Cesar Aira - The Hare

His thoughts spread to more general considerations concerning the aporias of sight. The way the Vorogas reflected current society coincided with the river current, and in both cases the idea coincided with what he had been looking at, and the time span his gaze had created. Two young Indian girls walked past him arm-in-arm, staring at him provocatively, then started whispering and giggling in a hysterical manner. A short while later, they were back; on this occasion they asked him the time, but without waiting for his answer, began to whisper and giggle again. One of them turned her head. . they could not have been more than ten years old, but they were already behaving like experienced streetwalkers.

A dog came up to Clarke, a skinny mongrel which sniffed at him as though he were an object.

It was at this moment that Gauna appeared. He was in a hurry, and had his usual morose look on his face. When he saw Clarke sitting among their gear, he slowed down, and his face darkened still further. He sat down beside Clarke, and stared into the distance. Clarke wanted to ask him how he had met Ordóñez, but did not have time: Gauna came straight to the point:

“We’re wasting our time, don’t you think?”

A thousand ingenious and philosophically intriguing responses flashed through Clarke’s mind, but something told him it would be better not to risk any of them. He had found that this kind of reply only took the conversation away from what really mattered. What had come to seem most important, given all the philosophically intriguing events that had happened to him, was the need for action. He was therefore willing to hear what the gaucho had to say, because he sensed that thanks to him they might finally begin to act. And indeed it was on this point that Gauna, without seeming at all put out by the lack of response, now insisted:

“They could go on talking to you here for a year or two, and you’d still be stuck where you were at the start. The hare, as they say, leaps where least expected — always supposing that you’re expecting something, however little, in reality. And you’re looking for a hare, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Gauna.”

“You’ll be surprised to hear that I am too.”

“Yes? You didn’t tell me.”

“You didn’t ask. You were so busy chewing the fat with the kid that my intentions were never mentioned.”

“That’s easily put right. As I’ve said often that it’s become second nature to me: I’m all ears.”

“But we’ve had more than enough talk! What I’m suggesting is that we leave here today, right now.”

“Heading where?”

“Heading after the Widow. I’ve found out that she’s close by, three or four days’ ride to the southeast, no more. She came through near here less than a week ago, and apparently she was in no hurry.”

“Coliqueo told me something of the sort. I agree it’s probably true — but what’s so important about the Widow that we should go in search of her? I don’t think she kidnapped Cafulcurá.”

“Nobody has ever believed that.”

“But Mallén. .”

“You’re so naive! You’ve swallowed everything you’ve been told, without exception. And then you say you don’t believe in God!”

Now it was Gauna’s turn to bring in philosophy. Clarke deliberately did not follow him down that track:

“Well then?”

“The Widow has got the Hare. Or will be getting it in the next few days. It’s as simple as that.”

(Clarke supplied the capital “H” in his own mind, and could have sworn it was there in reality.)

“Explain yourself, I beg you.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I can believe anything, as you’ve said. But I prefer to know what it is I am believing in.”

“It’s not something that can be explained in a couple of words. It’s a long story.”

The summer afternoon had merged into an extraordinary purple sunset. As if shot like arrows, huge flocks of parrakeets flew past toward some tall violet-colored cliffs in the far distance. Bands of dark blue began to spread above the horizon. The shadows of the two men lengthened down to the water’s edge.

“I belong to one of the families,” Gauna began, “who have most right to own land in Argentina. I am a Gauna Alvear. Does that surprise you? Vast, immeasurable estates, cattle as plentiful as the blades of grass they eat, salt meat factories, accounts in English banks, and even a decisive political role — all of this should be mine by right, were it not for the fact that unfortunate family complications have prevented it becoming a reality. That is why you have come to know me in this ragged guise of a gaucho exposed to the hazards of a tracker’s life. The entire branch of the Gauna Alvear family I belong to — the richest one — has been affected by illegitimate births. None of my grandfather’s three daughters were married; all of them had children. Throughout my childhood I thought I was the only son of a devout, melancholy woman. But this was not the case: another offspring, female this time, the fruit of as fleeting a relation of my mother’s as I myself was, had come into the world. In her case though, her father — an adventurer — had not only recognized her, but had taken her with him. It was only as an adult that I learned of the return of this half-sister of mine. She had even for a brief while been in Buenos Aires, before setting off for the interior, where she had created a very curious position for herself. A great beauty, she had seduced many idle indigenous leaders, and ended up married, apparently against her will and in payment for her dissipated life, to a chieftain called Rondeau. .”

“The Widow!” Clarke exclaimed, unable to believe his ears.

“That’s right, the Widow. At least, that’s what I’ve deduced. I’ve never actually seen her, nor found out anything concrete about her. A few garbled words my mother said as she lay dying have allowed me to reconstruct the story. My aunts died at almost the same time — all of them, including my mother, the victims of a strangely simultaneous (and highly suspicious) illness. It was then, around the time of Rondeau’s death at the hands of Cafulcurá (a death which no one will convince me was not due to some act of treachery by my half-sister) that the Widow’s representatives became extremely active in Buenos Aires. The claims on the inheritance, which had been undivided during my grandfather’s lifetime, became more strident. Of course, no one person could claim legitimacy against the others. This was the chance that snake in the grass De Angelis had been waiting for — perhaps inspired by dialectic effusions emanating from Salinas Grandes. He it was who gave Rosas the idea of enjoying the usufruct of all the possessions of my grandfather, General Aristóbulo de Gauna Alvear, while our quarrels went on — perhaps for ever. You should also know that we descend in direct line, albeit a collateral one, from the Hapsburgs, and one royal legacy has continued to figure in all our family’s papers: a large diamond, unique in the world due to its elongated form and the highly unusual way it was cut. Tradition had it that the diamond was handed down by the distaff side, but our logical tendency toward endogamy meant it had more or less stayed in the family, at least until the generation prior to mine. But my grandmother, its last legal owner, died before the eldest of her daughters had reached the age of fifteen, the date established for handing down the stone. Supposedly, presumably at least, it was my grandfather who handed it to his eldest daughter when she reached fifteen, but here comes yet another strange mystery: nobody ever knew which of the three sisters, my mother or the other two, was the eldest. Apparently there were exactly ten months between each of them, and since their mother had raised them hidden away in the nursery of one of our old patriarchal mansions, nobody could say which was which: they themselves must have known, I’m sure, but they never said a word. Did my grandfather know? He never made any comment either, and he was such a drunk and crazy old man that no one would have believed him anyway. The fact is that he died, and they, I am sorry to say, after living lives of easy virtue in their youth, turned into sanctimonious old maids. When they died there was no sign of the jewel. Everyone thought our grandfather must have given it to one of them, even if he had chosen at random. But that wasn’t the case. I should clarify one other small point: as a result of their amorous adventures, the sisters had given birth only to boys, with the exception, discovered much later, of my half-sister: the now infamous Widow. Are you following my drift?”