gnarled fingers and leathery skin. Now that the man had his hat off his hair turned out to be kinky, tangled, and short. He stretched out his legs and supported his body on the chair arms. With his unshined boots he looked like a mountain man, maybe a gold prospector. "Isn't that what prospectors look like in Patagonia?" wondered Erdosain, and, not grasping how his thoughts had wandered to that, he sat gazing at the map of the United States and repeating to himself the words he had heard the Astrologer say that very afternoon as he pointed out the states to the Ruffian.
"The Ku Klux Klan is strong in Texas, Ohio, Indianapolis, Oklahoma, Oregon ... "
"What's that you say there, friend? ... What?"
"Ah, right! ... I came to see you ... "
"I was just going to bed. I'd been working out some idiot's horoscope—"
"If I'm in your way I'll go—"
"No, stay. Did you get in some new mess? What's it now?"
"A lot of stuff. Tell me, if you can—You won't be shocked by my question?—If, to set up your secret society, that is, to get the twenty thousand pesos you need, if to get twenty thousand pesos you had to kill somebody, what would you do?"
The Astrologer sat bolt upright in his chair, his body stiffened into right angles by surprise. And even though his head shot up with the impact of the ideas Erdosain gave him, it seemed to sit terribly heavy on his shoulders. He wrung his hands and peered into Remo's face.
"Why do you ask me that?"
"Because I have just the guy with that twenty thousand pesos. We can kidnap him, and, if he won't sign a check for us, torture him."
The Astrologer frowned. Faced with a proposal so fraught with enigmas, he grew more perplexed and began twisting the ring on his right ring finger around in the fingers of his left hand. The violet stone appeared and disappeared in front of the bronze chain, and though he kept his head lowered, under his knitted brow his eyes searched Erdosain's face. And the skewed nose and chin half-sunk in the black fabric of his tie looked, from that angle, set for a fight.
"Okay now, explain the whole thing to me, because I don't follow at all."
Now he sat up and his face looked ready to take punch after punch if need be.
"It's easy, a brilliant scheme. My wife ran off tonight to stay with another man. Then he—"
"Who's he?"
"Barsut, my wife's cousin—Gregorio Barsut, he came to see me and confess he was the guy who turned me in to the Sugar Company."
"Ah! ... So he was the guy who turned you in?"
"Yes, and on top of that—"
"But what would make him go turn you in?"
"How should I know! To humiliate me—What it boils down to is he's half-crazy. He has twenty thousand pesos. His father died in a madhouse. He's going to end up there, too. The twenty thousand pesos are an inheritance from an aunt he got from his father."
The Astrologer squeezed his forehead with his fingers. He was more mixed up than ever. The whole thing intrigued him, but he couldn't get it all straight. He insisted:
"Tell me everything in detail, and begin at the beginning."
Erdosain began his story all over. He retold everything we know. He spoke slowly and precisely, since he was over the nervous tension of working up to proposing his plan to the Astrologer.
Now he was sitting on the chair edge, hunched over, his elbows on his knees, his fingers splayed across his cheeks, his eyes fixed on the floor. His yellow skin, taut over the flat bones of his face, gave him a tubercular look. Atrocity after atrocity poured from his throat, endlessly, flatly, as if he were reciting a lesson pounded into his mind. The Astrologer, covering his mouth with his fingers, listened while staring at him dumbfounded. He had imagined quite a lot, but not that much.
Slowed down by the great care he was taking not to get anything wrong, Erdosain piled up bitterness, humiliations, memories, sufferings, nights he spent without sleeping, terrible quarrels. One of the many things he said was:
"You can't believe how
"The Ku Klux Klan is strong in Texas, Ohio, Indianapolis, Oklahoma, Oregon ... "
"What's that you say there, friend? ... What?"
"Ah, right! ... I came to see you ... "
"I was just going to bed. I'd been working out some idiot's horoscope—"
"If I'm in your way I'll go—"
"No, stay. Did you get in some new mess? What's it now?"
"A lot of stuff. Tell me, if you can—You won't be shocked by my question?—If, to set up your secret society, that is, to get the twenty thousand pesos you need, if to get twenty thousand pesos you had to kill somebody, what would you do?"
The Astrologer sat bolt upright in his chair, his body stiffened into right angles by surprise. And even though his head shot up with the impact of the ideas Erdosain gave him, it seemed to sit terribly heavy on his shoulders. He wrung his hands and peered into Remo's face.
"Why do you ask me that?"
"Because I have just the guy with that twenty thousand pesos. We can kidnap him, and, if he won't sign a check for us, torture him."
The Astrologer frowned. Faced with a proposal so fraught with enigmas, he grew more perplexed and began twisting the ring on his right ring finger around in the fingers of his left hand. The violet stone appeared and disappeared in front of the bronze chain, and though he kept his head lowered, under his knitted brow his eyes searched Erdosain's face. And the skewed nose and chin half-sunk in the black fabric of his tie looked, from that angle, set for a fight.
"Okay now, explain the whole thing to me, because I don't follow at all."
Now he sat up and his face looked ready to take punch after punch if need be.
"It's easy, a brilliant scheme. My wife ran off tonight to stay with another man. Then he—"
"Who's he?"
"Barsut, my wife's cousin—Gregorio Barsut, he came to see me and confess he was the guy who turned me in to the Sugar Company."
"Ah! ... So he was the guy who turned you in?"
"Yes, and on top of that—"
"But what would make him go turn you in?"
"How should I know! To humiliate me—What it boils down to is he's half-crazy. He has twenty thousand pesos. His father died in a madhouse. He's going to end up there, too. The twenty thousand pesos are an inheritance from an aunt he got from his father."
The Astrologer squeezed his forehead with his fingers. He was more mixed up than ever. The whole thing intrigued him, but he couldn't get it all straight. He insisted:
"Tell me everything in detail, and begin at the beginning."
Erdosain began his story all over. He retold everything we know. He spoke slowly and precisely, since he was over the nervous tension of working up to proposing his plan to the Astrologer.
Now he was sitting on the chair edge, hunched over, his elbows on his knees, his fingers splayed across his cheeks, his eyes fixed on the floor. His yellow skin, taut over the flat bones of his face, gave him a tubercular look. Atrocity after atrocity poured from his throat, endlessly, flatly, as if he were reciting a lesson pounded into his mind. The Astrologer, covering his mouth with his fingers, listened while staring at him dumbfounded. He had imagined quite a lot, but not that much.
Slowed down by the great care he was taking not to get anything wrong, Erdosain piled up bitterness, humiliations, memories, sufferings, nights he spent without sleeping, terrible quarrels. One of the many things he said was:
"You can't believe how
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