The Divorce by Cesar Aira

Author:Cesar Aira
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: contemporary fiction;literary fiction;novel;translation;translated fiction;Argentina;Argentinian;Argentine;Buenos Aires;el divorcio;Bolano;Bolaño;Borges;Jorge Luis Borges;Patti Smith
Publisher: And Other Stories Publishing
Published: 2021-05-25T16:02:27+00:00

I took a step back after hugging Enrique, so as not to get any wetter. I was about to say that I hadn’t recognised him at first, and was mentally preparing a comment or a joke about the dousing that he had received, when something else happened. As I stepped back after the hug, I probably tilted my head to one side, to get a better a look at him and come out with my joke or comment. In fact, the hug itself was already a comment on the accident, a gesture of moral support at a difficult moment since, having seen each other at breakfast a few hours earlier, it wouldn’t normally have made much sense to hug him so demonstratively. In any case, by tilting my head I must have cleared a line of sight for Enrique, and what he saw seemed to catch his attention. I didn’t need to turn around. I could see him gazing past me and responding with a clear look of recognition to the sound of a woman’s voice. The sound of her voice, not her words, which were indistinct. But when I heard what he cried out, it was no surprise that he had been able to recognise the speaker without needing to know what she had said.

‘Mama!’

Then I did turn around. At the table next to the one where Leticia and I had been sitting a few moments before was an elegantly dressed older woman, whose expression of surprise was rapidly giving way to a grin of hilarity. Her companion, a lady seated facing her, didn’t seem know what was going on and was now turning around to see. Enrique’s mother wasted no time explaining; she was already getting to her feet and approaching her motionless son:

‘Enrique!’

As well as recognition there was a very motherly tone of affectionate scolding in her voice, as if to say: ‘Hasn’t seen his mother for months and he turns up drenched, all dripping wet: just the sort of crazy, ridiculous thing that would happen to my son.’

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