A Brief Life (GT) by Juan Carlos Onetti

Author:Juan Carlos Onetti
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9788466336345
Publisher: Penguin Random House Spain
Published: 2016-05-15T16:00:00+00:00

Part Two

I. THE PATTERN

Elena Sala and the doctor had lunch in a gazebo with the hotel owner, a fat man in his fifties, with a vain light in his eyes, in the glow of his cheeks and chin, reddish, burned by the sun.

"And I'm so worried," the woman explained, "because I know I was desperate.

The boss did not know where the fugitive was; she couldn't refer to him without hinting at a smile, without frowning, amused and unable to understand. From the pickled fish, from the first glass of wine, Díaz Gray discovered that the owner of the hotel was old Macleod; a Macleod without the recent shave, stripped of the stiff neck and expensive clothes, limited and stronger, truer perhaps.

Abandoned in his seat, seeking not to participate, not to be taken into account, Díaz Gray contemplated the movements of the man - more abrupt -, heard his words - more direct and risky -, recognized the small blue and watery eyes. Old Macleod in his shirt sleeves, his collar detached, his hair gray, his skin red, sprawled under the poetic convention of the wisteria bouquets.

"Of course I remember," said the owner; he cleaned his teeth, pushed the toothpick aside to watch him, hopeful, backsliding. It doesn't fade anymore, I'm seeing it. Lying on the beach, sitting on the veranda, wandering around in front of it. He hardly ever spoke, I called him "the sleepwalker." And not that something special happened; It is that way of being of man that I do not forget. Also, the way to meet him, the first time I saw him. Nothing weird, don't worry ma'am, don't be looking at me like that. It was the same smile as Macleod apologizing for human suffering, letting it be known that, despite everything, life is worth living or life worth living, and that there is a scattered legion of energetic Macleods who hold the key and are capable of to encourage, to uplift; That's why we came to Earth. The hotel was almost empty, although the days were getting beautiful; on the weekends a couple or a band of friends would come, people from Santa María almost all of them. Why talk; But these Swiss today are not the ones who made the cologne, believe me. I'm pretty sure it was a Monday and everyone was gone when I sat down to look at the road and some boats that were challenging each other to race on the river. The launch had passed without docking, so I no longer had any hope of passengers arriving. I did not care because here you live in summer; but if they come at another station, I can assure you that they don't bother me. He did not smile, he trailed an empty, candid gaze across them, across the parched distance. I sat down that afternoon where you were all morning - he looked at Díaz Gray, without mockery, communicating that he understood and that he was capable of overcoming everything he understood - and although I was sleepy and I always take a nap, I couldn't fall asleep.

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