Wednesday, linked to television with the appearance of Begoña de Sánchez At the Madrid Assembly, this columnist remembered for a moment a novel from many years ago, by Concha Espina, which was perhaps the first work with which he launched his literary career. The book, The sphinx of Maragata, It’s almost a rural drama in which Mariflor, in love with a bad poet named Rogelio, ends up, by superior maternal order, fleeing his poetry and falls into the arms – it’s a saying – of a relative named Antonio with who she doesn’t care. The novel was adapted into a film, and in the sixties the corresponding film was shown in double-screen cinemas. Mariflor, the poor protagonist, was represented by a long second-rate actress who, however, at different moments in the film, denounced with her imperturbable and hard face the little devotion she had for her cousin. It was an expressionless but provocative and serene face which seemed to say: “I am getting married This But that’s not my type.
The one we represent, that of Mariflor, is the same face that she wore Begoña Gómez de Sánchez in the Parliament of Madrid. He did not suffer from the invectives launched against him by the spokespersons of the PP and Vox; No, he seemed to be calling out to them: “Go away, go away, I’m still here and you’re going to get angry.” A Sphinx of Maragata That’s what it was in Doña Concha’s imagination, as I said, but in ancient times the Greeks held the monster with even less affection, to the point of identifying it with an extraterrestrial being which brought terrible bad luck to anyone who dared to approach it. to that… That is to say, a creature’s paradise. In the Cortes of Vallecas, Begoña behaved, according to one of those present, like a clone of her husband, but with a difference: “She insisted on looking even worse.” I underline the quotation marks because the definition does not belong to the columnist’s magín. From the husband, Pedro Sanchez, His wife imitated this rocky ability to reflect no feelings in the most difficult moments of his political adventures. Sánchez, in the midst of a nervous breakdown, begins to laugh intemperately (an attitude very well defined in psychiatry) with his close peers, Vice President Yolanda, who has a grin more artificial than powdered milk, or Teresa Ribera who, every time he opens his mouth intemperately, fearing he has swallowed a Duralex.
The emulation of Begona She also accumulates other attitudes from her husband, for example the repetition, in parrot mode, of messages written by the almost thousand advisors at Sánchez’s disposal. recruited at Moncloa give rise to misdeeds. Or commonplaces in the purest tradition of old and failed communism. Without going further than “we are suffering unprecedented political persecution”. Unprecedented? Doesn’t Mrs. Sánchez remember what was organized in her time by the now excessively mourned Alfredo Pérez Rubalcaba? The late vice president didn’t care about the truth either – he was a socialist after all –; In fact, they believed that the imprecations he ordered were true, that the end justified and justified the means, even though they were and are. frankly disgusting. The persecution is also found in the attacks perpetrated against the president of the Valencian generality, Carlos Mazón, at least as ineffective as Sánchez in governing the tragic DANA from which we suffer.
Now the question is: what will be the lawyer Camacho (the inventor of the “Pheasant”) by December 20 to prevent his client from appearing before the judge, very judicious, Hairstyle? This time it would be decent – which is unthinkable in the architecture of the aforementioned marriage – for Begoña, Mrs. Sánchez, to publish, because she boasts of her impeccable transparency, the numerous tasks, the agenda of events that have been prepared for his next week to show his palmito in Brazil with the trade unionist Ms. Lula. He won’t, so why ask more questions?…but just one more:who pays the minutes of your lawyer Camacho? She? The president? All of us? He seems to know that every hour of a lawyer, however discreet he may be in his demands, achieves no less than four hundred euros. Are we, the taxpayers to whom confiscator Montero Did it suffocate us? Useless question – as I told you -: marriage lives on a whim.
There is a month left until Mrs. de Sánchez makes a new parade surrounded by gorillas in the Madrid Assembly and, either in mid-December, we will know another irregularity committed by this week’s appearance, or also in this case, the imitation of the effigy will be identical: “Ask, ask, it makes me think.” These socialists are so unscrupulous that they will continue to spread the false species of their love of clarity and transparency. They attack institutions and those who don’t have it yet having been able to colonize, they simply despise them, they become obsessed with them. Hastily, it is often compared to coyunda Sánchez-Gómez with that of Ceausescu’s assassins. This may be the case: the chronicler is more rightly thinking of Stalin and his wife Nadezhda who, tired of her partner, ended up committing suicide in her own bedroom. Throughout her life, she was a faithful wife who even imitated her husband’s voice and words. All this until he was tired. I am not saying that in this case things end like this but, just in case, Begoña should not continue to become a clone of her husband. No one doubts in Spain that, if the case requires it, Sánchez will get rid of everyone he needs without breaking a sweat. Isn’t that true, Ábalos? Your friend, your confidant, your carrier, your driver, your accomplice. In other words, the same as Begoña, the sphinx of Doña Concha Espina.
