by Cesar Aira
Meanwhile, the children had woken up. A bit of crying and moaning: here we go, said Elisa Vicuña. She went into the bedroom and came back with the two little monsters, one under each arm, naked and crying, covered with perspiration. Their aunt gave them a kiss, laughing at the way they were carrying on. She had an easy manner with children, which calmed them down, and even these little ones were alert to the word “present.” The two toy cars had been wrapped up again, and the parcel was on the table. A little bath first, said Elisa. I’ll give you a hand. No, don’t worry, it won’t take long.... you’ll see.... I’ll just give them a splash.... She went into the bathroom and poured some water over the children, which woke them up properly. Patri, she called from the bathroom: Go and tell the others to come for their snack. Patri went out. Hey, is Javier coming? In a minute, said Elisa. With the whole family. The two children, with wet hair, were deposited on top of the table, and Ernesto began to open the parcel. Aunt Inés cuddled them. The little girl was so tiny and sweet. She’s always smiling, isn’t she! She’s lovely! Elisa was preparing something in the kitchen. How can I help? asked her sister-in-law. I’m fine, in a minute I’ll give you their shoes and you can put them on. Where are they? Hold on, said Elisa, heading for the bedroom, I’ll get them for you now. As she took the children’s shoes, Inés said: And that man is still asleep, is he? Uh huh, like a log, takes a fair bit to wake him up. The two older children came in. You haven’t gone and broken the cars already, have you? said their mother. No, no! See! They displayed them, intact. Patri had come in quietly and was looking at the bracelet on her wrist. Inés Viñas finished putting on the children’s shoes, and told them each to sit on a chair, with their red toy cars, if they liked (but the best thing, said Juan Sebastián, is crashing them), while their mother poured them each a big glass of milk. So you must have bought a fridge, said Inés, looking at the glasses.... No, no. They’re going to lend us one. This is special milk, it keeps without a fridge. Oh yes, I know, said Inés.
While the children were busy with their afternoon snack, Inés Viñas made the following remark: The last time I was here, not even ten days ago, you could see right through each floor, but today on the way up.... Her sister-in-law interrupted: So you saw the partition walls? They’ve put most of them up already; they might even have finished. Hey, can we look at them? At what? At the apartments, dear. Sure, straight away! The owners won’t come? Why would they come, at this time of day, on New Year’s Eve? Anyway, Patri put in, they were all here this morning. Were they? Why? I don’t know, said Elisa.... I think there was a meeting. You wouldn’t believe how many people there were. We stayed in here, while they came and went.
Then they told the children to finish their milk while they went down to look at the apartments. But they could have saved their breath: the four of them guzzled down what was left so they could come along. They began the descent chatting brightly. They guessed at the layout of the rooms from what they could see. The upper floors were more finished. Patri was quite amazed by their suppositions, which would never have occurred to her. She knew that those rooms would be bedrooms, dining rooms, bathrooms, or kitchens, but she had never wondered which would be which. The other two were even doing imaginary swaps: I wouldn’t put the living room here; I’d make this my bedroom. Other aspects of the apartments made them laugh. They’ll have to put up huge drapes, said one, and the other replied: Except they don’t have neighbors looking in, that’s the advantage. They went down from the sixth floor to the fifth, and from the fifth to the fourth, talking all the way. They ranked the floors according to preference. Look at the way these rich people live, said Inés Viñas. And they’re going to splash around up there too? Elisa looked up at the ceiling, bewildered for a moment, until she remembered the swimming pool. How do you like that, she remarked, a pool on the rooftop terrace! I couldn’t believe it, until I saw it with my own eyes, or rather till I saw they were building it. It’s just incredible, said Inés. Isn’t it? said Patri, who was taking a very small part in the conversation. Some things are unbelievable, said the visitor, but when you see them with your own eyes, you have to bow to the evidence. Yes, said Patri.
As they visited the apartments methodically, from one end to the other, the question of evidence led to two topics that were, not unreasonably, dear to their hearts: medicine and marriage. Inés Viñas swore by homeopathy and warmly recommended it at every opportunity. She saw her little old homeopath as a kind of shaman whose precise and parsimonious doses could cure anything. Her sister-in-law Elisa, while not a supporter of allopathy (it didn’t deserve supporters, she admitted, since it was just a business) favored conventional medicine, because she had a problem with belief. There are people who just can’t believe, she said, and I’m one of them. But you could make an effort! said Inés. If it was only a matter of making an effort, I would have done it already, if only to please you, replied Elisa. Well don’t make an effort, then, just believe! Elisa: The thing is, you have to make an effort. And not believing is simply not being able to do that. Elisa dear, I really can’t follow you, although I’m trying, I swear. Come on, what if you gave it a go? This whole conversation was abstract, in a manner of speaking, because neither of them was ill or thought she was. Which probably explains why they could reason about it. Look, Inés, homeopathy, or any other kind of magical medicine, only works for those who believe. That’s where you’re wrong, Elisa! Lots of people who didn’t believe have been cured. Is that so? But didn’t they believe afterward? Of course, why wouldn’t they? That’s what I mean: you have to believe, either before or after. But it’s not the same thing! It doesn’t matter: I’d only be convinced by someone who didn’t believe at all, someone who had been cured, and went on not believing. But that’s impossible! Exactly, you see what I mean?
While talking about medicine they were also talking about marriage. If there was any disagreement on that topic, it was subtler. Because all women, or nearly (all the ones they knew, anyway) got married, sooner or later. It was a kind of universal homeopathy, which sent belief leaping wildly, all over the place, with nothing to guide it. Patri, whose part in the conversation was limited to an odd monosyllable or chuckle, was listening carefully. Inés Viñas sensed this attention, and looked thoughtfully at the girl.
When they had seen enough of that layered, multi-family mansion, and there was nothing left to criticize in their good-natured, skeptical way, they started going back upstairs, without so much as a moment’s pause in their chatter. Which, come to think of it, was, in itself, something to be marveled at, a challenge to belief: how is it that conversation topics keep coming up, one after another, inexhaustibly, as if they weren’t tied to objects, which are finite, as if they were pure form? It went to show that life had hidden recesses. When they reached the top of the building, the heat, which had not eased off in spite of the late hour, reminded the hostess of something they still hadn’t bought, because they were leaving it till the last minute: ice. She asked Patri if she would do her a favor and fetch it. Patri went to get the bag, and her mother told her to take some money from her purse. Patri was thinking: Where does all the money come from? We’re always spending it, but there’s always some left. Her mother had a reputation in the family as a good housekeeper. And she was in fact fairly good, but the reputation was based on a misunderstanding: seeing the whole family dressed in faded clothes, the relatives supposed that Elisa Vicuña was extremely thrifty and economical. To tell the truth, they couldn’t understand how clothes that were s
o faded, almost white, and therefore, they supposed, very old (when in fact they might have been bought the week before) remained in one piece: it could only be explained by infinite care and vigilance. When Patri came back with the bag and the money, Inés Viñas, who was at the edge of the empty swimming pool, admiring that huge absurdity, offered to go with her. No, there’s no need; it’s not far, just round the corner. We’ll get two bags then, to make the drinks extra cold, replied Inés, laughing. Don’t worry, don’t worry, said mother and daughter, but she insisted. Since she had come to bother them so early, she might as well help with something.
Inés and Patri went downstairs and out into the street, which was coming back to life. Inés asked if she had friends in the neighborhood. No, replied Patri, I hardly ever go down. This is the first time I’ve been down in two days. Inés was amazed. She couldn’t imagine it. And how are you going to find a boyfriend like that, my girl? Patri laughed in reply, and Inés joined in.
Hey, don’t laugh, I’m serious. Didn’t you hear what we were saying, your mom and me? Yes, but I still don’t know who I’m going to marry. Inés took a few steps in silence, wondering what to say. Never say you don’t know. Why not? Because. Patri chose to respond with a chuckle. Tell me, said Inés, You’re not a virgin, are you? No, not any more. Uhuh, but weren’t you worried about getting pregnant? This time it was Patri’s turn to ponder her reply. Eventually she came out with: More or less. What a funny answer! said Inés and burst out laughing. But you’re a funny girl all round, aren’t you, Patricita! Hearing her laugh made Patri laugh too. They went into the store that sold ice, made their purchase, and, when they came out again, started talking about love. It’s the most important thing, the only thing there is in the world. Yes, yes, of course, said Patri. Why do you say you don’t know who you’re going to marry? Because it’s true. Even so.... They walked a while in silence. The trees in the street were as still as plaster statues. It’s so hot, said the younger of the two. It’s a heat wave, really, said the other, then added: You know what that means, don’t you? There’ll be a big, long storm afterward and then it’ll be cold. Are you sure? It’s hard to believe. That’s how it is. That’s what always happens in Buenos Aires. The weather does one thing, then the other. I think it does that everywhere, said Patri with a certain irony. Yes, but here, said Inés, it’s more pronounced and it happens every time. What does? The downpour. Ah, said Patri, looking at the spotless blue sky. No, not now, but you’ll see. Changing the subject abruptly, Inés remarked: There are some really good-looking men. Yes, there are some I find very attractive. There are some I find extremely attractive. Well, me too, if we’re going to extremes. But, you know, they can turn out to be bastards. Yeah, of course; that’s always happening on TV. But that’s fake. Didn’t you just say.... ? No, what I’m saying is they can be bastards. Like they can be anything, Inés added. Oh, OK, all right. But the really important thing, in love, is to find a real man. Not the real men again! exclaimed Patri. That’s what mom’s always telling me. Well she knows what she’s talking about, I promise you. How does she know? Inés shrugged her shoulders. They went around the corner and glanced at the building, which didn’t look like anything special from the outside.
At that moment, a typical Argentinean beauty walked past: broad weight-lifter’s shoulders, pumped-up breasts, narrow hips (viewed from the front, because side-on she was markedly steatopygous), dark skin, almost like an African, indigenous features with certain oriental characteristics, thick protuberant lips, black hair dyed a reddish color, a very short denim skirt showing off her long, strong, lustrous legs, sandals, which she was dragging along languorously, and a key-ring dangling from her hand. Inés and Patri, petite and delicate, slipped past her like two ants beside an elephant. The Argentinean woman didn’t even look at them; her big, dark Japanese eyes were half closed, and she wore an expression of disdain. That’s what they’re like, said Inés Viñas when they were certain distance away. What do they do if they can’t get a real man, smack his head off or something? Patri didn’t reply, but the image of a real man without a head remained with her for a few steps. Inés added: We don’t have that athletic determination.... and, besides, we can’t dress like that, there aren’t any clothes that suit us that well. Then Patri said softly: It’s because we’re different. We’re Chilean.
Before going in, Inés pointed out an old red and white van covered with mud, parked on the opposite pavement, a certain distance away. Isn’t that Javier’s? she asked. Yes, it was. What a wreck! Then both of them thought: They’ve arrived. A pretty straightforward deduction, really.
Any doubts they might have had disappeared when they went in: an unusual racket of children’s voices was echoing down from the top floors. Not that Javier and his wife Carmen had lots of children (they had two and were expecting a third); it was because of the multiplying effect that children produce when they get together. Right now, said Inés, I’d appreciate an elevator. Each of them was carrying a bag of ice. Patri glanced at the electric clock hanging from the beam on the ground floor: it was seven twenty-five. Two ghosts were floating in the air, in line with each of the clock’s hands: because of the time, they were both head down, like the branches of a Christmas tree. Come on, or it’ll all melt, said Inés. What’s the hurry? It’s going to melt anyway.
As they climbed the stairs, Patri, who had been thinking about what they had said when the Argentinean woman went past, asked: Don’t you think they’re more vulgar? Inés Viñas didn’t want to be categorical, although it was perfectly obvious what Patri was thinking: Well, my girl, they’re different, just like you said. To us they seem primitive, savage, like those tribes.... For example, they have codes of appearance: you can always tell at a glance whether an Argentinean woman is married or single; it’s as if they put a bone through their nose when they got married, or shaved their heads, or something like that. But with us.... we all seem married, or all single, if you like. We’re always the same. Patri agreed as they climbed the stairs.
The situation on the terrace had changed substantially. The assembly of women had become a general meeting, buzzing with attention, tacit family understandings, news, the roughness of men, and a good quantity of joy. For a start, they had taken some chairs from the dining room to a part of the terrace shaded by the neighboring building. It was even possible to imagine that a cooler breeze was beginning to stir, but that was just the impression naturally created by open air and altitude combined. Here’s the ice! cried Raúl Viñas. Javier Viñas stood up to greet the women. He was thinner than his brother, and taller too, although still short, more reserved, more distinguished-looking, but he also smiled more and had a more affectionate manner, although he was not so mysterious; perhaps, all in all, he was more ordinary. He hugged his sister and then addressed an elaborate greeting to Patri, with whom all the family were especially polite. Raúl Viñas had risen to his feet to greet his sister and apologized for having been asleep when she arrived. Carmen Larraín, Javier’s wife, also exchanged salutations with her sister-in-law and Patri, while her children, Pablo and Enrique, paragons of politeness, patiently waited their turn. What about Roberto? Carmen asked Inés Viñas. He’ll be right along. They proceeded to talk about him in his absence. Unlike the hosts, Carmen and Javier had met Roberto. They lavished praise upon him, while the interested party expressed prudent reservations. Roberto was a Chilean-Argentinean, a traveling salesman for a small cigarette paper manufacturer. The engagement had been formalized only a few weeks
before; they were planning to get married at the end of the coming year, which would begin in a few hours’ time. The Viñas brothers (Inés was the youngest child, by a fair margin; Raúl and Javier were twins) were observing the developments with interest. A man’s entry into the family was apparently more important than a woman’s; they had each brought a woman in already, and in Raúl’s case, a prior daughter as well: Patri, that enigmatic supplement. In fact the opposite was true, but the apparent was more important that the real. They considered the prospect at leisure, in a gentle, affectionate, futile way, since it was one of those things that is only a matter of time (which are the things that make time matter). With all the chatting it got quite noisy up there, thirty yards above street level. The presence of the men made a difference: it was more international, not as strictly Chilean as when the women had been talking amongst themselves, less of an artificial enclave, not so much a gathering of exiles, and yet at the same time more Chilean too, in a certain way. Differences like that made the women feel that the men were irreplaceable.