The Invisible Mountain by Carolina De Robertis

Author:Carolina De Robertis [Robertis, Carolina De]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-0-307-27193-8
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2009-03-25T16:00:00+00:00

Monte. Vide. Eu. I see a mountain, a captain said four centuries ago, spying a low hill from his boat, approaching a river that would not have any silver. City of misnomers. City of small things. City redolent of leather, fresh wool, saline evening breeze.

Returning was like traveling back in time. All those memories caught in every stone and step and smell. On the first day, the fountain at Parque Rodó almost felled her. Out of its waters reared a spectre of herself, at the end of the war, bending over to wash vomit from her blouse. It leaped at her, soiled and clawing. She stumbled backward, toward the trees and street beyond.

Things weren’t the same, returning. The city hadn’t changed; it was she who had to adjust her eyes—adjust all senses—to a different light, get used to spectres, get used to things so small and calm. No giant boulevards, no mad blare at the core of Montevideo. Even the cars sounded less tense. Their new apartment was in La Ciudad Vieja, right on Avenida San Salvador. The wrought-iron balcony gazed over ornate buildings, a cobbled lane, old trees swaying their leaves, and La Diablita. Six years ago, before Buenos Aires, living in this neighborhood would have seemed the height of glamour. Inside, the bed was sturdy, if not lush; the carpets clean, if not red; the curtains quaint, if not fine. She would creep from bed (gently, so as not to rustle Roberto’s sleep) and tiptoe to the balcony in slippers and a fur coat. In that safe roost, she’d smoke and sit and stare at the red door as it swung open and closed for customers. The door itself remembered, throbbed and called her; surely if she crossed the street and touched it all the nights of work and longing would rush back to her and show her who she was. That throb kept her awake for hours, cigarette after cigarette burning its slow ash toward her hand.

Returning wouldn’t be returning until she went to Punta Carretas. She couldn’t go to the house where she’d grown up. She could not see Papá. She thought about it, tried to picture it, tried to drum up things that she could say, but her pictures always ended up at Tomás’ wedding, his laugh with Pietro, a pascualina pie dropped to the floor. That pascualina pie was thick and rotten and could easily infiltrate her body. She feared she might not rise from bed, not kiss her children, not keep from killing someone if she swallowed it again. A stalemate was a stalemate and was better than a war. But Mamá. She had to see Mamá.

She sought her out at Carnicería Descalzo. The air inside was pungent and evoked a pirate girl and boy slaying a dragon, laughing raucously, no longer there. The shop looked just the same, and so did Coco: the same round face, yellow kerchief, and bend toward sausages as she rearranged them.

Robertito squirmed against Eva’s skirt. He’d been moody since the move, and would need a siesta soon.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.