Cesar Aira - The Hare

“My surprise,” Clarke began, “comes not only at seeing you so far from Salinas Grandes, but at the state you’re in. I take it for granted there’s bad news: but what exactly?”

“Ah, Mister Clarke, a great misfortune has befallen our people, the worst misfortune. The worst, the worst.”

“Have they all killed each other?”

“Don’t worry, it will soon come to that.” A loud sigh. Although usually so talkative, Mallén now seemed unwilling to speak. His dejection sealed his lips. They had to drag the words out of him. The external circumstances (the soaking they were getting, the claps of thunder, the cold) were partly responsible, but Mallén himself was more to blame, and eventually Clarke became

impatient.

“Come on man, spit it out. If you don’t, how can I find out what’s wrong? Start from when we left. What happened then?”

“Nothing.”

“How interesting. Didn’t your chieftain reappear?”

“What d’you think?”

“Nor Namuncurá?”

“No sign at all. Not even Alvarito came back.”

“We were in Coliqueo’s camp when. .”

“Ah, yes. That too. Unfortunately Juana Pitiley also vanished, and she’s the only one with enough authority to prevent that kind of rashness.”

“So then you’re more or less leaderless.”

“Aha.”

“Did you agree to a truce with Coliqueo at least?”

“Yes, but that treacherous rat is already preparing to break his word.”

“How do you know?”

“What else would he do? All he has to do is think: ‘So then they’re more or less leaderless.’. .”

He imitated Clarke’s accent perfectly, but the Englishman decided not to take offense.

“I can’t believe it.”

“He’s rounding up all the warriors he can lay hands on.”

“Well, at any rate you can make a stand against him, and successfully, I’m sure.”

“What with? Farts?”

This vulgarity was so unusual in the polite shaman that it gave Clarke pause for thought. How fragile the Mapuche make-up must be, to disintegrate into such unpleasantness at the first

obstacle!

“But I suppose you’re also recruiting your friends. Cafulcurá’s network of alliances can’t break down just because he has temporarily disappeared.”

Mallén gave another deep sigh, swallowing a mouthful of rain in the process, and made a visible effort to go on speaking:

“Yes, that was our idea. That was the reason for my journey, and I’m not the only one who set out. But everywhere it seems misfortunes have been leaping out at me like hares, so how could I not be depressed? My son, who was accompanying me, turned back with the excuse that he had other business to attend to, all my string of horses except this one met with accidents, and to top it all, I lost my knife and bolas somewhere and can’t find them.”

However hard he tried, Carlos could not contain his laughter.

“Go on, laugh,” said Mallén. “But it is sad. Another time, I might have laughed as well. This afternoon, when I saw it was going to rain, I began to seriously ask myself: ‘What for? What am I doing all this for? What am I living for?’ ”

He could not go on. Clarke snorted nervously. He could understand the shaman’s reasons: he himself always found complications unnecessary, and thought simplicity should always prevail in life: otherwise, it really was not worth living. But at the same time, he was astonished at the shallowness of this man who quite possibly held the future of an empire in his hands, but who could allow such trivial external circumstances as a rainstorm to weaken his resolve. It was a truly breathtaking lack of responsibility. He tried to tell him as much without hurting his feelings. Of course, Mallén did not even want to listen. And since the storm was getting ever stronger, and the chattering of their teeth was becoming unbearable, they left the rest of their discussion for the light of day, rolled themselves in whatever ponchos they could find, and shut their eyes to try to sleep.

In spite of the wet, they managed to do so, and for more than a few hours. The next morning was still cloudy, with occasional drizzle, but they succeeded in lighting a fire thanks to a handful of the excellent coal the chief of the underground world had given them, roasted two chickens Mallén had brought, and made some tea, so that when they returned to the subject they were different men. Even the shaman, perhaps out of embarrassment, seemed more reasonable.

“Where were you headed,” Clarke asked him, “before your. . depression?”

“To Colqán’s camp.”

“To seek reinforcements, I suppose.”

“To activate the offensive-defensive alliance we have with him, which is something different.”

“That’s the way to talk!”

“But they could just as well give me a kick up the backside.”

“Don’t let yourself give in to negative thoughts again. Why would they do that? Isn’t it in their interests as well to fight against Coliqueo?”

“How should I know! They may have made a separate peace with him.”

“That’s taking pessimism too far. We’ll go with you to see Colqán. You sent emissaries to your other allies as well, didn’t you?”

Mallén’s explanations took on a technical slant. Given the complicated nature of the Mapuche confederation’s politics, it could scarcely be otherwise. Although Carlos lost interest (Gauna had never had any), Clarke himself became more and more identified with the problem. Even the shaman roused himself, and became his old self. They had left the metaphysics of simplicity they had touched on the previous night far behind, but the Englishman found he did not regret it. Being based on a semblance of psychology (everyone not only admitted this, but took it as their starting point) the complexities of politics were resolved in a second process of simplification, this time a childish one.

When the rain came on heavily again, they set off. Before they did so, Gauna took Clarke to one side: he wasn’t thinking of getting mixed up in this idiotic conflict, was he? That wasn’t why they were there.

“And why are we here, Mister Gauna, if you would be so kind as to tell me?”

His Englishness came effortlessly to the fore. The gaucho did not insist. His story was falling to pieces: what was real was war, and his diamantine fantasies were relegated to the limbo they should never have left. As for the question of committing himself; Clarke felt as light as the breeze. He could take part in a war as easily as he might play a game of whist. He was aware that Coliqueo would do his utmost to enlist his white allies in the campaign against the Huilliches. But to the white man, an Indian was always an Indian, and deep down they did not care who won. He did not care much either, but this only fueled his enthusiasm: this opportunity to closely observe a war between abstract peoples was too good to miss. And anyway, it made him feel good, and that was enough for him.

So he mounted Repetido, got into step with Mallén’s horse, and the two of them rode off together, talking the whole while about numbers, positions, distances, forces, deterrents and so on. Feeling himself left out, Carlos showed his displeasure by riding ahead to join Gauna.

They had hardly gone four or five leagues when they were surprised to find they had reached their destination.

About a thousand warriors had camped by a creek, making shelters under the tree branches until the rain eased off. Mallén recognized who it was from afar.

“They’re Manful’s men,” he said. Manful was another of the allies sought out by emissaries who had obviously proved more effective than him. “Mister Clarke, before we arrive, I’d like to ask a great favor of you.”

Clarke knew what he meant: that he should not mention Mallén’s moment of weakness. He reassured him politely in a roundabout way. A quarter of an hour later, they were sitting opposite Manful himself; sheltered by oilskins and with the warmth of a fire, discussing strategies as if they had never done anything else. Manful was keen to fight; he had brought a large supply of cows and gallons of liquor, which his troops were busy consuming as though the world might come to an end at any minute. He had also done something else, which he begged Mallén to forgive him for: he had sent a delegation to quickly inform Colqán of what was happening, so all they had to do was to wait for him.