The Shipyard (GT) by Juan Carlos Onetti

Author:Juan Carlos Onetti
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9788466336338
Publisher: Penguin Random House Grupo Editorial España
Published: 2016-05-11T16:00:00+00:00

SANTA MARÍA · III

If we take into account the opinions and forecasts of those who knew Larsen personally and think they know about him, everything indicates that after the interview with Petrus he sought and obtained the fastest way to return to the shipyard.

He needed now - or had simply chosen to accept this need with all the meager, intermittent enthusiasm he had left - to get the fake title and offer it simply, vaguely ambitious and full of curiosity, as if fulfilling a sacrifice that had no purpose. the achievement of no advantage, but, complicated, the obtaining of some revelations.

But even if the reason and the testimonies convince us that Larsen's only concern that night was to get to the shipyard as soon as possible to prevent any maneuver by the enemy that had just been invented and to plan on the ground the rescue operation that they had been entrusted to him, it is also true that now, at this moment in history, no one is in a hurry or it doesn't matter what one is in.

As a result, Larsen had to stand under the drizzle and wind, after crossing the square diagonally, to discover, with amazement, annoyance and indomitable excitement, that the fact that the shipyard had become a complete world, infinitely isolated and independent, did not exclude the existence of the other world, this one that he stood on now and where he himself had once resided. He turned left and began to walk briskly, parallel to the river, assuming he recognized corners and damp facades and the peculiar light of each spaced lantern swaying in the diminishing drizzle.

He had gone down to the river after passing the gloomy and shiny cube of Customs and was on the Enduro trail; It was no longer raining and the wind was beginning to leap into the city, conquering one line of blocks after another. "If I had to go back, why on a night like this, and why did I run to the dirtiest and most miserable part." He had one hand tucked between the lapels of his overcoat, his head twisted so that the wind would not steal his hat, feeling the water in his socks at every sound step.

He could already smell dead fish when he discovered the yellow light of the cafeteria and, half a block later, the music, the rapid swing of the waltz on the guitar. He opened the door and pushed it shut behind him, staring at the smoke, the dark heads, the poverty, the fleeting consolation, the indolent rancor, the ever-astonishing face of the past. He walked to the counter with a measured air of defiance, hiding his emotion until he understood it.

—Do you not greet your friends? Barreiro, do you remember?

On the other side of the tin the young man was smiling, his dirty white jacket pulled up to his neck, unshaven, tired and spirited.

"Barreiro, of course," Larsen said, not knowing who he was talking to, holding out his hand, hitting the other's before squeezing it.

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