I wake up almost at once. I think it’s at once but I look at my watch and see that it’s two ten. I get up. I cough. Straightening my clothes, I leave the study and walk to the dining room. Elvira is at the head of the table, which is half-covered with a tablecloth and set with two covered plates and a glass. There’s also a bread basket with two or three crackers. “I came in and saw you were sleeping and didn’t want to wake you,” Elvira says. “I fell asleep,” I say. Elvira’s gray hair concentrates a gray light that I can’t place; perhaps the hair itself is what produces it. I sit down at the head of the table. Elvira hobbles into the kitchen and disappears. She returns with a steaming soup tureen and serves me a ladleful of simmering, golden broth. She disappears into the kitchen. I take three or four spoonfuls of soup then leave the spoon submerged in the dish. Slowly, the golden broth stops steaming. Gold-colored lumps form on the surface and turn pale. With the edge of the knife I clink the stemmed glass three or four times. Elvira reappears with a bottle of water that she leaves on the table. She takes the plate with the cold soup and returns with a dish containing three potatoes and a piece of meat. She serves me the meat and a potato and leaves the dish on the table. Then she leaves. I take two or three bites of meat but the potato is left untouched. I clink the glass again, this time with the back edge of the knife so as not to smudge the crystal, and when Elvira reappears I look up. “Tomorrow I’m having company for dinner, doña Elvira,” I say, “I want you to make something special.” Elvira looks at me for a moment. “How about a chicken?” she says. “Yes,” I say, “And something more.” “I’ll see what I can make,” she says. Then she looks at my plate and at the silverware crossed over what’s left of the meal. “Is that all you ate?” she says. “I’m not hungry,” I say. Elvira sighs and gathers the dishes. I get up, go to the bathroom, urinate, and then I brush my teeth and wash my hands. My face is reflected momentarily in the bathroom mirror as I brush my teeth, but when I lean over to spit it disappears. I rinse out my mouth and then I wash my hands. When I straighten up to dry them on the towel hanging from the rack next to the sink, my face reappears in the mirror. Then I turn off the light and walk out. In the study I sit down on the twin sofa. When I wake up, it’s dark. Or rather, it’s about to get dark.
Through the window I see the blue sky. It rains. A blue penumbra covers the trees in the park, and behind them, through the foliage, the lake is still and blue, but near-black and murky. Two indistinct figures — a female and a male gorilla, surely — walk slowly between the trees, toward the lake. I scratch my head. The telephone rings and I pick it up. It’s the same voice as always, high-pitched, like a puppet, pouring out its long, rapid string of insults. It calls me a thief, a slut, a lowlife. It says I’ll get what’s coming to me soon enough. I listen impassively until it finishes, and when I sense that it has hung up, I hang up too. Then I pour myself a whiskey, neat, and take a sip.
I put on the raincoat and the waterproof hat and go out. I descend the stairs quietly. At the door I stop for a moment, look down the empty street toward the park, and then I get in the car. It’s been getting rained on all day and the windshield is soaked. Through it I can only make out a shapeless, blue penumbra, where a few jagged lights glimmer at a distance. I wait a moment, in the silence, before turning the key. The engine hesitates two or three times before finally turning over. I turn on the windshield wipers and wait for the rain to clear before moving. As they sweep the water from the windshield, the wiper blades reveal the curve of San Martín to the south and the trees beyond that seem to intersect the street where the curve of the park follows of the curve of the blue pavement. I turn on the headlights and they pierce the bluish penumbra. A pair of young gorillas is coming up the sidewalk toward me, arm in arm. They blink at the headlights. I wait for them to pass the car, and then I start moving, but so slowly that it takes me a long time to reach the first corner, where I turn right. The rough cobblestones make the car’s frame shudder. At the next corner I turn right again, onto the smooth asphalt of San Gerónimo to the north. At the third corner I come out on the Plaza de Mayo. I go on, the plaza to my right and the courthouse, where no lights are visible, to my left. I cross the intersection with the Avenida del Sur and turn right at the next corner, then I drive one block and turn left onto San Martín to the north.
I cross the Avenida del Sur, and at the next corner I turn right, then drive one block and turn left onto San Martín to the north. Ahead I can make out the neon signs on San Martín, growing more varied and dense. Their lights — green, pink, yellow, and blue — tarnish the night sky, nearly black by now. The streetlights are also lit up, and the shop windows are brightly illuminated. The lobby of the municipal theater is lit up, but I don’t see anyone inside. Suddenly, the rain thickens. Through the windshield the street becomes a luminous blot, a blot that takes on a clear but unstable form momentarily, and then returns to the luminous blot, where the colors blend violently. I go slowly, at the end of a long line of cars. Another line advances slowly in the opposite direction. After I pass the illuminated corridors of the arcade, the downpour of thick rain returns to the barely perceptible mist of days and days. I drive two blocks, slowly, following the slow line of cars ahead, and then I turn right, leaving San Martín. At the Banco Provincial I cross 25 de Mayo and continue east. I turn onto the harbor road, where the rough cobblestones make the car frame shudder, and drive the length of it and reach the mouth of the suspension bridge. A weak light filters out from the gray sentry box. I turn onto the boulevard, to the west. I cross the tracks and then pass the facade of the train station — the lobby is illuminated — stop at the first traffic light, start up when the light changes, around the Adoratrices convent, briefly catch sight of the mill before crossing the tracks again at the second light, then drive two more blocks and turn again onto San Martín, to the south. As I approach the city center I fall into a long line of cars that moves more and more slowly. Then I pass the La Región building, where the only visible lights are from the news ticker, and farther on the brightly lit passageways of the arcade, now to my left, the lobby filling up with gorillas, pomaded and dressed in dark clothing, and female gorillas covered in jewelry and dressed festively, and then finally the Plaza de Mayo, circling on its east side. The city hall building approaches, and through the right side windows, between the foliage in the plaza, appears the dark mass of the courthouse. City hall is left behind. I cross the first intersection, and the second, and finally stop the car halfway down the block, in front of the house. The trees are dark. I step out of the car and close the door, and I can feel the rain falling on my face and on my hat. Over the roof of the car, through the trees, I see the water on the lake shine momentarily and darken again. I make an effort to keep my shoes clean, tiptoeing across the sidewalk and into the house. I lock the door and start up the stairs.