Deconstruction with memories
It was second nature to him; he rarely focused on the whole picture, on the totality of things, because his main interest lay in the details—those most striking elements that tended to transport him to other realities. There was greater charm and amusement, of that he had no doubt, in the bold associations his mind forged as he lingered on specific points of whatever structure stood before him. That was why, as soon as he looked at the top of the domestic goose in the picture, the paths of his imagination led him back to that happy childhood in the village.
He immediately compared the bird’s beak to the tiny canoes that all the children played with in the small streams that sprang up everywhere on rainy days. They were little boats made from coconut shells, which, once crafted, were sanded down and painted in bright colors. For a long time, he had an elegant canoe, which sailed as lightly as any other, adorned with the very same hues displayed by the beak of the haughty goose.
The single eye visible on the goose in the photograph was identical—it couldn’t have been otherwise—to the marbles he and all his friends used to play with, especially on those fun afternoons during school vacations. He recalled, with a resigned smile, that he had never been as skilled as the others at this traditional pastime. His aim was never quite as sharp, nor was his skill in handling the small spheres, which, all too often, refused to obey what his fingers intended with each throw…
Finally, the bird’s neck closely resembled a stick, a piece of dry branch from any tree. This was one of the most versatile items in that provincial setting. The sticks could be wood to feed the fire in the rustic kitchens, but they were also the raw material for making toys like the spinning top, swords, baseball bats, and a host of other things… But a goose is still a goose, he finally told himself, and only from his wild imaginings could such comparisons arise.
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