Part One: It’s the end of the world.
1
Does not wake up.
2
The pigeon walks two steps along the rusty railing. He shakes his neck and lets out a light cooing. Take another two steps forward. Look at the motionless man. She tilts her head to the right, watching him with a deep black eye. One second. Then he turns his head to the left, looks with his other eye. Another second. The man wakes up. He shakes with a barking cough.
The pigeon flees terrified between cooing and flapping.
Lose four dirty feathers before taking flight. Two disappear into eddies in the night sky. Two fall into the tiny balcony.
He sees the feathers on the ground when he closes his mouth. The cold air makes her throat burn. Shocked, he coughs hard once more. Eyes bloodshot from exertion. I slept. It was ringing. There are feathers on the floor, were there pigeons in the dream?
He is on the tiny balcony of his apartment.
Try to move your legs, stand up. The left is numb. I have been in the same position for a long time. He bends over to massage her. The tingling sensation advances and then decreases. Upon rejoining, both the balcony and the illuminated city seem to spin motley. A moment later they refocus and separate. The balcony is again two square meters. The railing is still chipped and rusty. An empty pot in the left corner, abandoned by previous tenants, still no trace of flowers or plants. The three or four wooden chairs stop floating in the air, they merge into one. There are four empty beer bottles on it. The ninth floor accommodates its nightscape. Public lighting shows its attenuated aura from the street. A car moves slowly. The music at full volume…
…The Pogues on the radio. Impossible. Probably some pasacaesette.
His last memory is the image of arriving from work, taking off his shoes and turning on the television. Turn it off immediately so as not to hear again about the problem of the peso replacing the austral.
The second immediate memory takes him to the warehouse a street from his apartment. When he opens the door, he heads off in search of beers. He approaches the counter. The blonde girl behind the register smiles at him, showing all the teeth humanly possible.
Hello Juan How are you ? He speaks to her without giving up a second of smiling. Can you bring me the containers later? He nods his head in agreement. Support the bottles on the furniture.
They are one to ten, she tells him as she slowly places everything into a moss green cloth bag.
Take out of your pocket those pesos that have not yet been able to overcome the problems that the southerners inherited. They are stretched. For a split second their fingers brush. She has very smooth skin.
you come back He slides her change across the counter. See you.
Taking the money and the bag, he turns toward the exit without answering, walking away from her.
Twenty years ? Maybe. Ash blonde hair. Upturned nose. high cheekbones Gray eyes like he had never seen in his life. If it occurred to him for a second that something could happen, it would be impossible.
Shane MacGowan’s voice has long since vanished into thin air. Inaudible. Goodbye to the Pogues.
Find the time on your wrist. He’s not wearing his watch. With effort he stands up. Transfer from the tiny balcony to the tiny apartment. Two short steps. The wall clock is on the refrigerator. Five in the morning. In three hours he has to be working. See your future in an instant. Take a bath. Put on the brown shirt and blue jeans, which are unwashed on the floor of his room. Worn black ankle boots follow. You are going to take the elevator. Say hello to the doorman when you go out. Avoid having a conversation of more than two seconds with him. You will walk two blocks to the bus stop. The same old faces. He does not know the name of any of the four people who wait with him every morning. Despite being the last to arrive, he never says hello. Nor does he have any intention of starting to do so. A dark-haired boy in overalls. A plump, aged lady with a blue bag always on the verge of exploding. Two bald men. Brothers without a doubt. They light one cigarette after another before the smoke even dissipates completely into the air. He is not going to sleep on the trip. He will pretend he is if someone sits next to him. Everyone except the boy in the overalls gets off before the bus. When he gets to his stop he sees it. Immobile in the same seat every day. In the background on the left.
Once in the office, he is going to change into pants and a blue graphic shirt. Once again Diego, his partner, is going to tell him that he didn’t watch the game. That he doesn’t want to go for a drink afterwards. He’s going to clean the stairs. The three floors with their offices. You will hear empty conversations. Many, among the employees of each of the floors. He will not eat, but he will drink two glasses of water. It will change quickly. She wants to leave before Diego arrives. At the stop again. It’s not always the same people in this case. An organized chaos of faces. The elevator again. Quicken your pace to avoid sharing it. Slow down if someone ahead of you seems to be waiting for you. Once in the apartment, open a beer. A can of tuna. Regardless of whether it is cold or hot, he will go out on the balcony.
Again.
As usual.
Like every day.
It feels empty. All the time you feel empty.
Slowly, he takes a damp towel from the back of a chair. He heads to the bathroom.
It’s not wrong. Your day is going to be almost identical to everyone else’s.
Except for the explosion. The landslide. The screams.
And the dead.
3
The first time Juan saw a dead man was at his paternal grandfather’s funeral. The only grandfather he ever knew. All the others had passed away before he was born. There weren’t many people, hardly anyone. It was even more evident that he was fleeing from the corpse.
Go give your grandfather a kiss, his father had told him.
I don’t want to, he replied fearfully. Come on, don’t play stupid, he insisted. I don’t want to, please, Juan begged. Go right now or I’ll take you by the hair.
Come on, I’ll go with you, his brother’s voice sounded from behind him. I take it by the hand. They began to walk towards the coffin. He didn’t want to turn to see his father’s face. He knew he hated it when his brother came to his defense. He had to be a man to face the consequences of his decisions. He was six years old and his father was his monster from under the bed.
I don’t want to go, he told his brother when they were already a few steps from his grandfather.
I know, I replied. So why are we going? Jaun asked. His brother took him hard by the hand. Grandpa loved you, I almost whispered to him. Did not want me ! John was indignant. He never gave me a kiss, nor a hug!
And dad ever yes? Hector stopped by the coffin.
No, neither.
They want like this.
His brother picked him up by the waist so he could kiss his grandfather. The image was not so terrible. Even the features seemed softened. It was his grandfather, without the usual grim gesture. He was very pale, yes. But he even seemed to smile and Juan had no recollection of seeing him do so in life. I kiss it. It was ice cold. The skin gave the sensation of kissing a drum.
I never want to kiss him again, he told his brother.
You won’t have to kiss him anymore, don’t worry.
Can we go now?
From next to grandpa yes, from here not yet.
Why ?
They have to take it to the cemetery.
For what ?
They have to bury him, she told him as she put him back on the floor.
I look where his father was. He didn’t seem sad. He seemed upset. As if he wanted to leave more than Juan.
If only her mother had been there. They hated each other with their grandfather. Juan could understand his mother despite his young age. It was going to be difficult to hide the joy among so few people.
Gregorio, his grandfather, never approved of Mario marrying Clelia, his mother. Before meeting her, Mario had been dating a nice girl from the town for four years when he showed up in front of his parents with a pregnant Clelia.
You have to get it out, Gregorio had told him. They had retired to the kitchen so that neither Clelia nor her mother would hear them. We take her to Patagones and let them take it out.
But Mario loved her. That day like never before faced his father. The scar above his eyebrow is the indelible proof. When he told him no, Gregorio grabbed Mario by the neck. He slammed him into a wall and hit him full force in the stomach. Mario doubled over and his father punched him in the back, just above the spine, out of breath, Mario fell to the floor. Gegrorio kicked his back with such force that it cracked with each blow. Mario saw small colored lights floating in the environment. Going up and down with each kick. His mother came in crying. He yelled for it to stop. Mario knew he couldn’t expect more from her. He wanted to speak but at that moment one of the kicks landed on his face. Dazed, in pain, he heard a scream from his father. The beatings stopped. From the salary he could see Clelia with the knife. His father’s bloodied arm gleamed in the single spotlight.
Do something, he told her. Move an inch and I swear I’ll cut your throat like a pig.
Gregrio remained motionless. Eyes wide open. Two blood moons.
Stop, Mario. Come, Clelia told him. Give it a stop.
Mario stood up as best he could. His mother did not take a single step to help him.
He walked past his father without looking at him. He and Clelia went out through the door that opened onto the patio.
They deserve it, their father began to yell at them without leaving the kitchen. They deserve indecent sons of bitches.
Mario did not return home or speak to his father again until Hector was eight months old. Mario had told everything to what was already his wife at the time, the reason why the beatings began. Neither they nor he ever mentioned what happened. Resentment ate at her when she saw Greogrio holding his son in his arms. He felt his body shake with rage when the baby smiled at him and Greogrio, excited, smiled back. Hector and Juan do not know this story. They don’t need to know her to feel the hatred between their grandfather and their mother. However, it was Clelia who was next to Gregorio in his last breath. A harmless burn to his foot during a grassland burn was poorly cared for. This caused a gangrene that led to your leg having to be cut off. His wife died a year later. The worst year of his life, he had confessed to Clelia during a visit to his grandchildren a few days before the heart attack. Invalid Gregorio had become an even more miserable being.
In the hospital, Clelia looked out a window at the gray sky over Patagones. Mario had a lot of work that day in Los Futales and he wasn’t going to be able to get close to taking care of his father. The wound on his leg never managed to heal completely, Gregorio turned out to be diabetic without knowing it. Some interventions later, the infection could not be stopped.
From the bed, Gregorio looked into her eyes. Clelia thought she heard something creaking inside him. Gregorio opened his mouth trembling. I can’t believe you’re the one with me right now, he toldt her.
You died many years ago for me, she replied. I always saw a ghost every time I looked at you.
Gregory closed his eyes. I didn’t open them again. Clelia doesn’t know if he died immediately. She didn’t say another word. When the patient came to change the serum about forty minutes later, he informed her that he had died.
Clelia nodded. He took his bag and went in search of the exit. Once outside, she wondered if this was the hospital where Greogrio wanted to force her to have an abortion.
The procession to the cemetery passed in front of Juan’s house. They were walking slowly behind a long dilapidated car that carried his grandfather’s coffin in the back. Juan looked at the window of his home. I imagine his mother could be watching everything from there. Did not see anything. All the curtains were closed. He stepped on a puddle and got his shoe and stockings wet for being distracted.
Pay attention, stupid. His father tugged at the hair on the back of his neck.
With teary eyes, Juan bit his lips.
They want it that way, he remembered.
4
Life at Stroeder was simple. Not easy.
Mario Salvo, Juan’s father, was in charge of Los Frutales, twenty-seven thousand hectares ready to harvest wheat.
Mario started working at the age of eight as a laborer, when Los Frutales was only three thousand hectares.
Already with sixteen climb to stall.
At twenty-one, already married and waiting for Hector, he was a foreman.
The twenty-eight found him a trusted man for the Lebed family, owners of the estancia. The title of manager and two children.
Juan thought that his father felt closer to the Lebeds than to his family. Don Elias Lebed was the person who taught him the value of work. The honor of breaking your back over a plate of food. Mario boasted that at twelve years old he brought home as much money as his father, who works in the Penna’s soderia.
Work tempers you, Elias told him, it makes you a better person. The blisters on the fingers, the dried blood on the palms of the hand, are acts of love for your family. Do not forget.
Mario would have wanted Elias to be his father. Not for his money, but for his way of seeing the world. His way of opening her eyes.
When Elias died, everything was left in the hands of the only son of the old man, who returned from the capital to live in his old town. Carlos Lebed had never harvested anything in his life, but he took over Los Frutales almost immediately. He hadn’t set foot on the field in over 20 years. old Elias had separated from his wife when Carlos was just a boy. She had taken him to her parents’ house, in xxxxx.
Mario hated it the second he saw it. Carlos had not been present at his own father’s funeral, yet here he was, announcing changes and giving orders just a week later.
Mario fantasized about some secret testament of Elias. One where he will inherit everything to him, his true son of the soul. One that would leave the Lebeds with their mouths open in a horrendous grimace of indignation and surprise. One who put things in their place. With his sweat and effort he managed to turn the complex gears that made up the day to day life of Los Frutales.
Never happened. Hard work faded the fantasy little by little until it became negligible. A grain of sand lost in Mario’s heart. A grain of sand that, when returning home, seemed to become an immense rock. Solid rock formed of rancor and hatred that his family had to hold. But Juan could also feel his father’s sorrow. Hector never saw Mario’s sadness. That pain of being nobody. From never to be. Juan could feel it. It was as if gravity increased as soon as Mario entered the same room. It drowned him. He felt the weight of his father’s rock crushing him. I held my breath until Mario left. Nobody in the world could be sadder than his father. Nor be more cruel.
Over time, Juan took it more naturally than Hector. More fear.
Hector did not suffer from this. He challenged Mario constantly.
Without his mother’s presence, Juan could imagine that Mario would have come to destroy Hector. Spray it. Destroy him from hating him so much.
I’m really going to hit you once, I told him. Only once in life. Hector smiled.
He is the son of the devil, Juan once heard that his father told his mother. He is the son of the devil, the favorite, that son of a bitch.
He’s not going to do anything to me, Hector told him every time Juan, scared, asked him to behave. He’s not going to do anything to me, he’s not encouraged. But Mario was from another time, neither Juan nor Hector were governed by the same laws of their nature. Nor did they imagine how far rancor could take him. After what happened to his brother, Juan thought of looking him in the eye and asking him if it was him. He never did. Then I don’t need to.
Why are you like that ? Why don’t you behave yourself? Juan almost begged Hector, sitting on the patio. What is good behavior? Do what he tells you, bow your head, shut up? Who tells you that this is what is good? I claim Hector. I don’t know, Juan was uprooting grass without looking at his brother, but it scares me. Fear for you or for me? Hector took Juan’s face in his hand and lifted it up. Fear for you or for me? Afraid that if I’m no longer here he’ll take it out on you? John did not answer. Her eyes watered with an impulsive cry. Hector hugged him. No one is going to tell me what to do with my life, no one can tell you what to do with yours either, Juan. Don’t be afraid, it’s not worth living scared. You’re a kid, go play, come on, stop fucking around.
Juan didn’t want to break that hug. If he did, the earth would split. A huge crack would further and further away from Hector. He would be left alone before the rift swallowed him too. But when he took his head out of his brother’s chest, everything was the same. Two hens cluck excitedly, bumping into the barnyard wire. From somewhere you hear the cry of a dog. Those two things gave Juan the certainty that everything was still standing.
Go play, give it a crack. Go with Miguel. Juan let go and ran out of the patio straight onto the dirt road that ran behind the house. Without walls or party walls, they did not exist in the town. Except at the Lebed house. There they were as tall as a skyscraper in Buenos Aires could be, Juan thought. I hated them. They were the walls that did not let him spy on Elena, the youngest daughter of Carlos Lebed. The love of his life. Juan knew despite his nine years that he was not going to love another woman as much as Elena.
Life, meanwhile, would show him how wrong he was. (In a later chapter, the image of Elena tells him that there is another woman he loves more than her, he says that it is impossible)
5
A few times a year they traveled to their mother’s sister’s house in Patagones, about fifty miles from Stroeder. They got into their dilapidated truck and embarked on the adventure, the little truck they called it. Juan had heard that it was a Justicialista pickup inherited from his maternal grandfather, but now they couldn’t call it that. It was very important not to call her that. One rainy afternoon, while some pancakes were being fried in a chipped iron pan, Clelia had told them the story of how her father got the van.
Grandfather Servando had his character but above all he had his convictions, he told them. We were little with her aunt there in Patagones, which didn’t have even half the streets and houses it has now. For me, everything was much more beautiful. Héctor hands him a cup of warm milk, Juan takes it with both hands and takes two sips. Grandma hadn’t gotten sick yet, that was a few years away. The truck was brought by the neighbors, the Herreras. Dad hated them, Clelia stifles a giggle. They hated him too, they hated us all I think, they were much better off financially and they made it known, but they couldn’t have children. His aunt and I were the only thing Grandpa had to brag to.
One Sunday Grandpa went fishing, the three of us were left alone. At siesta we began to play payana on the sidewalk, we loved it, we even had our own pebbles that we had taken days to find and select, almost perfect rounded pebbles, so smooth that they looked like silk. Grandma washed clothes in the back. The truck was parked on the street a few meters away, Clelia looks out the window at the rain that doesn’t stop, impeccable, freshly washed it seemed. Then Aunt Herminia got angry because she told me that I had cheated, here they put a piece of junk in the truck and mark the glass, she didn’t say anything and they went into the house, the father came back in grief and noticed that they were weird, he didn’t know. They even say that the neighbor opens the door and accuses them that he had seen them play payana a while ago before getting up from his siesta, so he insults them and threatens them and the father makes a bet and wins the truck and the guy Then he says something offensive to the woman, so he grabs him by hand, the neighbors come out and when the police arrive, they all say that he fell by himself.
They spent a few days with her. They weren’t bad days. Herminia, her aunt, had no children and spoiled them in every possible way. The only bad thing about the trip was going through the controls. He didn’t like how the soldiers treated his mother. lascivious glances Obscene laughs. I hated them. I could see that Hector did too. I saw the grim look on his face. The disgust in his eyes. He knew that he did not speak only because his mother always begged him before each trip.
Not a word, he told her as soon as they got into the car. No matter what happens not a word swear to me.
The military presence was much greater in Patagones than in his town. Juan knew perfectly well how to avoid them at Stroeder. All he had to do was stay away from the dilapidated house where the base was set up. The three soldiers did not move from there except to buy yerba mate or wine. In Patagones they were seen everywhere. You never knew when you might run into one.
Beyond everything, Juan believed that the best thing about the trip was that his father stayed home. It was like taking a backpack with heavy rocks off your back. The air became breathable for a few days.
Leave him and come here with me, his aunt told his mother every time they went. Every time without fail. He didn’t care that they were present. Leave it at once, it doesn’t give for more now.
Clelia never answered him. At least not in front of them. He rolled his eyes in annoyance and smiled.
Despite his age, Juan understood that for his aunt to speak that way, his mother had to tell her something that would give her reasons. I didn’t know when those talks were given. Until just once during one of the visits, he woke up too early to go to the bathroom. The kitchen was on the way. Her mother and Herminia drank mate in it, under the yellowish light of the only small lamp. Mario is more and more like his father, said Clelia. It seemed impossible when I met him, it seemed like there was no way something like that would happen, but today I would tell you that he is worse than Gregorio, more cruel. I don’t understand what happened, I don’t understand what happens. I look for a second at the window that overlooked the patio. Sigh. It scares me that my children are the same. Juan continued his way to the bathroom in silence. He went back to bed and dreamed that he ate his father, who was tiny. He swallowed it in one bite without chewing.
When his brother woke up, Juan told him what he had heard. He didn’t remember the dream.
We have nothing to do with that son of a bitch, Hector said between a yawn. I don’t understand how our father can be the truth. Before being like him, I killed myself. Don’t say such nonsense! John was furious. They don’t say those things in a joke. Hector smiled. Come on, dwarf, get up, I’m hungry, he told him.
6
The visit ended. Héctor in a bad mood, as he always did when they had to return. Herminia hugs them very tightly, it’s hard to breathe. Juan loves those hugs, when his aunt releases him he sees little colored lights everywhere. His mother and aunt stare at each other, eyes glassy. Remember what I tell you, they will always take place here, says Herminia. Clelia hugs her, without saying a word. It seems to Juan that he would never want to let her go. They get in the car and start driving. It seems unbelievable but the atmosphere is already clouded with sadness, as if the ghostly presence of Mario had possessed the entire space and there was nowhere left to escape. That’s how strong his father’s power was, that’s how far he could travel, Juan thinks, to the end of the world if necessary. She thought she understood then in part why her mother never responded when Herminia asked her to stay away from Mario. There is no way to escape from Mario, his shadow was going to cover them wherever they are. They see a control in the corner, there is no chance to turn before and avoid it. A soldier in a noticeably large uniform is already waving at them. Again his mother’s warning. Not a word. No matter what happens not a word.
Good morning, papers please, where are you going? Juan is surprised by how young the soldier is. He speaks with a slight lisp. That added to the acne on the cheekbones seems to take away all authority.
We return home, we are from Stroeder. Clelia takes the papers from her briefcase, hands them to the soldier. Let’s see who we have here, he tells them. That one we have with the hiss so noticeable made Juan giggle. The young soldier did not listen to him but his mother did, he looked at him with his eyes wide open. Juan was petrified when he saw her, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t think, much less laugh.
Long after they returned home, Juan had not forgotten his mother’s words. Not your fear. He spent a lot of time looking at his father, listening to him. Trying to see himself in it. To imagine your future. In time Juan was able to do it. He didn’t want to be like him, but Juan thought he had a little luck. At the age of six, he already knew what his future was going to be, he was going to work in Los Frutales like his father. He believed it was one less thing to worry about in his life. Above all, he imagined himself with Elena. Married, in love. But they weren’t going to yell at each other, they weren’t going to insult each other. They were not going to live angry, like their parents. That didn’t sound like love. It seemed hate. A very pure hatred, almost perfect. If it could be weighed on a cross balance, Mario and Clelia’s hatred would be in balance, rotting in each pan. Growing until breaking the balance. Why were they still together? Have they always been like this? Why had they had children? From that hatred did he and his brother come out? Two such different people. Two almost opposite beings, who nevertheless loved each other. If Juan and Hector, being as different as they were, could love each other, why couldn’t their parents? I saw no way to mold a world where all the pieces would fit. However he was fine. He had accepted his life. He was fine with who he was. It was fine with who it was going to be.
He also knew that Hector could not accept his fate as Juan. Hector was drowning. He felt trapped. At twelve years old, he already knew that he did not want that future.
Three months after their grandfather’s funeral, their mother gave them some surprising news.
Let’s go for a walk in the capital, he told them, unable to contain his emotion. His hands were clasped together at chin level. John laughed. His brother didn’t even react.
We are going to visit the aunt again, said Hector. Noooo, her mother stretched out the last letter as much as she could, almost whistling high-pitched. Hector opened his eyes in such a way that it seemed that they were going to escape from his head.
Are we going to go to Buenos Aires? Hector was having trouble breathing. A dramatic silence. His mother looked at them with a half smile on her lips. Hector was agitated. His breath hitched. Juan was almost afraid that something bad would happen to him.
We’re going to Buenos Aires for a walk, his mother finally revealed.
Hector began to cry. Tears began to run down her face, mixing with the snot that came out of her nose. Juan got really scared when his brother fell to his knees. He was holding his face with both hands. Juan looked at his mother, who did not move. She was just smiling excitedly. Desperate, he was about to yell at him to please help Hector. Then his brother spoke.
Thank you, ma, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.
His brother was happy. The happiest he had ever been in his entire life. Going to the federal capital was the hope that every child harbored when growing up. The legend of Buenos Aires and all its promises walked around every corner. Buenos Aires was the hope of a better life. The dream of being someone. It seemed very strange to Juan how happiness could look so much like sadness. Nothing bad was wrong with his brother, he was just happy.
The really bad things were going to happen to Hector years later.
To be continued.
Sorry if there are grammatical and expression errors, I do not speak English naturally and I have not studied it in depth, the original language of this story is Spanish.