cave, for example, among
the most brutal of criminals, he would be able to avoid violence if he behaved
reasonably, talking and listening to others’ opinions and expressing his own.
Even if the situation was ripe for violence, even if the robbers had caught him
spying . . . But how could they have caught him if he himself had not planned
his intrusion? And he had sworn he’d never again get himself into an awkward
situation like that. It’s true that he could have entered that hypothetical cave
by mistake, thinking it was empty and unoccupied; that’s where paying attention
came into play — that he should always be awake, never blink. Which was easier
said than done, though to achieve it, he had a practice, an ascesis, which he
had made his life plan. Even so, a miraculous incident could occur in which he
suddenly opened his eyes and found himself in a cave full of stolen goods, and
before he had time to react a gang of suspicious-looking subjects entered . . .
Of course, he was smack in the middle of the realm of the imaginary, of remote
possibilities. Once he was there with them, what would prevent him from
establishing a civilized conversation with the robbers, getting them to
understand what had happened, the teleporting, the somnambulism . . . ? But in
that case the robbers would also be part of the fiction, the theory, and his
persuasive success would have no demonstrative value. Real reality was comprised
of blood and blows and shouts and the slamming of doors. In the long run, the
glaze of courtesy got scratched, if not from the causal line of facts then from
another, inevitably, from the line that emerged out of the bifurcation of
time.
An enormous dog lying at the entrance to an auto repair
shop stood up when it saw him then bared its teeth. He instantaneously broke out
in a cold sweat. What an incredible lack of consideration on the part of the
owners of these animals, leaving them loose on the sidewalk and responding to
any complaint with the familiar, “He’s friendly, he won’t do anything.” They say
it with total sincerity, and full conviction, but they haven’t stopped to think
that nobody else has any reason to share that conviction, much less so when
facing a black mantle the size of a motorbike hurtling toward them . . .
His first encounter with the world of paranormal medicine
had been through dogs. When he was a child in the town of Coronel Pringles,
Mayor Uthurralt issued an order mercilessly expelling all of them from the city
limits, without exception or appeal. Fear alone (it was the era of the terrible
polio epidemic) guaranteed compliance, this in spite of the usually strong
attachment between pets and their owners. Moreover, the expulsion was temporary,
though it ended up lasting three years, and nobody had to really get rid of
their pets: all they had to do was find a place for them somewhere in the
countryside. In a town that lived off rural activities, everybody had a friend
or relative with a plot of land nearby, and that’s where the dogs were sent. The
problem was that the only veterinarian in Pringles was separated from his
patients, and although he accepted having to travel to treat them (he had no
choice if he wanted to keep working), the process was expensive and bothersome.
And it made it difficult to neuter male puppies when they reached reproductive
age, operations that had become that much more urgent under the present
circumstances. Faced with the truly ghastly alternative of handing them over to
farm hands, who could carry out the brutal procedure only with a branding iron
and without any sterilization, some doled out a lot of money, others shut their
eyes, most hesitated . . . It was an opportunity for a local photographer,
nicknamed the Madman, to start a business of long-distance, painless neutering,
which became all the rage in Pringles during that period. Dr. Aira, at the time
a child of eight, heard of this through rumors that had been grossly distorted
in the
the most brutal of criminals, he would be able to avoid violence if he behaved
reasonably, talking and listening to others’ opinions and expressing his own.
Even if the situation was ripe for violence, even if the robbers had caught him
spying . . . But how could they have caught him if he himself had not planned
his intrusion? And he had sworn he’d never again get himself into an awkward
situation like that. It’s true that he could have entered that hypothetical cave
by mistake, thinking it was empty and unoccupied; that’s where paying attention
came into play — that he should always be awake, never blink. Which was easier
said than done, though to achieve it, he had a practice, an ascesis, which he
had made his life plan. Even so, a miraculous incident could occur in which he
suddenly opened his eyes and found himself in a cave full of stolen goods, and
before he had time to react a gang of suspicious-looking subjects entered . . .
Of course, he was smack in the middle of the realm of the imaginary, of remote
possibilities. Once he was there with them, what would prevent him from
establishing a civilized conversation with the robbers, getting them to
understand what had happened, the teleporting, the somnambulism . . . ? But in
that case the robbers would also be part of the fiction, the theory, and his
persuasive success would have no demonstrative value. Real reality was comprised
of blood and blows and shouts and the slamming of doors. In the long run, the
glaze of courtesy got scratched, if not from the causal line of facts then from
another, inevitably, from the line that emerged out of the bifurcation of
time.
An enormous dog lying at the entrance to an auto repair
shop stood up when it saw him then bared its teeth. He instantaneously broke out
in a cold sweat. What an incredible lack of consideration on the part of the
owners of these animals, leaving them loose on the sidewalk and responding to
any complaint with the familiar, “He’s friendly, he won’t do anything.” They say
it with total sincerity, and full conviction, but they haven’t stopped to think
that nobody else has any reason to share that conviction, much less so when
facing a black mantle the size of a motorbike hurtling toward them . . .
His first encounter with the world of paranormal medicine
had been through dogs. When he was a child in the town of Coronel Pringles,
Mayor Uthurralt issued an order mercilessly expelling all of them from the city
limits, without exception or appeal. Fear alone (it was the era of the terrible
polio epidemic) guaranteed compliance, this in spite of the usually strong
attachment between pets and their owners. Moreover, the expulsion was temporary,
though it ended up lasting three years, and nobody had to really get rid of
their pets: all they had to do was find a place for them somewhere in the
countryside. In a town that lived off rural activities, everybody had a friend
or relative with a plot of land nearby, and that’s where the dogs were sent. The
problem was that the only veterinarian in Pringles was separated from his
patients, and although he accepted having to travel to treat them (he had no
choice if he wanted to keep working), the process was expensive and bothersome.
And it made it difficult to neuter male puppies when they reached reproductive
age, operations that had become that much more urgent under the present
circumstances. Faced with the truly ghastly alternative of handing them over to
farm hands, who could carry out the brutal procedure only with a branding iron
and without any sterilization, some doled out a lot of money, others shut their
eyes, most hesitated . . . It was an opportunity for a local photographer,
nicknamed the Madman, to start a business of long-distance, painless neutering,
which became all the rage in Pringles during that period. Dr. Aira, at the time
a child of eight, heard of this through rumors that had been grossly distorted
in the
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