Leopoldo Marechal - Adam Buenosayres

CHORUS:

Brekekekex, co-ax, co-ax! O, brothers, patience! They open up our mouths and spit inside to cure their pitiful tooth-aches. With knives they cut open our backs and apply us to snake bites. They tie us to the necks of their mangy old nags. They throw us alive into ponds to purify the water. Men humiliate us with jackboots, women insult us with their silly fears, children play by tormenting us. But nevertheless, the toad is the most beautiful creature in the universe: in the beginning was the Toad. Beware the folklorists, brothers of the water! They’re a hairy and flea-bitten lot! 47

Just when it looked as if the colloquium with the batrachian swans was never going to end, the irate guide called them to order.

— Enough horsing around! We have to cross the ditch.

— Okay, fine, conceded Franky. Where do we find that famous board?

Del Solar laughed bitterly in the dark.

— That is the question, he said. We must find the plank.

Distinctly unappealing was Del Solar’s injunction, cherchez the plank, 48and the adventurers made their displeasure clear in language most injurious to the guide who’d embarked them on such a hazardous voyage. To be out searching for a bloody plank across some goddam ditch, all on a night that no one, out of decorum, had dared compare to the raven’s wing — well, it was all a bit much for those men accustomed to gentler activity. Their discomfort was aggravated by another doubt: just how well did Del Solar really know the terrain? And it became frankly insufferable when the suspicion dawned that Schultz knew as much about navigation as they did about neutering monkeys. Fortunately, the voice of reason prevailed amid the general uncertainty, and the glory of talking good sense fell to the pipsqueak Bernini. With a logic worthy of another century and an eloquence reminiscent of the greatest classical authors, Bernini demonstrated that they had only two options: either they crossed the ditch (board or no board), or they retraced their steps. But the pipsqueak’s science didn’t stop at spelling out that cruel choice. Declaring himself in favour of the first option, he advanced the original idea of dividing the group into two parties to explore the shore of the ditch until the hidden plank was found. Shouts of unanimous approval resounded. Franky saluted the genius of that young strategist, albeit with a touch of melancholy, for such talent was wasted in times of peace. In any case, two exploratory parties were promptly struck. Adam, Samuel, Schultz, and Bernini were to head westward. The pipsqueak demanded to be leader of this group, fearing that, given their predilection for abstraction, the other three wouldn’t see the board even if they tripped over it. Franky Amundsen and Luis Pereda, under the dubious leadership of Del Solar, would explore to the east. Duly formed, both parties received their marching orders. Whoever found the board was to whistle, though Franky Amundsen suggested the signal be the more traditional cry of the hoot owl. Their instructions received, the two groups separated without a word.

The pipsqueak Bernini led his silent men in single file toward the west. The bank of the ditch was not cooperative; it zigged and it zagged, lurched up and down, and bristled with thorny bushes that attacked them under cover of dark. And through it all the toads sang, monotonous and tightly scored, as though reciting from memory an interminable chronicle of the flood.

— Places like this, Samuel Tesler said at last in a pensive voice, evoke the shore of damnation: a pitch-black river; the eternal death of the spirit hovering over its waters; the silence of the spirit, bereft of hope in the Word; and voiceless shadows, like us, crowding round the fatal riverbank.

Adam Buenosayres, in spite of himself, felt a shiver run up his spine. But Schultz broke the spell.

— The infernal waters, he pontificated, are no mere accidental feature of Dante’s mise-en-scène. In the language of symbolism, the rivers of Tartar represent…

— Yeah, yeah, Samuel interrupted irritably. That’s Metaphysics 101.

— Nut-House Metaphysics 101, growled Bernini. Keep an eye out for the board!

Silence descended again on the steadily advancing group, and once more Samuel disturbed it by launching into an exegesis of the Original Hermaphrodite, as famously expounded by Aristophanes in Plato’s Symposium . But just when he was getting to the good part, a sharp whistle pierced the nocturnal calm, and the secret of the Hermaphrodite was left only half revealed.

— The signal! shouted the pipsqueak Bernini. Did you hear it?

— We aren’t deaf, snorted Samuel.

They turned immediately and struggled back over the same rugged terrain. They hadn’t covered fifty yards when urgent voices beckoned from the shadows.

— Over here, over here! cried the voices triumphantly.

— No doubt about it! Bernini exclaimed. They’ve found the board.

Indeed they had. The two parties having reunited, Del Solar pointed at the end of a narrow plank: this was the bridge across the abyss. At the prospect of doing a tightrope act on a rickety board crossing a fissure of unknown depth, the heroes’ morale took a plunge. The astrologer Schultz announced he wouldn’t take a single step on that plank until he had categorical proof it could bear the weight of a man. Adam and Tesler roundly declared there was no way they would, either. Then Franky Amundsen indignantly cursed the cowardice of those intellectuals who took chances only when writing verse. But Del Solar, true to his vocation as leader, set the example; without hesitation, he stepped forward. They watched as he advanced along the oscillating board, arms outspread for balance, until his swaying figure disappeared in the shadows. Presently, they heard him happily announce his safe arrival on the other side. In emulation, Schultz and Luis Pereda too went forth onto the board with great good fortune. Adam Buenosayres followed in turn. Halfway across, a gust of wind nearly made him lose his balance; teetering dangerously, he listened to the lullaby of the batrachians tempting him to join them in the depths. Then Bernini went across, with Samuel Tesler hard on his heels. Only Franky Amundsen remained on the hither shore, now deserted.

— Watch this! he said as he began his crossing. I’m going to show you how it’s done in the circus. Check out the elegance of my form.

He set off along the board, one hand on his hip and the other holding an invisible parasol. As he advanced, he sang a famous tango in a hoarse faux-soprano voice:

I’m the circus girl,

for a penny I give… 49

Suddenly, when he was almost there, Franky Amundsen lost his balance, swatted desperately at the air, and plopped into the pit, making such a commotion that the batrachian singers went silent.

Immense laughter resounded on the bank.

— Pride goeth before a fall! exclaimed Tesler. The best-shod dude in Buenos Aires!

Del Solar wasn’t laughing. He peered over the bank and asked anxiously:

— Franky, are you there?

From the deep a whiny voice cursed in response:

— Nice question! Where the Sam Hill do you think I am?

— Is it very deep? asked Del Solar.

— Don’t think so, said Franky. I’m getting out now.

A moment later Franky Amundsen’s head poked up over the dark bank, and his comrades reached to take him by the armpits and hoist him ashore like some monstrous fish.

— Are you hurt? asked Luis Pereda, palming his back and chest.

— Not even a scratch, said Franky dolefully. But covered in mud from head to toe.

For the third time on that memorable night, Samuel Tesler got out his lighter. By its light, it was obvious that Franky was exaggerating: his feet and trousers were muddied not quite up to the knees. On the other hand, the whole of him reeked of putrefaction. The astrologer took a swipe of mud from Franky’s clothes onto his fingers and commented on its interesting origin.