Leopoldo Marechal - Adam Buenosayres

MR ASINUS: One must ask for the floor orally.

MR SPEAKER: There is a motion on the table to deal in session with the projects of declaration.

MR PSITTACUS: A point of privilege takes precedence according to the regulations.

MR SPEAKER: We are going to vote on the motion tabled by the Honourable Member for the Capital.

MR ASINUS: What is the motion?

SEVERAL MEMBERS: We are voting!

MR ASINUS: How can we vote on a motion when a point of privilege has been raised? (Several members speak at once; the bell sounds.)

MR SPEAKER: We are going to vote on the motion on the table.

MR ANTHRAX: What are we voting on?

MR SPEAKER: The motion put forward by the Honourable Member Aristophile.

MR ANTHRAX: What is the motion?

MR VULPES: If you had been in the room, you would have known!

MR ANTHRAX: That’s no reason not to inform me as to what it’s about.

MR VULPES: One may not impede the working of the Chamber.

MR ANTHRAX: It’s absurd that I have to vote on a motion without knowing what it is.

MR ARISTOPHILE: It is a motion to deal in session with the projects of declaration.

MR ASINUS: Points of privilege come first.

MR SPEAKER: We are going to vote on the motion moved by the member for the Capital.

MR X: I would ask that the Speaker of the House inform us as to whether the vote about to take place — the third vote on this matter — is or is not an amended version of the one already approved.

MR CACAPHONE: It cannot be an amended version of any vote, because without a proclamation there was no vote.

MR ALLPHA: Could the Speaker inform us as to whether the vote has taken place or not?

MR CORNO: It’s best that we vote without further deliberation.

MR CACAPHONE: I would ask for information on whether a motion has been made to amend the vote.

MR VULPES: Information had previously been requested so that the Chamber might know what had been voted on.

MR SPEAKER: There was a vote, but the result was not proclaimed because of the disorder reigning in the Chamber.

MR CACAPHONE: So, if there was no proclamation, there was no vote.

MR SPEAKER: The vote will be taken again.

Here the Honourable Member Cacophone addressed Juan Demos triumphantly:

— Don Juan, do you see what a battle my faction has won for you?

— Yes, yes, answered the man on the pedestal. I’m starting to catch on now. It’s like throwing the taba , 165ain’t it? One time it lands wrong, another time it comes up lucky. Real nice! But…

The man on the pedestal scratched his neck dubiously.

— Spit it out, Don Juan! the Honourable Member Cacophone encouraged him.

— People’s talkin’, Juan Demos drawled. They say youse guys’ve been sellin’ me out to the gringos on the sly.

— That’s the opposition slandering us! exclaimed Mr Lunch.

— I ain’t sayin’ I believe it, rejoined Juan Demos. But the thing is, I’m gettin’ hungry. Why not come right out and say it?

Once again, and in great agitation, the legislators got to their feet.

— Hungry? squealed the Honourable Member Equis. And this country being the bread basket of the South! I move that Mr Demos immediately be served a café con leche and some bread and butter.

— What a lack of respect for Mr Demos, observed Mr Vulpes. The café con leche must be served with three croissants.

— Only three? barked Mr Alpha. Five croissants, and then some!

— Let him be served all the croissants left in the buffet! wailed Mr Asinus.

A tedious process of voting on the motions gave victory to Mr Asinus’s motion. He turned to Juan Demos, holding his emotion in check and showing only his tear-filled eyes. The legislators once again resumed their mechanical attitudes, and the debate recovered its tone of unspeakable monotony:

MR SECRETARY: Out of a total of 123 members of parliament…

MR ANTHRAX: What? Before, only 120 voted.

MR SECRETARY: Eighty-one members voted in favour and forty-two against.

MR CACAPHONE: Before the proclamation is made, I request a compulsion, so as to know if the vote…

At this point I turned to Samuel and said:

— Enough, sir! This is an opiate.

— Have you only just realized? he responded mildly.

And gesturing that we should follow him, he crossed the room to a door which, like the one before, opened unexpectedly onto the street.

We followed Samuel out of the strange Legislature to go for another trot through avenues that brought us to a building of grand proportions, seemingly like all the buildings in this fine City of Pride. The Doric columns of the portico, as well as the pediment decorated with artistic figures in bas-relief, inspired great expectations for both the building and its inhabitants. But once we’d passed between the Greek columns and through the bronze door behind them, disappointment struck and my spirits fell through the floor. True, the ground floor was an enormous open area rendered cathedral-like by the light streaming through the stained glass of arched Gothic windows. But unfortunately, in barbaric contrast to the noble architecture and mystical light, men in bloodstained lab coats and tortoise-shell glasses were busy at tasks better suited for a morgue, hospital, or butcher shop: the lab coats, bent over operating tables, wielded shiny scalpels to slice open the outstretched bodies and extirpate organs, then feverishly sewed up the incisions and rushed on to the next body, paying no attention to the cheers and applause coming from an ecstatic mob gathered in a kind of grandstand or amphitheatre.

Whether or not it was a School of Medicine, it held little interest for me, a literary type. It’s well known that sawbones, from time immemorial, have enjoyed scant favour in literature, and I didn’t want to be the exception to such a venerable tradition. So I was just deciding how best to make myself scarce, when Samuel Tesler and the astrologer Schultz pointed out one of the surgeons, in whom I recognized the bright, self-satisfied young medic, Lucio Negri, busily exploring the viscera of a human being. No longer in evidence, it must be said, was the showy elegance for which Doctor Lucio Negri was known in Saavedra. We drew closer and watched him plunge his rubber-gloved hands into the prone body he’d just sliced open. Seemingly full of holy curiosity, he yanked out heart, lungs, liver, every anatomical part possible, and examined them one by one, avidly sniffed at each, and with grand gestures of dismay finally tossed them aside:

— It’s no use, he moaned to himself. I can’t find it!

— What are you looking for? asked Samuel, with a touch to his shoulder.

Lucio Negri turned around. Recognizing us, he vented his anger:

— It’s your fault! he shouted. An “immortal soul,” you used to say in Saavedra! Don’t make me laugh! I’ve looked for the soul, am still looking for it. And I can’t find it, it doesn’t exist. Look for yourselves! See if you can find it!

And in a fit of rage he started throwing the human organs he’d just pulled out at our heads.

— Take at look there! he roared. If you find an immortal soul, send me a letter! Two-bit charlatans! A soul!

Full of hypocritical commiseration, Samuel Tesler turned to us:

— Poor wretch! He’s confusing the soul with a kidney ulcer.

Lucio’s shouting had caught the attention of the other scalpel-operators, and their work being interrupted, they noticed us. Then a fat surgeon took the floor:

— Esteemed colleagues. For now, I’ll not comment on the intrusion of these profane persons into this sanctuary. The three fine young gentlemen who have barged into this room are not, as far as I can see, in pre-operatory condition, for which reason I hold them in profound disdain and consider them unworthy of the electric scalpel. But, dear colleagues, the day will come, thanks to our scientific fervour, when all humanity will be in pre-operatory condition, from newborn babes to old men with one foot in the grave. And what I’ve just affirmed is not a vow, but a prophecy.