Cesar Aira - The Hare

“What about Namuncurá?” he asked. “I heard he was on a trip. Has he been told as well?”

All of a sudden Mallén seemed much less self-assured.

“I don’t think it would be easy to find him. . Anyway, we’ll see.”

He stood up and went to mount his horse. Clarke did the same. By now it was almost night. They headed for the encampment at a walk.

“Tomorrow,” the shaman said, “you can leave with the riders going to Carhué to see Juana Pitiley. You could accompany them for that part of your journey, it’s on your way. I suggest you go to sleep soon, because they’re thinking of leaving very early.”

“At what time?”

The shaman gave a typically Indian reply.

“At three.”

Clarke was having dinner with Gauna and Namuncurá’s seventeen wives when all of a sudden Carlos Alzaga Prior burst into the tent, beside himself with excitement. Due to the unexpected turn events had taken, the Englishman had completely forgotten him.

“I’ve come to say farewell,” the youth said.

“What? Why?”

There was a silence. Gauna had not even raised his eyes from his food. Following their invariable custom, the Indian women had acted as if nothing had happened. Clarke was waiting for some explanation, but Prior simply said:

“Could I speak to you in private for a moment?”

“I’m eating, and I would prefer to finish doing so: in peace, if at all possible.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m in a hurry.”

What an adolescent he was! Clarke decided to teach him a lesson.

“Sit down.”

“But I’m in a hurry!”

“Sit down and eat!”

“No, I’m leaving!”

“Could we have a partridge for Mister Alzaga Prior, please?”

“Yes, Mister Clarke, coming right up.”

Grudgingly, the boy sat on a leather mat. He was served some meat, and began to nibble at it, an expression of disgust on his face. Clarke kept up a pretense at conversation, out of a stubborn regard for form. The Indian women answered every one of his remarks politely (in fact, it cost them very little effort). Namuncurá had not shown a well-defined taste in choosing them: they were of all kinds. At least, that was what Clarke imagined, if he put himself in the shoes of an Indian husband, because to him they were all the same: Indians, with slanting eyes, black tresses, their bodies covered in grease down to their toes, and that somewhat savage docility that concealed a sense of menace.

“And now,” Clarke said when they had finished, “let’s hear what the problem is.”

He stood up. The youth seemed to have lost a good deal of his initial urgency. But he livened up once they were outside the tent. A grave frown returned to his face, although during the meal his childish disposition to be cheerful had led him to relax. The role he had given himself was too important for such an attitude, however, so that by the time the two of them stood outside, he was serious once more, brimming with impatient anger.

“Well then, what’s all this about?”

“Mister Clarke, at this point I must take my leave of you.”

“In what sense?”

“In the only sense possible. I am in love, and I am pursuing my only chance of happiness.”

Clarke said nothing. There was no need. A young person in love always feels obliged to offer lengthy explanations. And, as it proved, he did not have long to wait.

“Yñuy has run away, and I propose to set off in pursuit.”

“Yñuy?” A sudden doubt assailed Clarke. “Would that be a female?”

“Of course! Who do you take me for?”

“You’re right, I’m sorry. Who is she?”

“A girl I met when we arrived, and who I fell in love with.”

“In a single day?”

“In a single moment. What’s wrong with that? Time is irrelevant. What matters are feelings.”

“Agreed. And this girl has run off?”

“The thing is, she has problems. I don’t think I was explicit enough about my intentions, and now I want to put that right. What I’m trying to say is that she ran off because she has problems, which are nothing to do with me; but I don’t think she understood that I was willing to help her.”

“What sort of problems?”

“She’s pregnant, and detests the man involved. She’s not married. I don’t know who he is, and I don’t care. I want to offer to marry her.”

“And the child?”

“I’ll give him my name, and love him as though he were my own.”

It was all so typical. Clarke did not know whether to laugh or cry.

“What do you think your parents will feel about it?”

“I don’t have any parents.”

Clarke was disconcerted.

“I’m adopted,” Carlos said.

“That doesn’t matter. You’ll be giving the bastard the name, or names, of your adopted parents.”

“And I’ve every right to do so!”

There was a lot to say, but Clarke preferred not to say it. Especially as it would be of no use.

“So what do you propose to do?”

“To go after her, of course. To find her. Tell her that. .”

“Yes, yes, all right. Which way did she go?”

“I don’t know. But I’m certain I’ll be able to find her.”

“First things first. Are you sure she’s actually gone?”

“Yes, she left me a farewell message with her best friend. It was a real blow for me.”

“I can imagine.”

Clarke felt the story did not fit together, but once again refrained from expressing his doubt. He thought for a moment. In fact, this foolishness offered an almost ideal excuse to remove the boy from the circle of friends he had become so caught up in. He would not even have to exert his authority: a bit of persuasion should suffice.

“Look,” he said, laying his hand on Prior’s shoulder, “for a variety of reasons which I’ll explain to you later, I have to leave Salinas Grandes, and it so happens that I’ll be heading south, along the only route that people can take out of here. So I see no reason for us to separate. You’ll be safer if you are with me and Gauna, and we could even help you in your search. Do you agree?”

Carlos looked at him suspiciously.

“You’re not doing it just to keep an eye on me?”

A classic young person’s line of reasoning, to believe that the world revolved around their own silly problems.

“We’ll be leaving before dawn,” Clarke told him. “Let’s get some sleep.”

Carlos did not seem very convinced. This coincidence had spoilt most of the effect of his amatory heroism, but he could find no excuse to refuse their company. Clarke took hold of his arm:

“Tomorrow you can tell me about this girl. . what was her name again?”

“Yñuy.”

“What a nice name. And what do her parents say?”

“She doesn’t have any. She’s adopted.”

“Ah, yes? Her too?”

“That’s the reason I identified so closely with her misfortune. She is so alone. .”

Clarke cut him short before he could get into full flow.

“I should tell you I am adopted too.”

“I don’t believe it!”

“Why not? It happens in England as well, you know.”

“So you must understand. .”

“Yes, yes. Now go and lie down. I’m going to smoke a pipe. These savages will be waking us up at three.”

“At three! They’re going to have to drag me along. I mean if I manage to sleep. But I doubt I’ll be able to close my eyes.”

“Get along with you.” Clarke pushed him inside, sorry he was exposing him to Gauna’s mocking gaze. But the boy was so sleepy he would not even notice.

Clarke lit his pipe and stood watching the bonfires and the Indians riding slowly by in the night. He was thinking, but had no real idea what about. He was sleepy as well.