The Regal Lemon Tree by Juan José Saer

Author:Juan José Saer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Letter
Published: 2020-05-15T00:00:00+00:00

DAWN BREAKS

AND HIS EYES ARE ALREADY OPEN

He has gone outside and played with the dogs for a moment, after getting up and getting dressed. He has eaten two figs, wiping his hands twice with the large leaves from the fig tree. He has seen, from the yellow canoe, along with el Ladeado, a flock of ducks startled by an abrupt motion of their guide, scattering at an angle, producing a commotion in the sky, just above the canoe, then reforming to resume their flight in perfect formation in the opposite direction. He had a couple of drinks at Berini’s almacén with Rogelio and Agustín. He sat down on the hilltop with the hawthorns beyond the clearing to rest from the walk, after getting back from the almacén, while Agustín and Rogelio went behind to urinate, and he heard the streams of their urine on the sparse grass. He arrived just in time to set up the chairs around the large table, under the two Chinaberry trees. He accepted, after turning down Rogelio twice, to sit at the head of the table. He posed for three photographs—one with the entire family, one with all the men and boys, one just with Agustín—all three taken against the white wall of the house. He took a nap under the trees after defecating. He argued with Rosa, who insisted he go back to his house to get her. He sacrificed the lamb after watching Rogelio play with his sons for a little while. He left the watered-down patio behind, crossing the small hill toward the river, as far as the four willow trees. He took off his clothes and stood at the edge of the embankment. He balanced for a moment on his toes. He gathered his momentum to jump off, bringing his fingertips together, and downward, stretching his arms out. And now he stretches out his entire body, his head protected within his outstretched arms, coming closer, at an angle, to the purplish water, coming into contact with it, before anything else, with his fingertips.

The loud boom from his dive rings out and echoes, fanning out in the quiet air. Wenceslao’s body enters the water, which closes up behind him, surrounding him, like a chrysalis in an elastic cocoon, heavy, in motion. At the bottom, Wenceslao glides forward, opening his eyes and seeing a yellowish, transparent semi-darkness clouded by the thin, floating mud stirred up by his dive from the river’s edge. He closes his eyes again. His body makes an abrupt turn, stopped harshly by the pressure of the water, and the vague commotion of the water caused by his body reaches his ears. He starts to move forward, gently, spreading the water out with his hands, silently, his eyes open once again inside the translucent semi-darkness. He starts to go back up. The muffled rumbling from the bottom is replaced by the multiple, sudden sounds of the splashing at the surface as his head comes up out of the water. He has emerged facing the center of the river, not the shore from which he dove in.

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