Macedonio Fernández - The Museum of Eterna's Novel

Sweetheart: “And then what happens?”

The President approaches Maybegenius and tells him:

“Listen, Maybegenius, I have a job for you.”

“If it’s a really hard job, Mr. President, why not give it to the Lover, who has the talent of unflappability? Anyway my brains have been under the weather for a few weeks.”

“Your eyes have been busy, though.”

“I don’t understand, Mr. President.”

“I’ll tell you another time.”

“The Lover seems very bright and calm to me. It seems like he knows everything that I’m doing and thinking, and he smiles about it. I don’t like him to look at me, even though he saved me from the dogs. As you know, Mr. President, the day I came it would have looked pretty bad for me if the Lover hadn’t come to my aid so quickly. Frankly, Mr. President, I sometimes think I’m dreaming if I look at him.”

“That’s because you don’t yet have faith in his eternity, which is the same thing as not having faith in him: a mortal is a non-being. If you must know, he seems real enough to me, but like everyone, sometimes he doesn’t, when my faith is flagging.”

“Regardless, when I have to do something, or talk, or instruct, I prefer him not to look, although sometimes he does anyway, and I perform badly. If it weren’t for that I’d be with him all the time.”

“Or perhaps you prefer other company?”

Maybegenius looks at him; he doesn’t think the President really said it, he thinks he only imagined it, so he doesn’t answer.

“Good. You will procure for us the support or discretion of Petrona. You must conquer her feelings in such a manner that, out of deference to you, she will abstain from talking about and disclosing matters concerning ‘La Novela.’”

“Very well, Mr. President, I’ll work on it.”

“Just now Sweetheart was asking for you. She’s lying down.”

“I’ll go see her. Also this gives me an idea about how to win Petrona’s friendship. How much time do we have to start working on what you proposed?”

“Two months.”

“Farewell.”

“Farewell. Close the window if the light’s coming in while she’s asleep; you can talk to her later.”

Sometimes Maybegenius thought about Sweetheart while he was with her; other times he dreamed about her; other times he thought about her without looking at her (Eterna would never forgive this in the President). But she was always Sweetheart.

(It hasn’t yet been stated that Maybegenius truly had certain physiological traits… eyes… a nose… but caramba, that’s a lot of work and now I remember that I have his photograph in my pocket, which, by the way, was taken at the renown studio of Generosius the Pole and is labeled: “Photography That Comes Out Well.” I have it here, with the tremendous dedication that Maybegenius gave me: “Kind Author: even though I have been unable to detect any trace of the talent, sentimentality, caustic wit, and joviality that others attribute to your personality, I love and admire you profoundly, and I believe you to be the most sequential and clear of novelists because you helped me to entertain Sweetheart and to attract her attention, and you’re on my side in working for her happiness. Your friend and humble colleague, Maybegenius”)

MOMENT OF ETERNA AND THE PRESIDENT, SCENES OF THEIR FIGURES, DANCING

The two pardons of Eterna.

Mischief in Eterna’s fingers, isn’t that forgiveness itself, the capitulation to love?

Today the President is at the mercy of Eterna’s mischief.

Today he’s at the mercy of her forgiveness.

Eterna is earthy of body, and yet no sign of desire shows on her face. She is just as exquisite as a headmistress, and no one can tell the difference between seeing her and thinking of her.

The President can’t tell, either: he only knows that each time she comes to see him, Eterna covers his eyes with a little handkerchief that is embroidered with circles and diamonds, or sometimes just with her hands, pretending to put the handkerchief to his eyes: the

President can’t manage to say whether he sees it or imagines it. If he says that he’s seen it, Eterna asks him how many circles there are, and how many diamonds; he almost never gets it right. And she’s crestfallen, because when the President sees her well, it’s when his soul is at its most powerful.

Today the President is more immediately aware of both pardons: a powerful intellectual discovery reached in the last two days makes him directive and intellectual, seeking clarity in their love. Sometimes the President wastes the two pardons, the current one and the one from the past. When that happens, Eterna’s sadness is complete; the President’s fatal days are upon him; after which he has nights of dejection and later a tenderness of new delicacy. Today the President and Eterna are in a moment of clarity.

SPACE WHEREIN A DIALOGUE WITHOUT AUTHOR, OR NON-AUTHORED PROSE, TAKES PLACE: MAYBEGENIUS AND SWEETHEART ATTEMPT AN EXPERIENTIAL MERGER.

Maybegenius: “Sweetheart, don’t ask me what we have in ‘La Novela’ today. This time we’re not in character, we’re going to speak for ourselves. This time we are, we are not characters; to understand what I mean, Sweetheart, look up there, at the heading for this page.”

“But are you asleep, Sweetheart?”

“I was, but I heard you come in.”

“So there’s no point in tiptoeing?”

“Regardless you would have made noise to wake me up, so you wouldn’t have to miss out on our conversation.”

“It’s true that I have here some great conversation, but I know how to tiptoe and what’s more, I always walk around that way, because he who knows love does not seek out worldly ears.”

“You know love?”

“See? Even you didn’t notice! I tiptoe around with my love.”

“You are provoking in me a great desire to converse. I’m going to get up.”

“Should I go, then?”

“Stay, but don’t look, and that way I can keep this conversation that you might otherwise have given to the Lover. The Reader shouldn’t look, either, now and any time I undress. Read, but only over your shoulder.”

“It’s true, they are peeking.”

“I can’t even hear you breathe. Are you thinking?”

“It’s strange — I’m not thinking. I’m waiting to see you, let me turn around now.”

“You can. I’m preparing the mate and I forgot that you were turned around so you wouldn’t see me; I thought you were entertaining yourself by looking out at the countryside.”

“The pampa is peaceful, but I wouldn’t take my eyes off of you for that; you wouldn’t let me look, remember? But before I tell you what the President has ordered me to bring him, let me congratulate you on this insuperable mate. ”

“So the President is very active, then?”

“So much so that just now, with this last mate , I am on my way to get ready for my first interview with the lady Petrona.”

“Nevertheless, the President also has his calm moments: sometimes he just watches his cigarette turn to ashes, and he burns himself.”

“True. What an intense life the President leads, under his apparent placidity. I’m going now.”

“What, already?”

“Not ‘already’ for me, certainly. Nor for you, since if the President finds your rooms in disarray he will be happy, deducing that you are placidly sleeping; he always recommends that we not wake you.”

“He hasn’t come to his office today, nor yesterday except for very late, when the lady came with her black dress.”

“Just a moment ago I saw through the window that they had given her a room.”

“Why?”

“Because she paces.”

“What do you mean?”