Cesar Aira - The Hare

“Well now, Mister Clarke. There are two aspects to that question. The first is the relation we have to the truth, or more precisely to meaning. The reason you consider us primitive (no, don’t worry, I didn’t take it amiss) can only come from the fact that, unlike you, we do not have a God, or a monotheist system, to provide a general framework of meaning for us. We Indians ‘still’ find ourselves at the stage of potentiality: a sign is not guaranteed by reference to a meaning, but by its position within a specific framework. It is also the case, and I think this is the key to your puzzlement, that since the stars are pure perception, are purely visible without any possibility of becoming tangible, they need constantly to demonstrate their reality, if possible every night. That is the paradox of an imaginary system which needs to be real in order to generate all its images.

“Now, look at our own black, immutable sky, our rock. It’s exactly the same. Points of darkness replace points of light. It is we who are the stars, the living memory of our lives, lived without days or nights on the margins of time. Meaning continues to exist however, whether or not there is a God or a sky. It may be that to go on believing in ourselves demands an extra dose of energy from us, but we do not regret it. We dream a lot, because we sleep so much.”

He paused before continuing:

“As for the other aspect of the question, which as I understand it concerns happiness, I can offer you no such clear-cut reasons. Nature is man’s happy passion, and the stars confirm that. That is all they do: such is their function. But here beneath the earth we are the most passionate of people, because we set no store by the conservation of life. It could be said that the sickness is the cure. Indifference contains within it one supreme value: the abandonment of everything, the infinite virtuality of the instant.”

Gauna yawned ostentatiously.

“Excuse me for interrupting,” Clarke said, “but you wouldn’t know if a lady by the name of Rondeau’s Widow has passed by here recently, would you?”

“Yes. That good-for-nothing. . she was here a few days ago, asking us to lend her a young woman.”

“Did you?”

“Not on your life. Do you take us for traders in human flesh? We asked her why she didn’t turn to her relative Coliqueo, who is staying near here. . ”

“And what did she say to that?”

“That Coliqueo had suffered a devastating surprise attack and was in no state to conduct any kind of transaction.”

“She lied to you. .”

“I suspected that from the start.”

“. . because it was only last night that Coliqueo was attacked.”

“I hope he was killed.”

“When we left he was alive, trying to renegotiate everlasting peace.”

“What a shame. I suspect that all this activity is because a certain diamond is due to change hands. .”

Although Gauna did not move a muscle, his aroused wariness struck Clarke like a hammer blow. Pillán went on:

“. . a diamond that belongs to us: the Legibrerian Hare.”

“You know what it is?”

The chieftain gave a fleeting smile.

“Yes and no. Of course, the stone does not exist. Yet even so, it belongs to us.”

“I don’t understand. Could you explain?”

“It’s quite simple. Doubtless in the distant past a tiny diamond was discovered in our carboniferous deposits — or perhaps not even that was necessary. What is beyond doubt is that one of our legendary tales concerns a hare that was fleeing across the plains to escape from a crazy horse that wanted to eat it, and it fell down a hole. Down and down it fell through the darkness, and its eyes puffed up more and more, while it saw scenes that are an important part of the story, but which I won’t bore you with now; by the time it reached the bottom, it had been transformed into a diamond. A naturalist explanation of the story would involve the transformation of carbon into diamond as a result of pressure. . though now that I come to think of it, it’s a good example of what I was saying earlier: the star in the bottom of the pit, the transmutation of the opaque into the transparent, the chase of words after meaning. . I don’t know if that’s made it any clearer for you.”

The three men’s stay in the cavern went on for an indeterminate length of time; it could have been a day, or a week. They ate, bathed in the placid waters of the springs, until finally they felt the need to depart. As they were taking their leave, Carlos asked the chief if he had ever heard of such and such a girl, pregnant, with a pretty face, who went by the name of Yñuy. No. They had never heard the name, or known of anyone by that description. By contrast, they did know of someone else the three of them had described, and as luck would have it the men who were to take them back to the open air, led by the very outgoing Equimoxis, were on a mission to find out more about him: this was none other than the famous Wanderer.

“Who is he?” Clarke asked with interest.

“I wish we knew. He appeared a few days ago, and we’re very worried by him.”

This was surprising. How had they of all people become aware of this always distant and fleeting presence? And how could he affect them? Both questions, Pillán explained, could be answered together. Clarke reflected that it was only when guests had their hand on the doorknob to leave that the conversation became really interesting.

“The underground world,” said Pillán, “is not strictly speaking autonomous (nothing is); nor have we ever lived under the illusion that it was. It is a temporary ‘parallel,’ whose worth changes daily according to its face value. That is why we are so alert to the changing circumstances outside, because to a certain extent we are those circumstances. And if it is true that news flies, it is no less true that it also sinks to the depths at an incredible speed. The ‘surprise guest’ is always a latent possibility. This strange Wanderer has come to fill a gap created not by the circumstances but by the system itself. I can’t say that we were expecting him, but nor can I say the opposite. He would appear to represent a complex of speeds, distances, and directions inherent to the surface world, a world upon which, as I’m sure you understand, our depths depend. Please don’t see us as excessively intellectual — far from it! — just because we are so interested in what might seem a tiny, distant variation in the logical ordering of the plains; it’s vital for us.”

“Is there some relation,” Clarke wanted to know, “between him and that. . gem?”

“As I think I told you, the gem does not exist. Our brothers in the parallel world are chasing, bedazzled, after a fiction.”

“What do you believe then is really at stake in all this?”

“Don’t get me started on philosophical explanations again. .”

“You’re right, we’ll say goodbye then. Farewell.”

“Farewell.”

“And thank you for your hospitality.”

“Don’t mention it. But we didn’t even get to talk of speleology!”

Clarke burst out laughing. Carlos asked him:

“What’s that?”

“I’ll explain to you later. Farewell, farewell.”

Equimoxis led the way up to the cave mouth. He was with another ten or so Indians, all of them warmly dressed. As they were leaving the great chamber, the three of them turned to give it one last look: as ever, it was filled with a calm grandeur. They started on the upward path. This time of course, it cost them more effort than when they had come down; before they had even reached halfway, the group was like a chamber orchestra of panting. They halted to get their breath back. Clarke asked Equimoxis who they were going to consult for information about the Wanderer. Equimoxis told him of some mint-growers who were their usual informants. They were normally to be found near the cave entrance, which made things all the easier for the Indians.