Patricia Ratto: Proceed with Caution: Stories and a Novella

The others are putting their things away in their bags, silently, there’s no noise, jokes, snatches of old songs, nothing but the sound of the machinist folding or squeezing and stashing each one of his things in his bag. The forward hatch is open, it’s nighttime again, lately it seems like it’s always nighttime, an endless night. Suddenly, someone who’s just come aboard says that a bus is waiting for us, parked in the shadow of the shadows, a bus that will take us to Mar del Plata. It’s not like we’re criminals who have to hide, says Polski under his breath. Nobody opens their mouths, not one word crosses those closed lips, but the air grows thick with unspoken assent as they continue stashing their things, some of them already pulling on the cords that close the mouths of their bags, others zipping up their jackets to face the even colder cold to come. Silently they wait, standing in the corridor, their bodies barely resting against the edges of the rows of bunks, their heads looking at the tips of the boots that most of them didn’t wear during the crossing but have put on now. Little by little they emerge, bags slung over shoulders, boots advancing heavily along the corridor, then stepping heavily on the metal rungs of the forward ladder, one step and another step and another step, and another man and another step and another step and another man, the pounding repeating again and again as the sub empties out. I smooth my overalls, the last in line, I walk slowly forward. Next to the torpedoes, Grunwald makes way for Heredia, who starts to ascend; behind Grunwald, Olivero appears, carrying my boots in one hand by the top opening, his bag slung over the opposite shoulder. I stand there watching him, not understanding, as if seeing him with my boots was itself a question, the question I’ve needed to ask since God knows when but didn’t ask. What’s with those boots? Grunwald intercepts him, as the last men climb up and leave. They’re Ortega’s boots, they’ve been here since that day, they made the whole crossing with us, Olivero replies. And why are you taking them? Grunwald asks, patting the fake wire glasses stashed in his jacket pocket. I’m bringing them to his wife, or his mother, I think they’ll want to have them, Olivero replies, looking at the dark dent at the tip of my boot. It’s strange, isn’t it? Grunwald adds, It’s as if he… as if he… well, you know I believe in that stuff… but don’t pay any attention to me. Are you going up? You first, says Olivero, and while Grunwald climbs and now—from down here—you can only see his boots, Olivero looks me in the eye and completes the sentence that had remained unfinished: It’s as if he’d been with us all the time. And then he begins to climb the ladder, too, I see him go up rung by rung till he flows into the night up there. Someone closes the ladder from the outside and I get the feeling I should be confused, but oddly enough I’m not; I remain there staring upward for a while without summoning the energy to do anything, and now, suddenly, I walk toward the galley, not knowing exactly why till I get there and stand before the open door. Even though it seems ridiculous, I look for the surviving jar of capers, I look on the counter, in the cupboards, in the drawers, but it’s not there. Then I go to my bed; the sheets are tangled, just as I left them, the book open to the last page. I climb into my bunk; any minute now the lights will go off, so meanwhile I take advantage of the time to read a little: the animal has reached a point where he doesn’t want to know anything for sure, he’s satisfied with choosing a nice chunk of skinned red meat and he curls up on a pile of dirt, at least there will be some silence and he’ll be able to dream all he wants. But I can’t go on, my lids are heavy, and I understand that I’ll end up falling asleep pretty soon, asleep with the question, tired as I am from walking around and not finding anything.

PATRICIA RATTO is an Argentine writer and teacher. She is the author of the novels Pequeños hombres blancos ( Little White Men , 2006), Nudos ( Knots , 2008), and Trasfondo ( Background , 2012) and the story collection Faunas ( Wildlife , 2017), all published by Adriana Hidalgo Editora. Many of her short stories have been published in literary magazines and anthologies, while her novels have previously been translated into Italian, and her novella, Trasfondo, is scheduled to be turned into a feature film by award-winning Argentine director Pablo Giorgelli. Proceed With Caution is her English language debut.

ANDREA G. LABINGER has published numerous translations of Latin American fiction. Gesell Dome , her translation of Guillermo Saccomanno’s noir novel Cámara Gesell (Open Letter, 2016), won a PEN/Heim Translation Award and was long-listed for the Community of Literary Magazines and Presses’ Firecracker Award. Her most recent translation, Saccomanno’s 77 (Open Letter 2019) was selected as a finalist for the 2020 Best Translated Book Awards.

Copyright © 2021, Patricia Ratto

English Translation Copyright © 2021, Andrea G. Labinger

The stories in this collection originally appeared in different form in the following publications:

“Rara Avis,” “Chinese Boy,” “As If The World Were Ending,” “Neko Café,” and “The Guest” originally published in Spanish as “Rara Avis,” “Muchacho Chino,” “Como si se acabara el mundo,” “Neko café,” and “El invitado” in the collection Faunas © 2017 by Adriana Hidalgo Editora, Francisco de Vittoria 2324, Planta Baja, Ciudad De Buenos Aires, Argentina

Submerged originally published in Spanish as Trasfondo © 2012 by Adriana Hidalgo Editora, Francisco de Vittoria 2324, Planta Baja, Ciudad De Buenos Aires, Argentina

“Black Dog” originally published in Spanish as “Perro negro” in the anthology GOLPES, MEMORIAS DE LA DICTADURA © 2016 by Planeta-Seix Barral, Av. Diagonal, 662-664, 08034 Barcelona

“Quintay” was originally published in Spanish in Hispamerica: Journal of Literature at the University of Maryland (Year XLVII, No. 140, 201) and in Summer Supplement 12 of the Argentine newspaper Página 12 (January, 2019)

“Proceed With Caution” was originally published in Spanish in Summer Supplement 12 of the Argentine newspaper Página 12 (January, 2020)

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