Cesar Aira - The Hare

“I’m following it perfectly. Although, if this were a novel, I’d take the trouble to reread that last paragraph as carefully as possible. So, we’d reached the point where Rosas. .”

“Rosas, or rather that reptile of an Italian who advises him, used the fact that the legal inventory was incomplete because of the gap left by the diamond, to declare the inheritance proceedings frozen. It’s a common trick among us. What they were after in this case was to suspend matters until they could produce one of the female relatives with the diamond in her possession, so they could negotiate with her ways to divide up half the province of Buenos Aires between them. That’s all the facts for you. The rest is easy enough to guess.”

“I assure you it’s not so easy for me. Couldn’t you give me a helping hand?”

“It seems to me obvious that the jewel has been in the possession of the Indians all these years. It was just what they needed to extort any number of advantageous treaties from that monster of Palermo. When you appeared, the time for the great sleight of hand was ripe; and you were as good an instrument as any to set the whole thing in motion. Why else would Rosas have lent you his best horse? Repetido was the password that you innocently took with you to Salinas Grandes. Once you were there, while they were putting on a great show of pretense, things became more complicated. I have no way of knowing for sure what actually happened, but I have my suspicions. It’s likely there were arguments in the court about handing over the diamond, especially from the faction supporting Juana Pitiley. Leaving themselves without the stone could bring down Rosas’s greed on their heads, and perhaps even speed their own extermination (even though they must be getting a sizeable cut from the deal over the inheritance). If you remember, we saw, or almost saw, the supposed flight of a ‘hare.’ Well, the shape of the diamond precisely recalls that of a hare. As for the ‘legibrarian’ part of it, which I must confess was a surprise to me, it can be explained by the legend of its extraordinary shape. It was cut by an unknown Jew in Amsterdam on the orders of Emperor Charles the Fifth, to fit into Erasmus’s right superciliary arch so that he could use it as a monocle to overcome his astigmatism, for him to be able to ‘read,’ ‘read’ the ‘legible,’ if you follow me: a gift from the Emperor which was never sent as a result of the philosopher’s death.”

“Very original. So according to you, up in Salinas Grandes someone stole the stone?”

“Or faked stealing it.”

“What about Cafulcurá’s disappearance?”

“I haven’t managed to find an explanation for that yet, but you won’t deny it’s linked.”

“There are important holes in your story, Mister Gauna.”

“What’s important aren’t the holes, but what remains. If you look closely, it’s all holes, but the evidence to cover them is there. You must have heard that the Widow is preparing to move on. They say it’s to the Andes, but I have the feeling it’s to somewhere else: once she’s got her hands on the ill-gotten gains, she won’t stop until she’s reached Paris. And today I heard she’s preparing to celebrate the fifteenth birthday of someone who is supposed to be her daughter. . ”

“Yes, that’s what Coliqueo told me.”

“What he won’t have told you is that when she came through here she tried all she could to buy any fifteen-year-old girl available. . that can only mean that things have got out of control and she wasn’t ready for the playacting. What I don’t know is where. . But she didn’t take any girl from here, because Coliqueo refused to sell her one — not out of principle, of course, but to force her to stop somewhere else to find one, so that he could gain time. I’m sure that lunatic has also smelled something odd going on, and is trying to find out what it is. That’s why I think we should follow her traces now while we’re so close to her. . ”

“It seems to me that you’re using the plural a little too lightly, Mister Gauna. What has your family quarrel got to do with me?”

“But my ‘family quarrel’ is what it’s all about! All the rest is simply idle chatter! Do you want the hare? Do you want Cafulcurá?”

“I’m not. . convinced.”

“Well then, just listen. There’s more. My half-sister, the Widow, is in fact. .”

At that moment a deafening noise cut their conversation short. Night had fallen while they were talking, and the Indians had lit their bonfires. There were so many of them, and they were so close together because of the confused huddle of the tents, that the whole camp was lit up like a city. In fact, the profusion of bonfires had brought forward nightfall artificially, and it was not yet completely dark. The sky still gave off a viscous glimmer of light, which made the intervals between each fire a dull gray rather than black. Even the distances floated, mysteriously visible, a while longer.

The shouting was coming from all around them. Clarke, who was always startled by the least little thing, leapt up, his head spinning like a top. Gauna understood what was going on before he did:

“An attack!” he shouted.

And indeed a surprise attack was taking place. A disheveled rider passed close by them, along the top of the riverbank. He was the typical Indian warrior: spear in one hand, stone bolas whirling in the other, his naked body covered in grease, hair streaming in the wind, his face contorted in a ferocious war-cry, his mount galloping flat out under him, plunging forward without reins. The horse’s features were a picture of pure terror. The two men stood paralyzed at the sight, but it was gone in a flash. Fortunately the warrior had not spotted them, but it might be very different with the next one (leaving aside the fact, unimportant as ever in the darkness, that they had nothing whatever to do with what was going on). They rushed to find shelter. As he ran, Clarke looked back and saw other attackers streaming past at the speed of imaginary blinkings of an eye. They were charging along the same path, which must have been chosen by the enemy strategist as one of the lines of attack on the camp. From their new vantage point, he and Gauna could see the upheaval going on there, where only a few moments before the Indians had been peacefully awaiting the arrival of night. The camp was a seething mass of writhing bodies: hideous-looking centaurs launched themselves on howling groups of women; men stood stock still in the center of deadly circles of stone bolas, whose dreadful whirring could be heard even above all the uproar; leaders gesticulated, hoarse from shouting orders into empty air; bodies jerked upright until they reached the height to have their throats cut; children and dogs scrambled desperately amid the horses’ hooves; even the hens were trying in vain to take to the air in fizzing gaggles. And the campfires were reflected in a thousand moving dots, in the sinews of every muscle: the Indians of the camp may have been surprised without their weapons, but not without their body grease — in this at least they were equal to their attackers. A wave of Indians swept out of the camp, then swept back almost at once on horseback.

The lack of space became increasingly evident: tents were knocked down by the flailing horses like houses of cards. The top of the bank on the far side of the river was clear, and the two white men at first thought they could take refuge there. But even as they looked, it filled with a motley gang of horsemen. The bank where they had originally been sitting was now empty, but there seemed no point going back there: their troop of horses had dispersed at the start of the raid. There was no escape. The band of marauders on the far bank charged down, shouting wildly, and Clarke and Gauna were alarmed to realize that they were the target. Clarke ran like the wind back to their things, and felt among the shadowy bundles for his shotgun and a bag of bullets. As he turned again, he saw the silhouette of a savage on the point of spearing Gauna. Clarke shot him and he fell from his horse. The other Indians charged on through a gap between two ridges, heading for the tents. Gauna waited for Clarke to catch him up.