journalist friend, who was waiting at the door of the office from which I was leaving. We got into the vehicle and I felt as if it were wider. I began to think that the itinerary I was going to undertake was already beginning to distort my perception, until when I backed up to leave, I obviously went to look in the rear-view mirror, and it wasn’t there. What had happened, and why had I felt in my intuition that the space of the vehicle was larger? It was not, on that occasion, any paranormal experience, it was that a damn crook had gotten into the car and had taken the back seat and the rearview mirror. I looked at my friend and I didn’t get angry, but I laughed, which she received with surprise, either towards me, or because of all the facts she was missing something to understand why I acted like this, instead of be reactive. I called the rental company, informed them, and they proceeded to exchange my vehicle for another one available at the time, an Opel.
I did what I had to do, visiting the lithophone and the pareidolias, and taking notes in the anthropology, andrology, and hysterology field notebook. And here comes the good stuff. At that time I was experiencing a sentimentally irregular situation, and my partner, a person with great power to detect codes of the strange, warned me that I should not go so fast with emotions, desires and the «dolce far niente». Not that I had the life of a gigolo, but even having a glass of wine, compared to the rigid control we had to wield a warrior and powerful spirit towards itself, was equivalent to having gone to a rave loaded with lysergic acid. Such was the rigor with which we were disciplined in executing a series of exercises of secret origin that we had learned in Mexico. With that psychological load I returned, with the car, to the port of Tenerife, in search of my then partner, and I embarked for Gran Canaria, I looked for her and we both went to Fuerteventura, to Morro Jable, to spend a week of meditative retreat, and of what would fit in terms of physical dualism.
We arrived at the southern port of Fuerteventura, and that same afternoon, after having a frugal snack in a bar on the edge of the beach, with the foam of the waves splashing our skin, I told my partner to go see the full moon to Jandía, and with his positive permission we both got into the Opel. Halfway, with everything lonely, a few birds passing by, the full and threatening moon, the wind that seemed to come from the southern cliffs near the wall where the Winter house, the dirt road gave us a scare and the car started to slip dangerously on the pavement. My partner looked at me as if blaming me that my hedonistic indiscipline was the reason for this to happen. I braked slowly, as best I could, and luckily we didn’t go off the road. At one point the car scrapped by the thieves in Tenerife, the slip, and indiscipline crossed my mind. That was getting sharp, and I decided to go back. We decided to go back, rather.
Arriving at Morro Jable, I took a detour that bordered the hotel where we were staying, and at this point, inexplicably for me, the car began to tilt. I was going slowly, in second gear, and the car tilted more and more until Catapun! It overturned and we found my partner and I, hanging from the seat belts, upside down, she looking at me with even more deictic force, recusing me, and both of us unharmed in a handstand position, but sitting and hanging. I unbuttoned myself as best I could to save her from that nonsense, I went out on my side head down and crawling, the locals ran to help us, I unbuttoned it and took it out as delicately as possible. And the locals helped us turn the car upside down to its normal position. They informed us that we were not the only ones who had suffered the mishap, since that part of the road was not fixed and had an unmarked step that was almost invisible to drivers.
I casually looked at the make of the car: Opel Corsa City. My partner and I had just opened a house, and the building was called City. I linked all the codes of the strange, a car that was unable to charge, a car that overturned after skidding, and the same brand as the house we had bought to live in. Some time later, obviously, the predictable happened: we got divorced. The code of the strange.
