New harvest
Jorge arrived in Buenos Aires at the end of March. The ship had left from Rotterdam. He had been away twenty-two years. Shortly after coming up on deck on the last day of the voyage, he could guess the contours of the Buenos Aires skyline. A little while later it was more clearly visible. Yet Jorge felt no emotion. When he was seventeen and in his fourth year of high school, he dropped out just before he would have been…
Marcos was an orderly man. He liked to structure his life around routines. It was the best way, he thought, to stay in control and avoid any undue emotion or excitement. He’d never enjoyed his job as a taxi driver. There were too many unanswered questions, too many doors left ajar. He was always being forced to take decisions, whether he had a passenger or not. One morning he came to a realization: he wanted to drive a subway train….
Marcelo walked into the cemetery a little after it had opened. He walked back and forth amongst the graves and stopped in front of one as if to give the impression that this was the person he had come to visit. In fact, though, he had difficulty in reading the name on the tombstone, not because the name had worn away but because he was quite incapable of mental concentration. The last twenty-four hours had passed like a whirlwind. He could not…
I was pleased with myself because I’d got everything done in time to get into the car a couple of minutes before the news began. That meant I could listen to the weather and the traffic reports too. The news began the way it always did: Here is the CBC news with Lorna Jackson but an unexpected silence followed. When she started up again, her voice sounded strange. Then she lapsed into silence again. She tried again: Good Morning, this…
She walks slowly into the kitchen, heads to the refrigerator and opens it. Then she picks up an orange from the top shelf in her right hand and takes it over to the sink. She runs the hot water tap with her left hand and carefully washes the orange, ignoring the temperature of the water. She turns off the tap, picks up the red dishcloth and dries the orange, taking great care over every movement. She picks up the dark…
Last night I had a terrible dream. I was heading down into the Buenos Aires underground. The B line. It was one of those stations where the platform is in the middle, between the lines heading in both directions, probably Carlos Pellegrini or Florida. The wall tiles were brown, which would have fit much better with an A Line station. I was going down an escalator where I know there isn’t one. And when I got to the platform I…
Picture an airport. Spend a lot of time thinking about it, considering it, being afraid to feel. You leave the house. This is the moment. All those things that seemed important to you up until now aren’t any more. No room for obsessions. Irrelevances won’t bother you now. They really don’t matter. A dock, or maybe a train station platform would be much nicer. But this is an airport and even the crowds and rampant consumerism can’t bother you. You’re…
When did I decide to be melancholy? Maybe on the day I finished secondary school. It was evening and we left singing “‘Bye school, ‘bye school, ‘bye-bye”. I realized that I was about to pass through the threshold as a student for the last time. I looked down, slowed my pace and went on staring hard at the dividing line between the five years of the past and an uncertain future. I was excited but also making an effort to…
I I knew I shouldn’t have gone to that meeting. There I was, facing four plainclothes policemen and the first thing I thought of was that meeting. “Get up!” It’s probably to go to the washroom. I walk single file with my hands on the right shoulder of the person in front of me. I know that he is also a detainee; I can feel the sackcloth on his head brushing against my hand. “Stop!” They arrested…
The notion came to Fred immediately upon waking up from a short nap after making love to Samantha. He decided to share it with her immediately before he lost his nerve and was tormented with thoughts of what might have been. She was awake, feeling thoughtful and satisfied. “Samantha… you know what I’d like? I’d like to sleep with you…” he paused for a moment. “Just after you’ve slept with someone else.” She looked at him and smiled. She…