Cesar Aira - Ghosts

While talking about medicine they were also talking about marriage. If there was any disagreement on that topic, it was subtler. Because all women, or nearly (all the ones they knew, anyway) got married, sooner or later. It was a kind of universal homeopathy, which sent belief leaping wildly, all over the place, with nothing to guide it. Patri, whose part in the conversation was limited to an odd monosyllable or chuckle, was listening carefully. Inés Viñas sensed this attention, and looked thoughtfully at the girl.

When they had seen enough of that layered, multi-family mansion, and there was nothing left to criticize in their good-natured, skeptical way, they started going back upstairs, without so much as a moment’s pause in their chatter. Which, come to think of it, was, in itself, something to be marveled at, a challenge to belief: how is it that conversation topics keep coming up, one after another, inexhaustibly, as if they weren’t tied to objects, which are finite, as if they were pure form? It went to show that life had hidden recesses. When they reached the top of the building, the heat, which had not eased off in spite of the late hour, reminded the hostess of something they still hadn’t bought, because they were leaving it till the last minute: ice. She asked Patri if she would do her a favor and fetch it. Patri went to get the bag, and her mother told her to take some money from her purse. Patri was thinking: Where does all the money come from? We’re always spending it, but there’s always some left. Her mother had a reputation in the family as a good housekeeper. And she was in fact fairly good, but the reputation was based on a misunderstanding: seeing the whole family dressed in faded clothes, the relatives supposed that Elisa Vicuña was extremely thrifty and economical. To tell the truth, they couldn’t understand how clothes that were so faded, almost white, and therefore, they supposed, very old (when in fact they might have been bought the week before) remained in one piece: it could only be explained by infinite care and vigilance. When Patri came back with the bag and the money, Inés Viñas, who was at the edge of the empty swimming pool, admiring that huge absurdity, offered to go with her. No, there’s no need; it’s not far, just round the corner. We’ll get two bags then, to make the drinks extra cold, replied Inés, laughing. Don’t worry, don’t worry, said mother and daughter, but she insisted. Since she had come to bother them so early, she might as well help with something.

Inés and Patri went downstairs and out into the street, which was coming back to life. Inés asked if she had friends in the neighborhood. No, replied Patri, I hardly ever go down. This is the first time I’ve been down in two days. Inés was amazed. She couldn’t imagine it. And how are you going to find a boyfriend like that, my girl? Patri laughed in reply, and Inés joined in.

Hey, don’t laugh, I’m serious. Didn’t you hear what we were saying, your mom and me? Yes, but I still don’t know who I’m going to marry. Inés took a few steps in silence, wondering what to say. Never say you don’t know. Why not? Because. Patri chose to respond with a chuckle. Tell me, said Inés, You’re not a virgin, are you? No, not any more. Uhuh, but weren’t you worried about getting pregnant? This time it was Patri’s turn to ponder her reply. Eventually she came out with: More or less. What a funny answer! said Inés and burst out laughing. But you’re a funny girl all round, aren’t you, Patricita! Hearing her laugh made Patri laugh too. They went into the store that sold ice, made their purchase, and, when they came out again, started talking about love. It’s the most important thing, the only thing there is in the world. Yes, yes, of course, said Patri. Why do you say you don’t know who you’re going to marry? Because it’s true. Even so…. They walked a while in silence. The trees in the street were as still as plaster statues. It’s so hot, said the younger of the two. It’s a heat wave, really, said the other, then added: You know what that means, don’t you? There’ll be a big, long storm afterward and then it’ll be cold. Are you sure? It’s hard to believe. That’s how it is. That’s what always happens in Buenos Aires. The weather does one thing, then the other. I think it does that everywhere, said Patri with a certain irony. Yes, but here, said Inés, it’s more pronounced and it happens every time. What does? The downpour. Ah, said Patri, looking at the spotless blue sky. No, not now, but you’ll see. Changing the subject abruptly, Inés remarked: There are some really good-looking men. Yes, there are some I find very attractive. There are some I find extremely attractive. Well, me too, if we’re going to extremes. But, you know, they can turn out to be bastards. Yeah, of course; that’s always happening on TV. But that’s fake. Didn’t you just say….? No, what I’m saying is they can be bastards. Like they can be anything, Inés added. Oh, OK, all right. But the really important thing, in love, is to find a real man. Not the real men again! exclaimed Patri. That’s what mom’s always telling me. Well she knows what she’s talking about, I promise you. How does she know? Inés shrugged her shoulders. They went around the corner and glanced at the building, which didn’t look like anything special from the outside.

At that moment, a typical Argentinean beauty walked past: broad weight-lifter’s shoulders, pumped-up breasts, narrow hips (viewed from the front, because side-on she was markedly steatopygous), dark skin, almost like an African, indigenous features with certain oriental characteristics, thick protuberant lips, black hair dyed a reddish color, a very short denim skirt showing off her long, strong, lustrous legs, sandals, which she was dragging along languorously, and a key-ring dangling from her hand. Inés and Patri, petite and delicate, slipped past her like two ants beside an elephant. The Argentinean woman didn’t even look at them; her big, dark Japanese eyes were half closed, and she wore an expression of disdain. That’s what they’re like, said Inés Viñas when they were certain distance away. What do they do if they can’t get a real man, smack his head off or something? Patri didn’t reply, but the image of a real man without a head remained with her for a few steps. Inés added: We don’t have that athletic determination…. and, besides, we can’t dress like that, there aren’t any clothes that suit us that well. Then Patri said softly: It’s because we’re different. We’re Chilean.

Before going in, Inés pointed out an old red and white van covered with mud, parked on the opposite pavement, a certain distance away. Isn’t that Javier’s? she asked. Yes, it was. What a wreck! Then both of them thought: They’ve arrived. A pretty straightforward deduction, really.

Any doubts they might have had disappeared when they went in: an unusual racket of children’s voices was echoing down from the top floors. Not that Javier and his wife Carmen had lots of children (they had two and were expecting a third); it was because of the multiplying effect that children produce when they get together. Right now, said Inés, I’d appreciate an elevator. Each of them was carrying a bag of ice. Patri glanced at the electric clock hanging from the beam on the ground floor: it was seven twenty-five. Two ghosts were floating in the air, in line with each of the clock’s hands: because of the time, they were both head down, like the branches of a Christmas tree. Come on, or it’ll all melt, said Inés. What’s the hurry? It’s going to melt anyway.

As they climbed the stairs, Patri, who had been thinking about what they had said when the Argentinean woman went past, asked: Don’t you think they’re more vulgar? Inés Viñas didn’t want to be categorical, although it was perfectly obvious what Patri was thinking: Well, my girl, they’re different, just like you said. To us they seem primitive, savage, like those tribes…. For example, they have codes of appearance: you can always tell at a glance whether an Argentinean woman is married or single; it’s as if they put a bone through their nose when they got married, or shaved their heads, or something like that. But with us…. we all seem married, or all single, if you like. We’re always the same. Patri agreed as they climbed the stairs.