I wake up again.
There’s no television. There’s no letter.
I’m alone and I’m eons older.
III
We’re standing one after another in a long line down the middle of the street. Next to us is another long line, and another, and another. We make a perfect square, a kind of game board. We’re pieces in a game that we don’t know how to stop playing. We spread out, each of us resting a right arm on the shoulder of the classmate ahead to mark the perfect distance between us. Our uniforms neat. Top button of the shirt fastened, tie knotted, dark jumper below the knee, blue socks pulled up, pants perfectly ironed, school crest sewn on at proper chest height, no threads dangling, shoes freshly shined. Around us the street is silent and empty. There are no cars, no buses, no people. Just us and this guerrilla logic that we can’t wake up from. We could take attendance, starting with Acosta and moving on to Bustamante, then Donoso, but it’s not necessary. We’re all here. We were scheduled to meet here. We’ve risen from our sheets and mattresses scattered around the city to arrive precisely on time. As always, the dream summons us.
A pay phone rings on the street, right by the school entrance.
We look at each other. Somehow we’ve been expecting this call.
Fuenzalida steps forward. She’s an expert in voices, so she’ll have no trouble recognizing who’s speaking. Hello? Somehow we know that it’s a female voice on the phone. Fuenzalida doesn’t say a word, but we can tell who it is from the look she gives us. A woman or a child is breathing nervously at the other end of the line, waiting for a reply. Fuenzalida realizes this telephone call is fated. We have to take it. Without hesitating for a second, she answers and starts to talk. Standing in the street, uncomfortable in our old uniforms, now too tight and faded, we listen attentively.
Santiago de Chile, April 2013
Acknowledgments
On the threshold of the dream, I thank Maldonado.
For her letters, her memories, and her friendship, bulletproof and time-tested.
Nona Fernández was born in Santiago, Chile, in 1971. She is an actress and writer, and has published two plays, a collection of short stories, and six novels. In 2016 she was awarded the Premio Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz. Her books have been translated into French, Italian, German, and English.
Natasha Wimmer is the translator of nine books by Roberto Bolaño, including The Savage Detectives and 2666. Her most recent translations are Bolaño’s The Spirit of Science Fiction and Sudden Death, by Álvaro Enrigue. She lives in Brooklyn with her husband and two children.
The text of Space Invaders is set in Arno Pro.
Book design by Rachel Holscher.
Composition by Bookmobile Design and Digital Publisher Services, Minneapolis, Minnesota.
Manufactured by Versa Press on acid-free, 30 percent postconsumer wastepaper.
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