has to remember, she has to begin to remember.
Sunday 2 June
Time flies. Sometimes I think I should live hurriedly instead of trying to get the most out of these remaining years. These days, having scrutinized my wrinkles, anyone can say to me: âBut
youâre still a young man.â Still. But how many years of âstillâ, do I have left? I think about it and start to hurry, and have the agonizing sensation that life is slipping away from me, as if my veins had opened and I couldnât stop the bleeding. Because life is many things (work, money, luck, friendship, health, complications) and no one is going to deny that when we think about the word Life, when we say for example: âwe cling to lifeâ, we are likening it to a more specific, attractive and surely more important word: pleasure. I think about pleasure (any kind of pleasure) and Iâm sure thatâs what life is. From then on itâs the hurrying, the tragic hurrying of these fifty years which are fast on my heels. I still have, I hope, a few years of friendship, passable health, routine desires, and, all being well, some luck ahead of me. But, how many years of pleasure remain? I was twenty years old and I was young; I was thirty and I was young; I was forty and I was young. Now Iâm fifty years old and Iâm âyoung stillâ. âStillâ means that it ends.
And thatâs the absurd part of our agreement: we say weâre going to take it easy, let time pass, and then, later, weâll review the situation. But time passes, whether we allow it to or not, and each day makes her more desirable, mature, feminine and buxom, while, on the other hand, each day threatens me with becoming ill, worn out, less courageous and less indispensable. We have to hurry towards the encounter, because in our case the future is an inevitable non-encounter. All of her pluses correspond to my minuses and all of her minuses correspond to my pluses. I understand that for a young woman it can be an inducement to know that her man is someone who has lived, who exchanged his innocence for experience a long time ago, and who thinks with his head well set on his shoulders. Itâs possible that there would be an attraction, but how brief would it be? Because experience is good when it arrives hand in hand with vigour; afterwards, when the strength is gone, one
becomes a decorous museum piece, whose only value is being a reminder of what once existed. Experience and strength are contemporaries for a very short time. Iâm now at that stage. But itâs not an enviable situation.
Tuesday 4 June
Great. The Valverde woman broke up with Suárez and the entire office is in upheaval. MartÃnezâs face was a poem. For him the break-up meant, plain and simple, the Assistant Manager job. Suárez didnât come to work this morning, but showed up in the afternoon with a bruise on his forehead and a funereal look on his face. The manager called him over and reprimanded him loudly. That means itâs not just a simple rumour but in fact an official and authorized version.
Friday 7 June
Until now, we had gone to the movies together twice, but afterwards she would go home alone. Instead, today I accompanied her home for a change. She had acted very warm and friendly. Halfway through the film, as Alida Valli put up with the idiotic Farley Granger, I suddenly felt her hand resting on my arm. I think it was a reflex, but the fact is that afterwards she didnât remove it. Inside me there is a gentleman who doesnât want to force anything, but there is also another gentleman who obsessively thinks about hurrying.
We got off the bus at 8 de Octubre and walked the three blocks. It was dark, but simply the clear darkness of the night. The UTE, the old and dependable public utility company, was giving me a blackout as a present. We were walking side by side,
about three feet apart. But as I approached a corner (a corner with a
Sunday 2 June
Time flies. Sometimes I think I should live hurriedly instead of trying to get the most out of these remaining years. These days, having scrutinized my wrinkles, anyone can say to me: âBut
youâre still a young man.â Still. But how many years of âstillâ, do I have left? I think about it and start to hurry, and have the agonizing sensation that life is slipping away from me, as if my veins had opened and I couldnât stop the bleeding. Because life is many things (work, money, luck, friendship, health, complications) and no one is going to deny that when we think about the word Life, when we say for example: âwe cling to lifeâ, we are likening it to a more specific, attractive and surely more important word: pleasure. I think about pleasure (any kind of pleasure) and Iâm sure thatâs what life is. From then on itâs the hurrying, the tragic hurrying of these fifty years which are fast on my heels. I still have, I hope, a few years of friendship, passable health, routine desires, and, all being well, some luck ahead of me. But, how many years of pleasure remain? I was twenty years old and I was young; I was thirty and I was young; I was forty and I was young. Now Iâm fifty years old and Iâm âyoung stillâ. âStillâ means that it ends.
And thatâs the absurd part of our agreement: we say weâre going to take it easy, let time pass, and then, later, weâll review the situation. But time passes, whether we allow it to or not, and each day makes her more desirable, mature, feminine and buxom, while, on the other hand, each day threatens me with becoming ill, worn out, less courageous and less indispensable. We have to hurry towards the encounter, because in our case the future is an inevitable non-encounter. All of her pluses correspond to my minuses and all of her minuses correspond to my pluses. I understand that for a young woman it can be an inducement to know that her man is someone who has lived, who exchanged his innocence for experience a long time ago, and who thinks with his head well set on his shoulders. Itâs possible that there would be an attraction, but how brief would it be? Because experience is good when it arrives hand in hand with vigour; afterwards, when the strength is gone, one
becomes a decorous museum piece, whose only value is being a reminder of what once existed. Experience and strength are contemporaries for a very short time. Iâm now at that stage. But itâs not an enviable situation.
Tuesday 4 June
Great. The Valverde woman broke up with Suárez and the entire office is in upheaval. MartÃnezâs face was a poem. For him the break-up meant, plain and simple, the Assistant Manager job. Suárez didnât come to work this morning, but showed up in the afternoon with a bruise on his forehead and a funereal look on his face. The manager called him over and reprimanded him loudly. That means itâs not just a simple rumour but in fact an official and authorized version.
Friday 7 June
Until now, we had gone to the movies together twice, but afterwards she would go home alone. Instead, today I accompanied her home for a change. She had acted very warm and friendly. Halfway through the film, as Alida Valli put up with the idiotic Farley Granger, I suddenly felt her hand resting on my arm. I think it was a reflex, but the fact is that afterwards she didnât remove it. Inside me there is a gentleman who doesnât want to force anything, but there is also another gentleman who obsessively thinks about hurrying.
We got off the bus at 8 de Octubre and walked the three blocks. It was dark, but simply the clear darkness of the night. The UTE, the old and dependable public utility company, was giving me a blackout as a present. We were walking side by side,
about three feet apart. But as I approached a corner (a corner with a
Similar Books
