I believe that my first memories of Buenos Aires, meanwhile, are of nursery school. I have others that may be even earlier but unless they feature my grandfather I have no way of placing them in time. There were several different nursery schools, at least four.  

My shyness, or maybe my lack of experience, made it hard for me to play with other children on the few occasions when I had the opportunity. My days dragged on but I didn’t complain, it was what I knew. I went to Pichincha square every afternoon but my mother preferred that I play alone. My options were thus restricted because some of the equipment needed two or more people. I’d go down the slide and watch the kids play football, which was forbidden to me for different reasons. These included the likelihood of other children hurting me, on purpose or otherwise, or that I would get my knees dirty. I didn’t plead to save myself the scowl that would spread across her face and last all afternoon. After playing, I’d go to the merry-go-round.  

Even beyond my parents’ constant admonishments to behave, following the rules was something that came naturally to my family. Changing schools, not being allowed to go over to other children’s houses, the lack of children’s books on the shelves: all that seemed normal. It never would have occurred to me to question it and neither did I know any other families who might provide a basis for comparison.  

The first nursery school I went to was called Scholem, when I was three. I remember myself sitting in a chair in a big circle. There were three teachers and sixty or seventy children. I was tired, it was late and the winter sun filtered in through the window, making me drowsy. Suddenly, I woke up staring at my buckled shoes as a puddle of pee formed next to them. I spent some time in a changing room with an older woman who took off my damp clothes and put on a clean set of underwear. My mother came to get me. I still felt embarrassed at peeing myself but I was more preoccupied with how they’d known which pants in the storage cupboard were mine. I assumed that every child had their own set so I thought that the lady was a genius for being able to find them. Even though my mother wasn’t angry at me for peeing myself, I realized that her answer about the underwear glossed over, rather awkwardly, the truth: the underwear belonged to the school, ready to be used by any of the children should the occasion warrant.  I wouldn’t have minded had I known. It was my mother who was uncomfortable.      

My next memory is of the Rainbow Holiday Camp, heat, a journey on a bus with sticky rubber seats. They took us to a pool to the north of the city and plonked us into the water. I heard a teacher calling out to me amid the chaos of a crowd of noisy children. I looked all around me, trying to find her. She just said my name: ‘Sebastian, Sebastian.’ I finally tracked her down. She seemed annoyed that I had taken so long to answer. Years later I realized that I have no sense of auditory orientation.    

After the holiday camp, I continued attending Rainbow nursery school. Halfway through the year I was moved to Cangallo, where Sonia, my sister, was in the first year. I didn’t mind the switch initially, I was used to it. But I wasn’t comfortable there and asked to go back.  

The following year I went to a different school. When my parents told me that I would be going to another nursery school, their reasons were very much their own: cost, convenient location, quality, teaching method. The school was called Gesang. It had a large playground out back with a sand pit full of fine, golden sand and play equipment by the wall. Once, I played for so long that when I looked up I realized I was the only one there, my teachers and the other children had gone back inside without my noticing. I didn’t get upset, I found a teacher and told her that I’d lost my class. She escorted me to the classroom. It happened to me again another playtime; the significance of these events, to me, lay in how comfortable I felt alone.  

I made my first friends at that school, Jaime and Luis. We didn’t do much together, just built houses out of wooden bricks, but it was a new and potentially pleasant experience for me. One day, when we had to stop and go to another classroom, I was pleased to see that they’d left my bricks alone when I got back. I was used to my mother tidying everything up after me at home, meaning that I kept having to start over. But friendship also meant talking about and sharing things, which I found difficult. I knew my mother wasn’t going to like that.  

We had to make papier maché gifts for Mother’s Day. I made an ash tray. It wasn’t pretty but it was very obviously an ash tray and I’d put a lot of effort into it. A schoolfriend helped me to paint it because I wasn’t very good at painting.  

Jaime celebrated his birthday at home. It was the only time I was allowed to visit my schoolfriends. I got there late, with my mother. She always found an excuse to check the place out and was always the first to come pick me up. Whenever I heard the doorbell, my fantasy world collapsed around my ears. Jaime’s house was large and simple and I immediately noted how warm his parents were, that he was close to his siblings and the general feeling of calm. I was curious, surprised and annoyed all at once. I was missing out on something.   

At the entrance to Gesang, while we were waiting on the pavement to get onto the buses to go home, we played the ring game. Someone clasped their hands together around a ring and everyone else stood in a circle with their hands clasped too, leaving a little gap for the ring holder to drop it into if they so chose. Then you had to guess who had the ring and when identified they’d go into the middle of the circle. A girl, Rosana, who was blonde and wore glasses, the one who’d helped me with the ash tray, always gave me the ring. Shy as I was, I started to give it to her too. Soon, our classmates were calling us boyfriend and girlfriend. It was nice to have someone interested in me but it was a different relationship to the one I had with Jaime and Luis. Someone was seeking me out and I didn’t know why. 

We both moved, Rosana and I. She went to Israel, near the end of the year. I went to another house in the same neighbourhood a few months later. She called me from the port to say goodbye. The ash tray didn’t make it to the new house.  

Copyright David Mibashan

Translated from Spanish by Kit Maude