department store that had a pool table illuminated by candle light on display), someone slowly appeared out of the shadow of a tree. Then, the three feet that separated us disappeared, and before I realized it she was giving me her arm. The owner of the shadow was a drunk, a harmless and defenceless drunk who was mumbling: âLong live the poor wretched and the National Party!â Meanwhile, I felt she was stifling a little laugh and loosening the tension of her fingers on my arm. Her house is number 368 and is on a street with a name like Ramón P. Gutiérrez or Eduardo Z. DomÃnguez, I donât remember. The house has an entrance hall and several balconies. The main door was closed, but she told me there was an inner windproof storm door reminiscent of stained-glass windows. âThey say the owner wanted to imitate the stained-glass windows of Notre Dame, but Iâm telling you, thereâs a St Sebastian on that glass who looks like Gardel.â
She didnât open the door right away. As she leaned gently back against the door, I thought about how its bronze railing must be digging into her spinal column. But she wasnât complaining. Then she said: âYouâre very good. I mean to say that youâre well-behaved.â And I, who knows myself, lied like a saint and said: âSure Iâm very good, but Iâm not sure that Iâm behaving myself.â âDonât be cocky,â she said. âWhen you were young, werenât you taught that when one behaves oneself, one doesnât have to acknowledge it?â The moment had arrived and she was waiting for it: âWhen I was young I was taught that every time one behaves, one receives a prize. Donât I deserve one?â There was a moment of silence. I couldnât see her face because the foliage of a damn municipal pine tree was blocking the light of the moon. âYes, you deserve it,â I heard her reply. Then her arms emerged from the dark and rested on my shoulders. She must have seen this move in some Argentine film. But Iâm sure she
didnât see the kiss that followed in any film. I like her lips, I mean to say, their taste, the way they submerge themselves, open halfway, and slip away. Naturally, itâs not the first time sheâs kissed someone. So what? After all, itâs a relief to kiss on the mouth again, with trust and affection. I donât know how, or what strange step we must have taken, but the truth is, all of a sudden, I felt the bronze handrail sinking into my spinal column. I was at the door of number 368 for a half an hour. Lord, what progress. Neither of us said anything, but after this episode one thing was clear. Tomorrow Iâll think about it. Now Iâm tired, or I could also say: happy. But Iâm too alert to feel completely happy. Alert about myself, about my good luck, and about that sole tangible future called tomorrow. Alert, that is to say: distrustful.
Sunday 9 June
Perhaps Iâm very fussy about the middle ground. Whenever Iâm presented with a problem, I never feel attracted to extreme solutions. Itâs possible this is the root of my frustration. One thing is obvious: if, on the one hand, extremist attitudes provoke enthusiasm, influence others, and are signs of strength, then, on the other hand, poised attitudes are on the whole annoying, sometimes even disagreeable, and they almost never seem heroic. In general, one needs plenty of bravery (a very special kind of bravery) to maintain oneâs poise, but it canât be denied that to some it will look like a show of cowardice. Besides, poise is boring. And, nowadays, boredom is a great flaw that people usually donât forgive.
But what does all of this mean? Oh, yes. The middle ground I now search for has to do with (is there anything in my life just now that doesnât have to do with her?) Avellaneda. I donât want
to hurt her, nor to hurt myself (first middle ground); I
She didnât open the door right away. As she leaned gently back against the door, I thought about how its bronze railing must be digging into her spinal column. But she wasnât complaining. Then she said: âYouâre very good. I mean to say that youâre well-behaved.â And I, who knows myself, lied like a saint and said: âSure Iâm very good, but Iâm not sure that Iâm behaving myself.â âDonât be cocky,â she said. âWhen you were young, werenât you taught that when one behaves oneself, one doesnât have to acknowledge it?â The moment had arrived and she was waiting for it: âWhen I was young I was taught that every time one behaves, one receives a prize. Donât I deserve one?â There was a moment of silence. I couldnât see her face because the foliage of a damn municipal pine tree was blocking the light of the moon. âYes, you deserve it,â I heard her reply. Then her arms emerged from the dark and rested on my shoulders. She must have seen this move in some Argentine film. But Iâm sure she
didnât see the kiss that followed in any film. I like her lips, I mean to say, their taste, the way they submerge themselves, open halfway, and slip away. Naturally, itâs not the first time sheâs kissed someone. So what? After all, itâs a relief to kiss on the mouth again, with trust and affection. I donât know how, or what strange step we must have taken, but the truth is, all of a sudden, I felt the bronze handrail sinking into my spinal column. I was at the door of number 368 for a half an hour. Lord, what progress. Neither of us said anything, but after this episode one thing was clear. Tomorrow Iâll think about it. Now Iâm tired, or I could also say: happy. But Iâm too alert to feel completely happy. Alert about myself, about my good luck, and about that sole tangible future called tomorrow. Alert, that is to say: distrustful.
Sunday 9 June
Perhaps Iâm very fussy about the middle ground. Whenever Iâm presented with a problem, I never feel attracted to extreme solutions. Itâs possible this is the root of my frustration. One thing is obvious: if, on the one hand, extremist attitudes provoke enthusiasm, influence others, and are signs of strength, then, on the other hand, poised attitudes are on the whole annoying, sometimes even disagreeable, and they almost never seem heroic. In general, one needs plenty of bravery (a very special kind of bravery) to maintain oneâs poise, but it canât be denied that to some it will look like a show of cowardice. Besides, poise is boring. And, nowadays, boredom is a great flaw that people usually donât forgive.
But what does all of this mean? Oh, yes. The middle ground I now search for has to do with (is there anything in my life just now that doesnât have to do with her?) Avellaneda. I donât want
to hurt her, nor to hurt myself (first middle ground); I
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