Only a handful of people in the theatre. Some of them knew each other, but only superficially it seemed. A slight nod of the head, a gesture of the hand, that was all. Twenty, twenty-five people in all. The film started ten minutes late. Perhaps they were waiting to see if more people arrived.

The Ottawa Library Cinema Club showed films once a week. It was situated in an obscure neighbourhood to the south of the city, a relatively unfrequented area. Normally the films were exotic and unknown. This time there was an Argentinian film series. You could hear people speaking Spanish in the theatre, loud enough for you to understand.

The lights began to dim. A blotch or two appeared on the screen, indicating that the projector was rolling. 

Hector Alterio was lying on a bed, in the process of waking up. Roberto thought to himself “not another film with him in it!” He whispered to Analía “I hope he’s not the bad guy again.”

Jorge was happy to see so many names of actors he knew. Ana María Picchio, Marilina Ross, Antonio Gasalla.

The truth dawned on people gradually. This was not Painted mouths as had been announced. It was The truce. Analía thought at first that it was a trailer for an upcoming movie. But that was difficult to believe, it was too long for a preview. Roberto was trying to remember when he had last seen it.

The boy in the grey scarf coughed and looked around to see if he had disturbed anybody.

Mariana was keen to see it; she had not seen The truce before, whereas she had seen Painted mouths. Really, though, she had come in order to see people, in order not to miss an Argentinian film, in order to. Sebastien and Claudette did not understand too well what was going on. Nor did it really bother them.

Jorge was pleased. He had seen the film ten years before and had good memories of it. He had read the novel Painted mouths and did not remember what it was about, which led him to suppose that he had not liked it that much. 

The rest of the audience had similar reactions. Some of them shifted in their seats. Perhaps a little more than they did at the beginning of an ordinary film. The boy in the grey scarf coughed again. This time some people did turn round and glare at him.

As they left, people walked at a certain distance from each other, as if to avoid having to speak. Sebastien and Claudette left hand in hand in silence, holding back their laughter. Roberto was telling Analía that he had seen the film in Hungary. Jorge was looking at Mariana. Mariana at Sebastien. The boy in the scarf left coughing. The ticket vendor was still there, outside, in his usual place with his usual vacant expression.

The film the following Tuesday was Time for revenge. There were thirty people in the theatre. Some of the same faces as last time, others which were new. People were a little more talkative. Perhaps coming for the second time, feeling more at home with the place and its customs, knowing where the washrooms were, being able to distinguish the good areas from the bad, knowing that the film would probably start late, gave them a little more confidence, at least enough to talk. However, nobody mentioned the previous week’s change.

The lights went down, people focused their gaze on the still dark screen. The projector started to roll, a little light flickered.

Hector Alterio was lying in bed, in the process of waking up. Roberto looked at Analía. She put her hand on his knee as if asking him to be quiet, not to ruin the moment. Several people stirred in their seats, definitely more than on other occasions. Some suppressed giggles were heard. There was a catcall from the back, silenced by shushes from various quarters. Carmen got up and left.

Jorge could not believe his eyes. He was happy. The truce again. Martín declaring his love again for Laura, his favourite scene. Mariana was angry. What had she paid for?, and moreover without a discount because she had not wanted to subscribe to the whole series? Claudette and Sebastien seemed quite taken with it all. Or rather quite the opposite, they just took things as they came.

The movie was shown again. To Roberto it seemed tremendously long. He remembered which scene followed which and knowing what was coming disturbed his enjoyment of the present. Analía finally had time to study the details, settings, the way people dressed, their gestures.

Mariana could not keep her eyes on the film. She kept looking at Claudette with eyes full of envy. Claudette realized and felt badly for her.

The newcomers to the Library reacted in the same way as the veterans had a week before. It was perhaps their initiation rite.

The audience left in deathly silence. Not even the half-expected cough dared to make its appearance. There was a fear of breaking a spell, a feeling that there was nothing, absolutely nothing worthwhile that one could say.

The following Tuesday there were only twenty-three people, three or four of them new. The film announced was Bad company. Mariana bought a subscription, the most expensive, in the member-patron category.

There was an audible sigh of relief from some seats when after a threatening prelude of tense silence, a green colour appeared or could be imagined on the screen. It was the moment before Hector Alterio appeared. Roberto was snoozing on Analía’s shoulder. Though she had suggested that he stay at home, he had nonetheless refused.

Mariana sat one row back from Claudette. She stared at her back as if trying to influence fate. Claudette squeezed Sebastien’s hand and not even looking behind her stood up. Without leaving the theatre, an act which would have been considered a sacrilege, Claudette moved into the row where Mariana was sitting, went up to her seat, crouched down and without saying or hearing anything, put her left hand behind Mariana’s neck, pulled her face towards her and kissed her on the lips. Claudette sat down beside her. Mariana took her hand and laid her head upon Claudette’s shoulder. 

Carlos and Ana were at last close together, and although modesty prevented them from being too intimate, Ana could feel his coat sleeve through her sweater. Ana was in dreamland. Carlos felt in shock, excited, happy. The boy in the scarf coughed slightly.

Roberto thought he saw Jorge wink at him as they left. He could not swear to it, though. It seemed to him, but he was not quite sure, that he, Roberto, had also winked at Carlos.

Twenty-two people. Someone had deserted. That person would not be readmitted. The ticket vendor wore his usual formal smile.

By unspoken agreement, Roberto and Analía and Claudette and Sebastien exchanged seats.

Jorge dared, even after entering the theatre, to leave to go to the washroom. Yet he hurried back just in case, as though the presence of a greater number of people as the projector started could have some bearing on the result.

This time it was not even a relief, it was expected. The exile of Gardel had made way, yes, once again for The truce. This time the audience was watching with close attention. Most of the scenes were quite familiar to them. Yet there were so many new things to learn.

As people left, a voice was heard asking everybody, and nobody in particular: “How about going to eat something?” The ensuing silence was proof enough of the faux pas. That voice understood that it should not, could not return the following week. 

The last film was Man facing southeast. They were all there, all twenty-one of them. Waiting eagerly. There was even hardly any difference between the veterans and the pseudo-veterans. 

Jorge, Claudio, Sebastien, Claudette, Carlos and Ana sat down together, holding hands, as if to create some kind of mystery. Or to exorcise it. Mariana sat down behind Claudette, in front of the boy in the grey scarf, and waited, remembering.

Roberto and Analía sat in different places. 

The film started seventeen minutes late. The truce. A copy newer than the usual one. There was a prevailing sense of loss among the audience. The film was leaving them, irretrievably disappearing.

When the lights came on, seemingly brighter and at the same time more funeral-like than usual, everyone rose and, without a word, walked out, their heads hung low, to find their coats. The ticket vendor was no longer there. The theatre looked horribly empty. Both of them and the film.

Two years later, many people, but among them a select group of twenty-one, received the Library’s program. Five Argentinian films were announced.

This story appears in Still…life, Mosaic Press, Canada. Copyright David Mibashan.