youâre Colombian, arenât you? Yes, I said, and what does your daughter do in Buenos Aires? and he replied, well, you know, a question of love, she married a colleague of mine, a bibliophile and a treasure hunter, like me, only Argentinean, I should tell you that of course I was opposed to the marriage and the truth is that even today, seven years later, it makes my blood boil, a young woman of twenty-eight with a man of fifty-six, is that normal? I was not sure what to reply, because age is no impediment to anything, so I shrugged, but he said, any age may have its mitigating points but in this case thereâs an aggravating circumstance, which is that he was my partner in two bookstores, one in Madrid and the other in Buenos Aires, and to tell the truth, I must say it was and still is strange to know that I am working to build a legacy that, on my death, through my daughter, will pass to my partner, do you see? I try not to think about it when I add to the family capital, because I could very easily argue that he ought to contribute more, but in the end, this is all nonsense, the ramblings of a grumpy old man, what matters is my daughter, not that Iâm saying sheâs exactly happy, because marriage, as Iâm sure you know, has the same decaying effect on love that heat and the passing of the days has on meat, turning it into a shapeless and foul-smelling mass, thatâs why I know that she isnât happy, but never mind, thatâs life and whatâs done is done, Iâve been to visit them a couple of times and I was dazzled by Buenos Aires, its bookstores are like the wreck of a sunken liner, Iâve found some amazing titles, itâs a highly cultured country, a country of immigrants, and there are books in every language, itâs magnificent, and I said, I agree with you there, Monsieur Supervielle, I also like books, first editions of authors I admire, and I have one or two important ones myself, like
A Poet in New York
, by Federico GarcÃa Lorca, Editorial Séneca, Mexico City, 1940, with original drawings and an introduction by José BergamÃn. As I said this I noticed that Supervielle was changing, a sharp expression came into his eyes and he nervously raised his thumb to the base of his nose and pushed it up, then said, very interesting title, if you donât mind my asking, did you inherit it? was it a gift perhaps? may I know where you obtained it? Iâm sorry, my friend, itâs a professional deformation, but I hastened to say, itâs not a secret, I bought it in a bookstore in Seville for not much money, I donât remember the name, it wasnât a specialized store and itâs possible they didnât know its value, I felt a bit guilty when I bought it, I confess, and Supervielle said, you donât have to justify yourself, my dear colleague, as you can imagine, being a bibliophile I donât have that kind of scruple, I think objects, like people or civilizations, have a destiny, or many destinies, given that theyâre perennial, thatâs why itâs normal that they should pass from hand to hand, just like antiques; whatever is valuable and beautiful ennobles a life, but then must pass to someone else and then someone else until the cycle is complete, donât you think so, my friend? sometimes the cycle ends with fire or at the bottom of the sea or simply turns into something else, into parts of something greater, anyway, Leonidas, do you agree with my appraisal? Kosztolányi seemed to wake up and said, very much so, Edgar, yes indeed, and as the talk is acquiring the muddy color of profound matters, I suggest we have another drink.
As I walked to the drinks table, my eyes met those of an extremely attractive woman with a wonderfully pure face. I saw her for barely a second, as she turned and put a glass down on a tray. Then she stepped back and our eyes met again, for an even shorter time, before she disappeared in the crowd.
A Poet in New York
, by Federico GarcÃa Lorca, Editorial Séneca, Mexico City, 1940, with original drawings and an introduction by José BergamÃn. As I said this I noticed that Supervielle was changing, a sharp expression came into his eyes and he nervously raised his thumb to the base of his nose and pushed it up, then said, very interesting title, if you donât mind my asking, did you inherit it? was it a gift perhaps? may I know where you obtained it? Iâm sorry, my friend, itâs a professional deformation, but I hastened to say, itâs not a secret, I bought it in a bookstore in Seville for not much money, I donât remember the name, it wasnât a specialized store and itâs possible they didnât know its value, I felt a bit guilty when I bought it, I confess, and Supervielle said, you donât have to justify yourself, my dear colleague, as you can imagine, being a bibliophile I donât have that kind of scruple, I think objects, like people or civilizations, have a destiny, or many destinies, given that theyâre perennial, thatâs why itâs normal that they should pass from hand to hand, just like antiques; whatever is valuable and beautiful ennobles a life, but then must pass to someone else and then someone else until the cycle is complete, donât you think so, my friend? sometimes the cycle ends with fire or at the bottom of the sea or simply turns into something else, into parts of something greater, anyway, Leonidas, do you agree with my appraisal? Kosztolányi seemed to wake up and said, very much so, Edgar, yes indeed, and as the talk is acquiring the muddy color of profound matters, I suggest we have another drink.
As I walked to the drinks table, my eyes met those of an extremely attractive woman with a wonderfully pure face. I saw her for barely a second, as she turned and put a glass down on a tray. Then she stepped back and our eyes met again, for an even shorter time, before she disappeared in the crowd.
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