So that night we ended up at a club in Chapinero where a pair of dwarfs worked the bar, and it was half empty anyway, since it was a weeknight. How infinitely graceful Anita was when she danced, what an effort I had to make not to pull her to me, what a sin it was not to kiss her, what a crime to remove my hands from her hips; smiling, willing, delectable Anita in the dim light of a club in Chapinero with two dwarfs behind the bar, But my heart is elsewhere, Anita, and even my body isn’t entirely present here with yours, Goodbye, Anita from Meissen, I would have liked to say, in another life I’ll come looking for you and marry you and make you happy, Anita, because you deserve it, and it’s something I’ll always owe you; and I would also have liked to say, In another life I’ll take you to bed in the suite of a luxury hotel, Anita, it can even be the Wellington if you want, I deserve it and it’s something you’ll always owe me, but that will all have to be in another life because I’m going home now, pretty Anita, which is where my life is waiting for me, the life I’m living now, I mean, the life that in the end is the only one I’ve got and that’s waiting for me at home, it will be a pleasure to dream of you, Anita, but right now I can’t have things in my real life that aren’t real, because there’s been more than enough of that already.
When I got to the apartment at two in the morning, I was greeted by a smell that made tears spring to my eyes, and that’s no metaphor, because this smell, which I’m not sure I can describe, really did make me cry, it was the smell of home, how else to put it, an everyday smell, a smell of people who sleep at night and get up in the morning, of real life, of life that has returned to the realm of the possible; how long it will last I don’t know, I thought, but at least as long as the smell lingers, as long as this calm remains unbroken. Agustina was asleep on my side of the bed and she had left me a note on the night table, a note like the one she’d slid under the door of my cubicle at the university three years ago, asking for two things, a photocopy of my hand and my help in writing her autobiography; this time the sheet of paper wasn’t in an envelope but folded in half and addressed to me, Aguilar. I may not know what happiness is, I suppose no one knows, but what I do know is that happiness is what I felt when I saw my name in her handwriting on that sheet of paper, with a little circle instead of a dot over the i, and inside it said, “Professor Aguilar, if you still love me despite everything, wear a red tie tomorrow.” I read it many times before I fell asleep, and the last thought that crossed my mind that night was, I’m happy, tonight I’m happy even though I don’t know how long this happiness will last.
When I got up the next day Agustina was already dressed, and she was calling the airport to confirm the arrival time of the flight from Mexico. I took a leisurely shower, trimmed my beard, combed my hair the best I could considering that it hadn’t grown out enough to hide the damage done by Don Octavio the barber, put on a white shirt and rummaged through my drawers until I found an old red tie that I was sure I had somewhere. I looked a little strange, because I’ve never worn a tie and I don’t have the right jacket, but there I was in my red tie, and for the first time I even splashed on a little of the cologne that Agustina always gives me. When I came downstairs, Agustina walked past me several times without saying anything, not even good morning, pretending not to see me, her eyes avoiding my red tie as if she regretted writing that note, or rather as if she were afraid to see whether I’d put it on or not, purposely not looking. She and Aunt Sofi were putting the finishing touches on the lunch with which we would welcome Bichi when we brought him back from the airport; they had made a turkey and were fussing with some apples and vegetables, paying no attention to me, so I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down to breakfast, glancing through the newspaper and watching my wife as she walked back and forth past me with her eyes averted, acting as if she hadn’t noticed me and yet at the same time nervous, wanting and not wanting to check and see out of the corner of her eye whether I had put on the tie or not, until I planted myself in front of her, took her by the shoulders, made her look me in the eyes, and asked her, Miss Londoño, is this tie red enough for you?
A NOTE ABOUT THE AUTHOR
LAURA RESTREPO is the bestselling author of several prizewinning novels published in more than twenty languages, including Leopard in the Sun, which won the Arzobispo San Clemente Prize, and The Angel of Galilea, which won the Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz Prize in Mexico and the Prix France Culture in France. She was also awarded the 2004 Alfaguara Prize and the 2005 Grinzane Cavour Prize in Italy for Delirium. A recent recipient of a Guggenheim Fellowship, Restrepo lives in Mexico City.
ALSO BY LAURA RESTREPO
PUBLISHED IN ENGLISH
Isle of Passion
The Angel of Galilea
Leopard in the Sun
The Dark Bride
A Tale of the Dispossessed
PUBLISHED BY NAN A. TALESE
AN IMPRINT OF DOUBLEDAY
Copyright © 2007 by Laura Restrepo
English-language translation copyright © 2007 by Natasha Wimmer
All Rights Reserved
Published in the United States by Nan A. Talese, an imprint of The Doubleday Broadway Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
www.nanatalese.com
DOUBLEDAY is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Delirium was first published under the title Delirio in Colombia by Santillana Ediciones Generales, S.L.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Restrepo, Laura
[Delirio. English]
Delirium / Laura Restrepo; translated from the Spanish by Natasha Wimmer.
p. cm.
I. Wimmer, Natasha. II. Title.
PQ8180.28.E7255D4513 2007
863'.64—dc22
2006020282
eISBN: 978-0-385-52151-2
v3.0
Delirium Page 29