Cesar Aira: The Hare

“You may find it hard to forgive me, but I gave them up for adoption almost as soon as they were born. I gave the girl to some Mapuches from Saliqueló, and the boy to a cousin of mine in Buenos Aires, Susana Prior.”

At first, Clarke did not make the connection, but the shout of joy from Carlos soon forced him to do so:

“Susana Prior is my adoptive mother! It’s me! It had to be me, Clarke!”

Rossanna, whose aristocratic reserve stood in such stark contrast to the hysterical enthusiasm of this alleged son of hers, asked him:

“Are you sure? I know Susana adopted other children. . ”

“No, it’s me! My heart tells me so!”

He was laughing and crying at the same time. Clarke felt a wave of laughter welling up inside his own chest.

“Well, anyway,” Rossanna said, “it would be easy enough to prove it, because my twins had a birthmark, in the shape of a tiny hare, on their butt. .”

“Here it is! Here it is! What did I tell you, Clarke, I mean

father!”

Without the slightest regard for convention, Carlos turned round and pulled his trousers down. He was so nervous and fumbled so much he snapped his belt. But it was true, in the center of his right buttock he had a long birthmark that looked like a hare in flight. When he turned round to them again, his face was red and wet from tears. He could not speak. Clarke took him into his arms to console him.

“I saw a birthmark just like that,” said Juana Pitiley, “on Yñuy when she was giving birth.”

“Yñuy?” everyone said. Carlos raised his head from his father’s shoulder.

“Where did you say you had your baby girl adopted?” Juana Pitiley asked Rossanna.

“In Saliqueló.”

“Well, Yñuy and her family arrived in Salinas Grandes from Saliqueló a few years ago!”

“So there’s no doubt it’s her.”

“So then. . Yñuy is my sister!”

“Yes, your sister. .” Clarke said. “Tell me, you didn’t. . did you?”

“No, don’t worry,” Carlos replied, smiling through his tears. “You’re always the same, aren’t you? You can relax, there was no incest.”

Rossanna was smiling at him.

“I’m going to tell her!” Carlos exclaimed.

“Not now,” Juana Pitiley said, holding him back. “She’s asleep. We’ll tell her when she wakes up.”

“These little girls are our grandchildren,” Clarke said to

Rossanna.

“I told you I wasn’t so young.”

“And they’re my great-grandchildren,” said Juana Pitiley.

“Clarke, father, I think I’ll die, I’m so happy!” Carlos roared. “I knew it all the time: you had to be my father. .”

“Don’t forget that this is your mother.”

“It’s true! So I was in the glacier as well!”

“That wasn’t what I meant. Didn’t you say that if you ever met your mother, you’d throw yourself in her arms, and all that kind of thing?”

Carlos shyly evaded Rossanna’s smiling face.

“Now that I know I’m your son, a certain British reserve. .”

“In fact, you’re more English than I am, thanks to the blood of poor Professor Haussmann.” Clarke saw the moment had arrived to say something which would not only delight the boy, but was also true: “I have to admit that if I had been asked how I would like my son to be, I would have said like you.”

“That goes without saying,” Carlos responded at once, sincerely convinced of it.

They were all sitting round in a circle. The light had grown stronger. Suddenly Carlos thought of something:

“So that means Gauna is my uncle! Come and give me a hug, uncle. Gauna, you’re going to have to be nice to me from now on.”

“Whatever will he think of next?” said his father.

“How about having some breakfast?” Rossanna asked.

“Wait a moment,” Juana Pitiley said. “I think the sun is about to rise, and perhaps my son, my delightful grandson and Mister Gauna would like to see it through the Ventana, just as I did when all this began.”

They agreed and everyone set off, leaving the babies in the care of an old Indian woman. They were already only a short distance from the summit. It took them no time at all to reach the Ventana itself, which was a fairly large window-like hole in the topmost rock. They climbed up, picking their way through huge boulders. There was no wind, which could have made the spot unpleasant. As Clarke reached the top, a huge orange sun was rising, exactly opposite him on the eastern horizon, which seemed not nearly so far away as when they were out on the plain. Gauna pointed downward: among the shadows on the prairie at the foot of the mountain, their horses had scattered far and wide. Clarke looked for Repetido. When he found him, the horse was standing with its head lifted nervously. Then he saw it dart off in an unlikely gallop toward the rising sun.

“Where’s he going?” Clarke asked in alarm. The others also gazed after the horse, half-closing their eyes against the bright glow the animal was running toward. And they were all equally shocked when they saw the silhouette of a rider appear on the horizon line.

“The Wanderer! Repetido’s got tired of only seeing him in the distance as well!”

But it was not mere curiosity on the horse’s part. The Wanderer’s horse was another Repetido, and suddenly the two of them reared on to their hind legs with exactly the same movement, standing poised for an instant like two chess knights. And then it was as if the page of the world were finally turned, and the Wanderer was on this side, and they saw him coming to meet them. They all recognized him at the same instant: it was Cafulcurá.

Juana Pitiley roared with laughter.

PRINGLES, 6 SEPTEMBER 1996