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IN THE BLOOD
Eugenio Cambaceres
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CHAPTER I

With a large head, flat features, hooked nose, protruding lower lip, in
the evil expression of his small, sunken eyes, a vulture-like capacity
was evident.

He was wearing a shabby gray corduroy suit, a round hat with wide
brims, a gold hoop in his ear, the spiked double sole of his shoes
marking the rhythm of his heavy and laborious walk on the uneven
stones of the street.

From time to time, slowly, he looked around him, he knocked - just

one - on the knocker of some door, and, bent under the weight of the
load his men were supporting: "tachero"... he shouted out loud.
gangosa: "componi calderi, tachi, siñora?"

For a moment, stretching his neck, he gazed into the hallway.

He then continued on his way amid noises of brass and old iron.
There was an ox's resignation in his step.

Some scruffy, disheveled mulatto woman used to appear; He joked, he haggled, he

insisted, he "pleaded", he ended up settling with him.

Little by little, in his tenacious and patient fight to live, he reached the
southern end of the city, entering a house on San Juan Street
between Bolívar and Defensa.

Two rows of rooms with board walls and zinc roofs, similar to the
niches of some immense dovecote, bordered the long, narrow patio.

Here and there among the garbage on the filthy ground, the fire of a
brazier burned, a pot smoked, the grease of a frying pan squeaked,
while under the scorching atmosphere of a January sun, numerous
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Groups of neighbors formed, happy, the men joking, the women embarrassed,
whispering.

Something unusual, abnormal, seemed to disturb the calm, the calm animality of
that human overcrowding.

Without noticing the others, without stopping at anything on his part, the
crestfallen Italian was heading towards the back, when a voice called out to him:

-You are going to find news at your house, Don Esteban.

-What does he say?

-His wife is somewhat unwell.

Limiting himself to raising his shoulders, he calmly continued walking, walking

until he came upon the half-opened leaf of a door, the penultimate one on the left.

A scream came out, was heard, echoed, followed by other atrocious, heartbreaking
screams when opening it.

-Are you sick? -the trash man made, advancing towards the only bed in the room,
where a woman was moaning, arched in pain:

-Madonna, Holy Madonna...! -she only managed to repeat, while thick, mature,
majestic, with a black lace veil on her head, a huge brooch on her neck and
hoops and chain and double rings, many on her fingers, she was standing next
to the cot the midwife.

He had bent over, he had rolled up one arm, his right one, up to the elbow; kept
it inserted between the sheets; Like someone who prays litanies, he lavished
words of consolation on the patient, maternally exhorting her: "Coraque Duña
María, lanquelito is coming, é lúrtimo... coraque!..."

Mute and as if oblivious to the scene his eyes were witnessing, the man remained
motionless for a moment.
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Then, wrinkling his brow and muttering a profanity, he turned his back, grabbed a
toolbox, lifted up a bench, and, sitting outside the door, calmly began to work, beginning
to change the broken bottom of a bucket. .

Suffocated by the incessant impact of the hammer, the woes of the parturient woman
followed one another, however, more frequent, more terrible each time.

Like a lost echo, he could hear the midwife's voice giving him courage:

And unfortunately... blush!...

Animation grew in the groups of tenants; the women, in an uproar, became indignant;
Between bitter and rude laughter, the men's crude comments broke out.

The trash man, meanwhile, imperturbable, continued hitting.

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CHAPTER II

Thus he was born, they called him Genaro and, ragged and rickety, with
the mark of anemia on his face, with that yellowish pallor of poorly fed
creatures, he grew until he was five years old.

The father opened the doors wide one day. The time had come to be
charged with revenues for her upbringing, her mother's scrofulous breast,
her ration in the daily filth.

And then for Genaro began the wandering life of the urchin, the wandering
existence, without restraint or control, of the street boy, seasoned, made
since childhood to all the low and brutal perversion of the environment in
which he was educated.

They were, at dawn, the trips to the markets, the long stays on the corners, the changas,
the basket delivered to the home, the close intimacy with the stall holders, the weight of
fruit or fatura earned in the confinement of the back room.

The hallway, later, the courtyards of the printing presses, the vice
encouraged, fostered by leisure, the cigarette, the hole, the hopscotch and
the piles of copper, the dirty playing card, the trick in the corners.

It was, outside the theaters, at night, the trade of passwords and puchos.
An entire organized, disciplined gang parked at the gates of Colón, with its
laws, its rules, its boss: a thirteen-year-old mulatto, thoughtful and mature
like a man, cynical and depraved like an old man.

Brave and loyal, on the other hand, always ready to be the first to face
danger, to stand up for one of his own, to not give in even to the police
officer's machete, the brown Andinas exercised all the power over others.
omnipotent influence of a leader, all the absolute and blind dominion of a
master.

Late on performance nights, when the last intermission arrived, at a word

of order from the leader, the band dispersed, leaving the deserted lobby of
the theater, in groups retreating to their hideouts: the toscas on the ground
floor, the benches of the "Paseo de Julio." ", the walls
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lonely seats of some building under construction, where he held his

mysterious meetings.

Under the patriarchal tutelage of Andinas, there, in a circle, with their

legs crossed, the distribution of the profits took place, the distribution
of the daily profit: their quota, their portion to each according to their
age and importance, the value of the services. loaned to the gang.

The "feasts", the "treats", in the dim light of a tallow candle stub came
later, the roll of sausage, the pound of raisins, the pound of walnuts,
the jar of cane, the dinner paid out of pocket, stolen perhaps, relieved
from the counter of a warehouse in unfortunate hours of scarcity.

Like bats that gain the shelter of their niches, to sleep, to play, before
the dream ended to give them up, they finally threw themselves here
and there, in the corners. They played men and women; They made
them the greatest, they made them the smallest, and, as if in a cloak
of shame, wrapped in darkness, infected by the poison of vice to the
depths of their soul, two by two on the ground, rolling around, they
tried to imitate the example of their parents, they parodied the scenes
of the round tenement rooms with all the secret refinements of a
precocious and already profound corruption.
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CHAPTER III

The situation meanwhile improved on San Juan Street.

Consecrated without ceasing, night and day, to his petty traveling traffic, with the
unbreakable tenacity of the fixed idea, the father continued to drag an existence
of deprivation and misery.

The mother, weak and sick, washed from dawn to dusk, however she spent her
days on the ground floor of the Residence.

Genaro, for his part, under pain of facing the former's formidable wrath, used to give him
the fruit of his adventures, from time to time he also brought his small contingent destined
to increase the family's wealth.

Thrown ashore from the deck of the steamer with no other capital than his greed
and his two arms, and thus saving on the roof, clothing, food, barely living to
avoid dying of hunger, like those ownerless dogs that prowl from door to door.
door in the garbage of the houses, the garbage man came to round up a small
amount.

With it he was going to be able to realize the dream that he had long cherished:
open a house, establish himself, have a clientele, have a fixed number of dealers;
the profit in this way must grow, a hundredfold, it was certain... Oh, he would be
rich, he would be!

And dazzled by the magical perspective of gold, he had the illusion of seeing
himself at the Bank month after month, going to exchange the roll of bills that he
had wrapped around his waist for the coveted deposit book.

One by one he toured the southern neighborhoods of the city, observed, thought,
studied, looked for a convenient point, away from all adverse competition; He
finally decided, after long months of work and patience, to rent a hut that was on
the corner of Europa and Buen Orden streets, which, after proper installation,
was baptized by him in green and red letters, on a white background. , with the
pompous name of the Great Tinsmith of Vesuvius.
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His calculations could not have been wrong, it seemed that luck would be happy
to help him, and, in favor of the daily increase in the population towards those
sides, the Neapolitan managed to accumulate, over time, relatively enormous
benefits.

Faithful to the line of conduct that had been drawn up, he did not alter his lifestyle
in the slightest. The same narrowness, the same sordid avarice reigned in the
management of the house. The abuse, the beatings, the whippings of his son
whenever he had the misfortune of returning with empty pockets; the insults, the
brutal treatment of his wife, condemned to bear the weight of tasks that her
faltering health made her incapable of resisting.

And they were, in the presence of some timid and humble reflection, of some
shadow of annoyance or resistance, the clumsy and rude outbursts, the foul
oaths, the blasphemies, similar to the cat that bristles and paws at the mere
threat of seeing itself snatched away by the prey it he has between his nails.

She, however, meekly resigned in everything that concerned her own fate, fought,
rebelled when it came to her son; With that clear intuition that the secret instincts of
maternal love communicate, day after day she stressed the need for a change in
Genaro's life, she requested, she demanded from the father that the child be educated,
that he be sent to a school.

What was going to happen to him, what future did fate have in store for him, abandoned
like this to his sole discretion?

But school was expensive, it was essential to pay expenses, buy clothes, books.
Then, going to school, the boy would waste his time, he would stop making his
day, earning his bread and everything, with what purpose, for what purpose?...
to know how to read and write?

Bah!... the Neapolitan grumbled with a sneer, no one had taught him those
things... not even damned if they had ever done so!...

Nothing, nothing, that he continued like this, as he was going, as he had until
then, making a living, trading and selling newspapers, something was something...
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Later, in any case, being older, older now, I would see, I would congratulate
him, I would make him apprentice in some trade...

Resolved on her part not to give in, she was also stubborn and certain of the
obedience of Genaro, whose complicity, through caresses, flattery and
promises, she had managed to win over, the mother imagined carrying out her
plan secretly. She, alone, without anyone's help...

And, in exchange for accelerating the progress of the evil that was slowly
consuming her, busy, even more overloaded with work, she was finally able to
raise a small sum, cover the first expenses, buy a suit, a hat, and booties for
her son.

He would make him go out dressed, without his father seeing him, at night, in
the hallway. There was a school around the corner; I would put the boy there.
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CHAPTER IV

Genaro was ten years old when, determining a profound change in his
existence, an unforeseen event occurred.

Shouting for help, one morning his mother ran to open the front door. Her husband must
have died, she had wanted to wake him up, she had called him, she had touched him,
he didn't answer, he was cold.

Dissolved in tears and pleading, she asked them to come in, to see, to tell her; With broken
words, with incoherent phrases, she entrusted herself to the favor of God and the Virgin,
pressing her forehead between both hands, she wandered as if in a daze, she went back and
forth madly.

Several people who happened to pass by at that moment, other people from the
neighborhood gathered together: the grocer across the street, the mattress
worker on the sidewalk, the black security guard, the porter on the corner, and
they all entered the house in droves.

As if he had tried to crawl on his belly, face sideways, shrunken and hard,
the Neapolitan was lying on his canvas cot.

A foamy, black drool flowed from his lips contracted by the rictus of death,
dripping along his beard. He had put his arm under the pillow, he stuck his
hand out further, he had, in the twitch of his fingers, clenched the key to
the counter drawer.
An end of the sheet, tangled between the deceased's legs, hung over the
side until it touched the brick floor.

In a corner of the floor, on a mattress, Genaro slept.

Torn from the dream that was overwhelming him, from that dreamless
dream of childhood, slowly stretching, he rubbed his eyes and sat up.

Dazed, his brain still dull, he looked around him with a stupid look of
astonishment. What did the presence of
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those people, where did they come from, why were they there, what were all those
people doing in their house?

An intruder had just gotten rid of the others, he had approached the dead man and
curious, nosy, he was feeling him, moving him:

-I need to shake the wildebeest... no, no... he's not going to eat that bread anymore! -
Shaking his head, the dark-haired guard declared in a sententious tone.

Genaro screamed then, a high-pitched scream as he understood, and he burst into tears.

Several of those present, feeling sorry for him, wanted to take him away from there, they
gently took him away with words of comfort, they took him out to the patio of the house,
where he fell in despair into his mother's arms.

But, little by little, other agents arrived, a Commissioner arrived, then a doctor.

He examined the corpse, just from a distance, for a moment; He asked for a pen and
paper and reported that it was a case of organic vice.

It was, meanwhile, necessary to proceed with the proceedings and procedures of the
case. From among the neighbors they offered, becoming restrained: the owner of the
store was in charge of the shipment, the mattress maker of the funeral and the casket,
while surrounded by her acquaintances, the widow busied herself with dressing the
body, silently, with that meek conformity of people who do not think and in whom the
soul, unable to find a single cry of revolt or protest, falls silent in the presence of pain,
like a moldy spring.

When night fell, however, the mortuary apparatus was sent to the house: a coconut lining
box, a braided merino cloak, four torches in four enormous candlesticks dented from
blows, copper, silver-plated.

The dead man's friends had spread the word for the wake. Little by little they arrived one
by one, two by two, in full cloth.
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black, with donkey-belly hats and thick, freshly polished boots. Left-handedly
they walked, went and arranged themselves in a line along the wall, around
the catafalque raised in the back room.
One or another, head down, on tiptoe, approached the dead man and for a
brief moment contemplated him. Some hit the threshold as they entered,
raised their leg and turned their faces away.

In the store, on the counter, there was bread, wine, cheese, sausage and a
box of hamburger cigarettes also brought from the warehouse.
A kettle of coffee was constantly boiling on the kitchen stove.

Without managing to realize, to take charge exactly of everything abnormal,

extraordinary that he had seen happening hours before, still confused and
as if in a dream, with the unconscious curiosity of childhood, he looked
around him, immobile, on a chair. , in a corner.

After the first moment of painful stupor, of fright, something clear and distinct
was evident, however, clearly emerging from the depths of his heart and
soul: a complete indifference, a lack, an absolute absence of regret, of
feeling in the presence of his father's corpse.

The old man would not challenge him again, punish him, mistreat him; There
would no longer be anyone humping him; he had died.

And what was that, dying and being buried... did the souls know how to walk
in pain at night in the holes, as they said?...
Would it be true what the catechism said, that everyone was resurrected on the day
of judgment?

Who knew if he would die like the others, if God, great God, didn't save him
for seed!...

The old splashes of wax, yellowish on the black background of the funeral mantle,
distracted his attention for a moment, and he began to count them.

He was also going to go to the accompaniment, by car, along Florida Street to Recoleta.
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His mother had recommended that he leave early, buy a black suit at the clothing store
on the other block and have his hat put in mourning.

He had the money that I had given him in his pocket.

Hadn't he lost it?... He put his hand in and touched the money.

There wasn't going to be school for him in those days... and maybe they would give him
a holiday until after the funeral... how lucky!...

The atmosphere, however, was charged; A stench of death, sweat and garlic breath
was beginning to be felt. In the current of air from the half-closed doors, the ashes of
the torches smoked; It looked cloudy like a foggy night.

The cobwebs on the ceiling, enormous, oscillated slowly, similar to the waves of a dead
sea, while confused with the distant song of the night watchman in the middle hours, a
continuous hum of hoarse voices whispered analogous to that of a nest of mangangaes .

The belly of the corpse rose imperceptibly.

Genaro, finally overcome by fatigue, leaning his body against the wall, arched at the
waist, with both feet dangling from the seat, had fixed his eyes on the light of a hatchet.
They burned, itched, they made him uncomfortable; He rubbed them from time to time,
made a face of annoyance; Little by little he closed them and nodding his head he
ended up falling deeply asleep.
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CHAPTER V

There were four cars: the hearse with black feather dusters and a figure like an angel, made
on top, kneeling and like a cross.
Then they parked the other three, in the square, transformed, as if disguised as a "livery", with
the help of the beaver hat and the coachmen's frock coat.

On the block, the rowdy people neglected their chores; The women, some with babies in their
arms, came out, crowded the doors, invaded the sidewalks, greeted each other, spoke loudly
about the event, commented on it; one or another man joined in the conversation.

From time to time, through the bars of some "decent house", the oval of an eye and the tip of
a nose would appear, while, right in front of the dead man's house, in the middle of the street,
the crowded boys turned and pushed each other around. look. It was that they were taking
the box out at that moment, six of them, by hand, through the hallway.

But the door was too narrow to go out straight into; They had to take shape, they changed
hands, they struggled, they fell to the cobblestones, the sound of their footsteps could be
heard staggering with the weight like cart horses taking off.

A mourning carriage followed behind the funeral. The grocer and two more, acting as relatives,
occupied it and made Genaro come up with them.

A problem, however, arose at the last minute, a delay occurred: the guests were many, the
cars were not enough; It was necessary to go out in search of one, there on the block, in the
Plaza de la Concepción. Without time to show up "dressed" himself, the coachman was very
dirty.

Finally, from one end to the other, like shots being screwed, the whips cracked and little by
little, laboriously, in the jiggling of the cobblestone wells, the wood creaking, the iron
squeaking, the springs ringing with the noise of knockers. rattle, trot
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Lazy with the horses, the procession moved, heading to take the "Calle
Larga de la Recoleta", but not before touring the city through Victoria and
Florida.

When the body arrived at the cemetery, in the chapel, a fat man, with a
ruffled cassock and an unshaven beard, as if grumbling under his breath,
sprinkled the box with a cotton swab.

The escort then advanced along the main street. It was warm inside despite
the wind, a strong wind from the river that swayed the black silhouette of the
cypress trees, forcing them to bow, as if, the owners of the house, they had
wanted to greet the recently arrived dead man.

The six of the procession who carried the box, without hats, were sweating
in the sun's rays, panting, suffocating, passing their handkerchiefs over their
foreheads, dragging their feet in fatigue, moving as if tangled, stumbling at
times against the adobe tips of the poorly leveled floor.

Three times they stopped to rest, they walked as many times, they left the
paths of lined tombs behind them, now stepping on the back of the cemetery,
the tall, dense grass of the land where the poor rotted.

"Here you are," the vinous voice of an old Italian cemetery foreman merely
babbled in the silence.

He had pointed to a recently opened grave among the multitude of crosses

scattered on the ground, old, some unpainted and half covered by weeds,
others fresh from those days.

The shovelfuls of earth, thrown from above, did not take long, however, to
fall on the box, crashing against the lid, hitting it, as they followed each other,
with a soft hollow sound, like when walking on a bridge.

One by one Genaro saw them piling up, without pain, without oppression; he
burial, the act itself, the materiality of the event itself, everything absorbed
him, completely occupied his attention: the rope first, a thick twisted rope,
tied with the help of two slipknots and
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which had been used to lower the drawer: this one just fit; then the shovels
the hole they had dug and which was now being filled.
He would have liked to have one so he could start shoveling dirt too.

All that was left was to place the cross, moments later. A neighborhood
carpenter carried it under his arm; It was made of black pine, the epitaph
was written with hand-made letters, in white paint, over a heart nailed to
the foot.

Once the event was finally over and the crowd had left, at the direction of
one of those present, Genaro only left the group, went and placed a crown
on the tomb.

Standing on his two feet, his hair hanging over his forehead, his hat in his
left hand, his right hand in the lapel of his jacket, he could make out the
portrait of the tackman; a yellowed photograph, stuck in a niche, behind
glass.

It was a pious remembrance consecrated by the widow to the memory of the deceased.
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CHAPTER VI

Two days after the funeral ceremony took place, a judicial business agent, a resident of
the parish, knocked on the dead man's house.

He was going to see the widow, to visit her and to offer his condolences for the misfortune
she had suffered. Little by little, in the course of the conversation, she suggested to him
the desirability of a prompt and timely settlement of her affairs, the need in which she
found herself to proceed with the liquidation of her husband's will.

He concluded by offering to point out, at the same time, a lawyer he knew, a very decent,
very capable and very honest person, who would gladly take charge of directing the
matter.

She knew well that not everyone could be trusted "today." The profession was so
degraded at once, and the poor especially, were stretched in a way when they had the
misfortune of falling badly!...

In lawyers, attorneys, notaries and other stories, everything got out of hand if you were
careless, everything was eaten up by a bunch of builders; hundreds of thousands of
pesos, large inheritances evaporated, went up in smoke like that, overnight without
knowing how... It was a scandal, a mischief, a scoundrel... And who finally came to pay
the price? ? the unhappy orphans who were reduced to complete destitution...

With him there was no danger of such a thing happening... no, no, I hadn't been careful,
I could be calm in that regard... what hope!... he wasn't one of those!

But she declared that she had no shadow of a doubt about the agent's probity, appearing
convinced, saying that it would be so, that it was enough for him to assure it, she had
just remembered, while the other was speaking, the name of a lawyer to whose house
she had access; I had been washing the family's clothes for years; The lady was one of
his oldest "marchantas" and she had been very good to him.
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She always paid him punctually at the end of each week; He never discounted
his faults and even used to give Genaro used children's clothes.

Mentally at that moment he made the resolution to go see her, to get advice from her,
and, of course, avoiding entering into any commitment, with good manners, on good
terms, he tried to be free from the agent's importunate presence; He didn't know yet, he
would think about it, he would answer him, he could leave him the address of his house,
he would send Genaro to him if it was resolved.

Once in contact with the husband of her protector and after putting the matter to
rest, transmitting the data and background required to appear before the Judge,
just as she was leaving, her son's widow spoke.

It seemed that the boy was going to be very talented; The teacher was very
happy, he said he had a head. But since he was already starting to grow up, he
didn't know what path his mother should take, what action to take with him:
whether to leave him in the same school or put him as a pupil in a school. The
creatures, it was already known, were creatures, they had no judgment, they
liked to play and get into mischief. Sometimes the boy would escape, he would
get together with others and she, alone and always sick, couldn't take care of
him.

I would have liked to place him with some formal person so that he could take
care of something at his side and at the same time continue going to school.

The lawyer just found himself without a clerk, he had just hired his in those days,
a scoundrel who had him tired, a lazy, slob, who was stealing his money from
vices, cigarettes, weed and sugar. for the mate between the day:

"Send me your son, madam," he concluded, saying goodbye to the widow, "I'll
see what he's capable of and, if it's of any use to me, I'll have him here with me
in the study."
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CHAPTER VII

The succession of the tacher was a simple arrangement; He left his affairs
in perfect order, there were no "trusts", there were no debts; Three hundred
and ninety thousand pesos deposited in the Bank of the Province, plus a
value of thirty thousand in inventory, formed the assets of the inheritance,
and easily, a buyer having presented itself for the latter, a compatriot of the
deceased, who paid everything at appraisal and She took over the business,
after a few months, owner of half of the assets and guardian of her son,
the widow found herself in possession of a small fortune: four hundred
thousand pesos more or less, deduction made from legal expenses.

He used three hundred thousand in public fund securities. A small house

was for sale, outside Chile Street, between San José and Zeballos, "three
rooms, kitchen, well and other amenities." She made it her own and
occupied it shortly after, she settled there with her son, happy, satisfied,
despite the continuous suffering of her poor body, happy with that happiness
of the humble in the presence of material life, of assured bread, of to know
that the threat of misery no longer weighs on them, that the terrifying
prospect of a hospital bed is no longer offered to their eyes.

Another cause, another circumstance unrelated in itself to money concerns,

awakening in her heart the instinctive pride of mothers, contributed to her
well-being.

For her, I didn't ask for more, nor what more was I going to ask for or expect now?

But he secretly harbored an ambition, he dreamed of making his son a lord,

a rich man who would walk around, like the others, dressed in a frock coat.
And the lawyer had told him that Genaro was intelligent; or lawyer.
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His dream was, therefore, beginning to come true; It seemed like heaven wanted to
favor her...
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CHAPTER VIII

Hurrying to follow her lawyer's advice, early the next morning, the widow
made her son get out of bed and gave him the best of her suits to wear,
the clothes he had bought on the day of his father's funeral. She herself
took out her new veil, her dress for going to mass - a black silk dress with
ruffles - and soon they both went out into the street, heading towards the
center.

The mother is abstracted, reflective, lost in her ramblings, rocked by the

sweet voice of her hope.

He imagined how great his Genaro was, already a man, his name prestigious with the
title of doctor.

Doctors were everything in America, Judges, Deputies, Ministers... why,

due to the sheer force of his knowledge and talent, could he not become
one too, to be Minister, Governor and perhaps even President of Buenos
Aires? Aires, who had been told that he was like a king in Italy... his son a
king!

Or a doctor, a great doctor who performed miraculous cures, whose presence was implored
as a favor within rich families and who assisted the poor for free, like a providence, like a
God...

Who knew if, with the help of the Lord, it was not reserved for her to heal
herself from her cough, from that cursed cough that had been tearing her
chest for years!...

And in his feverish exaltation of consumption, as if his illness idealized the

feelings of his soul as he emaciated the flesh of his body, he took pleasure
in thus forging a future of greatness for his son, in cherishing a whole world
of visions, interviews with the through the magical veil of her motherly
illusions.

Genaro let herself be carried away by her, as if dragged along, he followed

her in silence, head down, his eyelids swollen with sleep.
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He had become indulgent and lazy since his father's death, now accustomed to the
vagaries of life, spoiled, pampered in everything by his mother.

The clothes he carried with him, moreover, bought a year ago, turned out to be too small;
The seams made him uncomfortable under his arms, the new, narrow ankle boots
squeezed his feet, hurt the tips of his fingers, and caused blisters on his heels.

Later, and despite the kind of secret vainglory that he felt awakened in him at the idea of
being able to call himself a student at the University, the change of school foreshadowed
a long series of displeasures and annoyances.

What would the teachers be like? He had heard that the first thing taught was Latin; For
all he cared about Latin!... What other boys would there be? A group of proud people,
without a doubt, who would look down on him and believe they were more than him...
Some were going to arm him, it was certain, some story, some he was going to have at
first. They had to try it by throwing in some cock.

Insensibly, both of them brooding, they arrived like this after a long time on the road, to
the market square, they stopped in front of the University at whose door, showing a thick
bunch of keys hanging from his waist, stood the doorman, a nato Galician. nose and
square head.

Timidly, the widow approached and in a low voice, from the sidewalk, addressing him
and calling him Sir, she imposed on him the object that was carrying her.

"There," he limited himself to acting dryly, indicating with a gesture of his lips the entrance
door to the Secretariat, the first door on the left.

Short, thick, plump and, as if by mistake, dressed in a black frock coat instead of wearing
a cassock, the secretary worked among an accumulation of books and papers, old
papers, files, large books, as if in the guise of business books.
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He left his seat when he saw the widow enter, and hurried to attend to
her, restrained, mobile, and loquacious, with a smiling and false Jesuit
loquacity.

-It is a practice, my good lady, that young people undergo, as a

preliminary step, a Spanish grammar exam, without which indispensable
requirement I would find myself, much to my regret, in the event of not
being able to enroll your little son.

The first-year teacher, a son of the country, clubbed, pockmarked and

dressed in a lead-colored frockcoat, just happened to pass by:

"Professor," the employee exclaimed upon seeing him, advancing a few steps and
questioning him happily, in a tone of friendly companionship.

Will you be so kind as to allow?... One minute, nothing more.

It was about examining the child; in order to abbreviate, he could do it

at that very moment; To which the other agreed, declaring Genaro
ready to enter the classroom immediately, for having known how to
answer which pronoun was the one that was used instead of the name.

Outside, in the wide, deep cloister, whose enormous pillars stretched

beneath the flattened mass of the walls, like the legs of a giant on the
body of a dwarf, the students, waiting for the hour, walked around,
parked in groups, talked, orated. , those from the same class argued
together.

There were adults, there were children, well dressed, others poor,
showing a Franciscan poverty in their persons, with shiny clothes on
the elbows and holes in the knees.

Several had gone out to the patio, had begun to fight on the edge of
the well, or towards the other end, in front of the museum stairs, one
or another distracted their time by smoking paper cigarettes, riding on
whale bones here and there. there scattered on the ground, similar to
some monstrous vegetation of enormous mushrooms that had sprouted
between the stones.
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Suddenly a scream sounded, muffled, timid, alone from a corner; now the meow of a
cat in heat, a rooster crow or the hoarse bark of a mastiff.

Then there was silence again, a sullen, solemn silence, pregnant with threats, like that
which on a day of combat precedes the report of the cannon, and a harsh rumor followed
one another, a growl of caged beasts rose, grew, increased, It swelled little by little,
redoubled with violence, burst from a thousand breasts at once, and ended up breaking
into an Indian scream, immense, infernal, thunderous, bouncing off the walls with the
fury of a hurricane wind.

It was that the silhouette of the beadle appeared, crossing the vast patio, sliding along
the cloisters, bad, old, thin.

With an angry hand, he pulled down his visor and pulled on his eternal gray cloth cap
until his ears were folded; and a chorus of curses and denials could be heard between
the sharp folds of her mouth, and in her little green witch's eyes, from the bottom of the
double group of wrinkles on her eyelids, a sinister glow of the flame of brandy sparkled.

-You scoundrels, miserable boys... filthy boys!...

Grim, grim, provocative, but not without, through his false airs of a bully, he failed to
show a shadow of suspicion, with the oblique gait of a wolf crossing between tied dogs,
he hurried to continue, to reach the another extreme, to escape once and for all from
the overflows of the popular torrent that threatened to overwhelm him, seeking asylum
in the safe refuge of some hospitable door.

And then everything returned to its normal state, the formidable anger was silenced,
calm was reborn as if by magic, an atmosphere of peace and harmony reigned. It was
the portentous ray in the serene placidity of a sunny day...
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The first-year Latin students, however, had just entered class that day. Possessed of
instinctive shrinking, intimidated and confused, Genaro was reduced to occupying one
of the last seats, alone on a bench in the back, next to the entrance door.

He wanted, of course, to realize it, to follow the course of the lesson, he tried to
understand, that's why he had come. Impossible; In turn, at a call from the teacher and
standing up, the others spoke a cafila of things that he did not understand and that
surely must have been things in Latin.

How far ahead they were, when they knew it like that and how much he would have to
study to catch up with them!

But tired, annoyed in the long run, his attention distracted, unthinkingly, in a wandering
look, he raised his eyes. The vault of the ceiling, whitewashed with lime, showed a long
crack in the center, running from one end to the other. Through the two large windows,
which, equipped with thick iron bars, illuminated from above in the deep slant of the
wall, one could see the black stain of a roof. Genaro observed that there were many
glasses and they were small; He saw that the frame had been eaten by the moth.

With a mechanical gesture, he immediately looked around him. The benches had deep
incisions: shamelessness of the students, cut into the wood with the help of their pocket
knives; others written or scribbled with pencil on the wall, at hand height; insolence,
insults against teachers, verses in vogue, dirty songs, the kind that usually travel from
mouth to mouth in the eternal currents of human stupidity.

He liked it, it attracted him, he absorbed all that, it was very cute, very funny; He
repeated it between his teeth, he insisted on learning it by heart so he could put on airs
later, go around "painting" with the other boys in his neighborhood.

But regulation time had meanwhile just struck. The teacher leaving the same lesson for
another time, the class was dismissed, but not before declaring that they were all a
troop of
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lazy people and at the same time calmly light a Paraguayan with
anise.

On leaving, Genaro tried to build relationships, to create friendships with

others; He approached a group: was it difficult to learn that, what he had
been hearing from them in class, what did it mean, what did he mean in
Spanish?

It didn't take long for the others to start attacking him. The oldest, the oldest
of the house, a kind of Chinese guy, was in the lead.
How difficult it had to be... the simplest, the easiest!... And while his
companions gathered around Genaro, hurried to surround him, he began
to point-blank at him with a short list of indecencies, an inept parody,
consonants of Latin and Spanish words that, with the grotesque tone of a
magister, he interspersed in Nebrija's text.

And the commotion increased around the unhappy neophyte; They laughed
now, they shamelessly mocked him, they jumped on him, they pushed him,
or, pretending to be distracted, they trampled on his feet.

One from behind, stimulated, enraged, went until he "sucked the buoy";
another, with a trip, length by length, made him fall.

Interested in the joke, they came from all sides, in an unhealthy push of
clumsy curiosity, a swarm gathered, and chased, cornered, harassed like
flies in anthills, they finally carried him on litters to the exit door, pushing
him away. on the street.

He had not yet crossed to the other sidewalk, when he heard that, without
wanting to let go of the hold, his fierce opponents were shouting:

- Cola, leave that man; tail, leave that man!...

The joy of the passersby was in chorus, the commotion, the laughter of the
cooks leaving the market with their baskets, the chatter of the porters
standing on the corner.
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Then, furiously, Genaro tore off a huge paper doll that the others had hung from the skirt
of his chacota.
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CHAPTER IX

Five years followed one another, five years lost by Genaro in the preparatory studies
classrooms. The gradual development of reason, the march of intelligence, the flight of
thought, all that dull work of nature, the latent germination of man thwarted, suffocated
in the adolescent under the apathetic indolence of a state of childhood that blind affection
of the mother unconsciously encouraged.

He was crazy, stupid, and he was going to start studying, to break his head!...
The old woman never said anything to him; He deceived her, he tricked her, he
made her believe, he did whatever he wanted with her...

And in the company of others like him, at class time, day after day the escapades took
place, the games of pool and dominoes in the filthy inns of the market, arguing loudly,
"arguing", pawning even the books in order to to pay off the "expense", if they didn't
make themselves fume due to carelessness when they were in the "bad", very "cut", the
rabonas in a gang to fish for mojarras and "toothed" in the lower part of Recoleta or in
the Boca, to the farms of Flores and Barracas, jumping ditches, climbing fences, stealing
fruit, killing hunger, after a whole morning of running around, with a kidney or a
"chinchulín" in the stove of some old black achuradora in Los Corrales .

At night they also used to talk to each other, the biggest ones, the biggest ones,
the most "package ones." They attended the theaters, negotiating tickets that
Genaro second-hand was in charge of "agency" for them. They preferred the
Argentine, where a troupe of buffos performed, to go out "making a splash" by
saying that they "were doing well" with the French comedians. They had
glasses, pinching their face, between their lip and nose, they stared at the pot,
they smoked pectoral cigarettes in the intervals, they "invited" each other to
"have something" in the "confectionery", each one pretending to be the first to
hurry to pay.

And it was not strange later, among the ambiguous shadows of 25th Street, like
bundles of thieves slipping away, to see them slip along.
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along the walls, suddenly disappearing in a smoky glimpse, behind a room

door to the street inhabited by some ragged Chinese woman.

But, even in the midst of the pleasures of that free and lazy life, Genaro continued to
have hours of bitter suffering. A wound to his self-esteem, deep, cruel, awakened the
first pain in the depths of his soul.

Devoted to one of their favorite distractions, lifting the tip of a skirt, tugging at
a waistband, "making bed" with an open mouth by throwing a handful of
chickpeas in the faces of passers-by, annoying half the world with their mischief
as naughty boys. and ill-intentioned, once wandered in droves through the
streets of the market.

They had just "put the stitches" on a recently disembarked Galician, "fitting"
him with a piece of bait. With the Christian intention of rubbing some old
woman's nose in them, in front of the fish stalls, they smeared their hands in
the water that dripped from a string of hanging shad. Unfortunately, for Genaro,
the fisherman at that moment, an old relation of his family, managed to
recognize him:

-Hey, tachero! How are you, how are you doing? Damn, you've done something
wrong, man, you're a package!

And as if pretending to ignore it, Genaro tried to walk away, pretending not to
understand that the greeting was directed at him.

-What, you don't know me anymore, you don't know who I am?... Could it be
that you wear a jacket and hang out with the rich, that you have lost your
memory... Keep the pesos, friend, and say hello to the people. "Poor people,"
the man insisted in a humming tone. Look what a figure that is, what a trace it
also makes to have pride!

Then, turning to a neighbor - the butcher across the street - he began to speak
out loud about Genaro, telling him that in order to occupy a room in the same
house, he had met his father in the tenement on San Juan Street.
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He went into details; The old man was a carcamán, a posh man; a
scoundrel; not even a sad pot had ever been able to buy for the family; He
did nothing but hit on the woman, he beat the little boy every time he left
him typing and as a little boy, he knew how to take him out into the street,
loaded with tin dishes.

It was a last straw. His face flushed with shame, he averted his gaze,
stammering, not daring to flee from there, suffering horribly from remaining
like a criminal, caught in the act of committing a crime, Genaro found
himself forced to endure that ordeal until the end.

The others opened their eyes wide, they approached, their curiosity piqued,
they crowded together so as not to miss a word of the story.

And they called him tachero, when they separated, shouting, his companions
making a farce of him, and they called him tachero from then on. The
trashcan got his nickname.
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CHAPTER X

Hurt, sour, exacerbated in the long run, that childish and thoughtless joke,
that innocent childish mockery, had concluded, however, hour by hour
repeated with the charged insistence of childhood, to determine a profound
change in Genaro, to remove all the unhealthy germs that fermented in it.

And victim of the imperious suggestions of the blood, of the irresistible hereditary
influence, of the heritage of the race that fatally with life, upon seeing the light, was
transmitted to him, the bad, the base passions of humanity suddenly exploded in his
soul.

Why did the disdain for his father's name fall on him, why had he been
thrown into the world marked beforehand by the finger of fate, condemned
to be less than others, born of a despicable entity, of a degraded Neapolitan
and mean?

What was his fault that this had happened to him so that the others would
depress him in this way, so that they would take pleasure in scolding him,
reproaching him for his origin as an ignominious act, showing him the
shame and ridicule of being the son of a garbage collector?

Would he ever be able to get rid of that stain, erase the memory of the
past, would he see himself inevitably destined to be an object of ridicule
and contempt, among his companions now, among men later, when he too
became a man?

A feeling of hatred invaded him, of deep-rooted and deep hatred, which he

could not, which he did not do, to suffocate in his heart against the memory
of his father, of the old scoundrel, the cause of his misfortune.

He remembered the day of the scene in the market, his story told loudly by
the Chinese fisherman before an absorbed audience, his sad story that he
had always tried so hard to hide from the eyes of the other students, talking
about well-being, decency, of his family's wealth, lying, in his nascent
pretensions of pride, a different social status for his people.
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Anger, spite, a mad desire for revenge assailed him. Oh, if he had been able to take hold
of the scoundrel who had sold him, discovered him, and gone on a rampage, killing
him... but killing him by inflicting a thousand deaths on him, so that he would suffer a
thousand times what he suffered, taking pleasure in tormenting him, over a slow fire. ,
with kicks, like between the posts of the corrals at the top, armed with a penknife in the
days of rabona, he had used to spend hours, entertaining himself in kicking the tarnished
cattle!

The dark perspective of the future that he was forging, the idea that he would never be
able to change his situation, that his shame would be eternal, the humiliation that his
fellow students made him suffer every day, that he would always, everywhere, carry, like
A note of infamy, stamped on his forehead with the seal of his origin, filled his soul with
spite, his heart with bitterness.

But what, he was not a man, should he resign himself like that, cowardly, be content
with his lot, without fighting, without revolting, bending his neck, letting others get their
way, continuing to insult him, looking down on him? , accustomed to handling him, to
seeing nothing but a poor devil, an unhappy person in him, the son of the gringo tachero?

"No," he came to exclaim one day in the desperate outburst of a cornered beast.

He had to put them in line, he had to force them to stop laughing... he had to teach them
to treat him like people... And since only in the chance of birth, in The condition of his
families, in the rank of his birth, made his vanity and his arrogance based, he had to
prove to them that, son of a gringo and all, he was worth ten times more than them!...
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CHAPTER XI

From then on he devoted himself to study, fully, with passion, and a life of struggle began
in Genaro.

It was a constant desire, a desire to know, to stand out among the other students,
distanced now from his former "parranda" companions, whose society he shunned and
whom he usually met only in passing, when crossing the market area or waiting in the
cloisters. class time.

Only during the short time that the attentions of his job demanded of him, he was seen
absent from his home. He would return later, he would withdraw, he would lock himself
within the four walls of his room, alone with his books.

And they redoubled their dedication and effort as the year went by, as the fatal deadline
for the exams approached, the terrible day of the test.

Getting out of bed at dawn on harsh winter mornings, but insensitive to the rigors of the
cold and the lack of rest, the time of class, the time to go out, often surprised him without
time to eat the lightest breakfast. , completely absorbed in work, in that mechanical work
of the routine student persisting with the book, doing, with the tenacity of an ox yoked to
the yoke, to record in his memory what he had tried to understand the day before,
repeating the lesson aloud of the day, ten, a hundred, a thousand times, his throat dry,
his head dizzy, invaded more and more by a confused daze, by a vague unconsciousness
in the automatic rhythm of his incessant march throughout the piece.

Then, under the circle of light from an oil lamp, in the enclosed atmosphere of his student
room, night after night, the evenings followed one another, the endless, endless
evenings, prolonged until the close hours of dawn, rapt , feverish, in the enormous
intellectual tension to which he voluntarily subjected himself, with his elbows nailed to
his desk - a desk of
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green cloth, walnut veneer - forehead pressed between hands, eyes fixed
on some textbook.

A pack of black cigarettes and a mug of cold coffee were always within
reach. And when sleep, that implacable despot in spite of everything,
overcame him, he closed his swollen and burning eyelids with the inflexible
hardness of an iron pincer, suddenly shaking himself with an effort of all of
him, he ran to open the street door, knocked to the stable watchman, and
after obtaining the favor of him knocking moments later on his window,
without even managing to undress, he fell, collapsed crosswise, like a
dead man, on the mattress of his bed.

But it was neither the overwhelming work of the spirit nor the fatigue of the
body that most broke down his organism.

Another kind of suffering, accentuating his innate tendencies more and

more, silently undermined him: emulation, envy, the spite of recognizing
himself as inferior to others.

He gave his all to the fullness of his tasks, he killed himself, he racked his
brains studying, he spent half of his existence among his books and, what
prize, what reward, in the meantime, did he get, what did he earn, what
was he worth, who was he? ?...

Just a vulgar spirit, a student, vulgar and vulgar, and one of those who,
under the artificial layer of study, hide their intellectual indigence; plants
that crawl on the ground without managing to dig in their roots, vegetate
and dry up without bearing fruit, parasites of science, poor devils
condemned to live retracing, they too, their painful via crucis on the law
benches or in the conference rooms. hospital, to ultimately deserve to
have the depressing alms of a usurped title of sufficiency thrown at them
out of pity!

Yes, I thought, that was him, I felt it, I knew it. Abstracted, refocused on
the secret examination that he attempted of his own strength, he found
himself forced to confess, in spite of himself, his impotence, intimately and
alone, there, in the blackness, in the mysterious muteness of his
conscience, in the deepest recesses of his mind. his soul,
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possessed of a feeling of dull discomfort, something like a shameful poor

man's embarrassment.

He opened the book, began the study of a new point; Sometimes he would
read and reread the same paragraph without being able to precisely discern
its content. The words, the phrases, the periods followed each other as
unconnected parts of a heterogeneous whole, without mutual correlation,
without links between them.

It was already the appearance of some gross error, of a shocking

contradiction, which he believed he saw detached from the page, jumping
out at first glance from his reading and which, in a timid distrust of himself,
he applied all his attention to verifying; and a strange dullness, a clumsiness,
a singular difficulty of understanding that, preventing him from touching the
bottom of the matter, from taking possession of it and dominating it, drew,
with a gesture of rage and impatience, foul words from his lips.

He then got up, dazed, walked, seized with agitation, walked from one end of his room
to the other, came back, sat down, and gazed absorbedly at the text.

But any object, then a detail, a nothing distracted him: the patterns on the
paper on the wall, the various colors of the carpet, the cigarette smoke, the
shine of a doorknob.

And meanwhile the book was like a closed door behind which the impalpable
was hidden; that which his inflamed mind pursued in vain, that which he
would have wanted to possess, grasp, dominate and which eluded him,
was gone, rebellious to his gaze, it vanished in an illusion of capricious
curves, of the slippery movements of a snake, that unknown, formless,
immaterial, something like the soul of ink and paper that floated and stirred,
that in the blindness of his brain, surrounded by the silence of the night, he
seemed to hear, palpitate, tremble in a vague beyond, coupled with the dull
squeak of oil burning on the lamp wick.

Ah, not to be him like others he knew were!... They filled the University with
their names, it only seemed that in them a whole
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generation would be incarnated, that the future of the country would be encrypted only
in them!...

What did they do, however, what merits they acquired, what efforts, what sacrifices did
it cost them the reputation, the fame that they had achieved from class to class?

They spent their lives as students devoted to relaxation and pleasures, they were
constantly seen at parties, they went to dances, to clubs; He heard them in the groups,
in the groups of students, talking, conversing, about their loves, about the women of the
world, about their theater lovers, about six nights of thunder, about games and orgies...

But it was that the light of intelligence shone on their foreheads, that they could, that
they knew, that they understood, that the mere privilege of ingenuity was enough to
emancipate them from all improbable work... while he... Oh, he! ..

And, only because endowed with the feline cunning of his race, his only intellectual
baggage, he possessed the gift of evading the gaze of others, of disguising, wrapped in
the tinsel of an insubstantial and hollow verbosity, all the arid emptiness of his head,
There was no shortage of people who said about him that he also had talent... he was
talented... Oh, if only they could see him, if those who believed him that way would
surprise him, face to face, face to face with himself... imbeciles, the only one talent that
he had was to deceive others into believing that he had it!...
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CHAPTER XII

These violent outbursts, the result of a state of nervous heretics caused

by the same constant exacerbation of his morals, soon gave rise to
moments of intolerable boredom, of deep discouragement in Genaro's
spirit.

Why persist, why fight, want to complete a difficult, arduous task, for which
he was not born, inappropriate to the measure of his strength, superior to
the patient effort of his will? It used to be said, when in the midst of the
tumultuous disbandment of his fellow students, sadly upon leaving class,
he walked away with his head down and alone, carrying a disenchantment
in his soul, draining the gall of some new disappointment.

Called to present the topic, forced to take part in the debate, committed in
spite of himself to a reply, he had seen himself, felt himself little by little
hesitate, become entangled, lose footing in the discussion, dominated by
a growing daze, his spirit suspended. in a strange and inexplicable torpor,
as if held in its flight by a brutal hand.

The fire of shame had then risen to his face, a red cloud had enveloped
him, the beating of his heart, with a noise like a drum roll, hammered his
temple, and through the turbulent ringing of his ears, and between the In
the turbulent whirlwind of his ideas, as if pushed by a whirlwind of vertigo,
the voice of his adversary had made its way, clear, sonorous, cruel,
implacable, in his iron logic, similar to the sharp blow of a mace that was
unleashed on him, that would kill him, that would plunge him into the
desperate anxiety of a drowned man.

What outcome, what end had that horrible ordeal reached?

I didn't know it; He had felt himself reborn, returning to self-awareness,

just as a drunk wakes up from his dream, without memory, without even
reminiscence of the events.
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Perhaps that hereditary sagacity, innate in him and which was like the
supreme refuge of his spirit, like a strange and mysterious agent that
governed his actions, like a second instinct of self-preservation that
possessed only in defense of his moral being.

Yes, that last hope remained to him, a word, a well-timed interruption, a

timely moment of silence, an affected gesture of impatience, a smile of
feigned contempt, a sudden inspiration, a trait, in short, of his essential
cunning, alien to the game of intelligence, involuntary, unthought, even
unconscious in him, perhaps the miracle of saving him had occurred, he
had thus been able to escape on a tangent, to emerge successfully from
the difficult step, evading the question, barely touching the difficulty without
tripping over it, as if guided by the needle, the blind mass of a boat skirts
around the reef.

But... what if, abandoned to the resources of his sole intellectual reach, he
had shown himself as he was, what force would it have been for him to
allow himself to tear off his mask, to release his secret to others? -
He then thought with the embarrassed anguish of someone who sees himself falling to the
bottom of an abyss.

It seemed to him that he was already hearing them behind him, before
separating and each one going their own way, happy and playful as they
asked for the fire:

Had you seen, had you noticed how well the little boy had been?... For the
age the baby was. God forgive him, the young man was showing more and
more fray, he was decidedly a bit rough... why would that poor guy study!
The teachers were stealing his money, it would be better for him to go plant
potatoes...

And how right they were!

Brute, yes, a thousand times brute; more than brute, senseless, crazy,
going to crash sterilely against the insurmountable fence of the impossible!...
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He suddenly wanted to start rolling with everything, to get out of that hell once and for
all, to throw away the books, take the field as his own and go take care of sheep!...

Wasn't it the most sensible and sane thing to do if it served no other purpose?

But what about his heroic plans, his projects, his purposes, the solemn promise he had
made?

Didn't it matter, perhaps, for others, for himself, the greatest humiliation, the greatest
shame, to declare himself defeated beforehand?

And just at the idea of such a renunciation, of such a desistance on his part, his pride
and self-esteem were mortally wounded, in a sudden reaction he would then rise up
indignantly, insult himself, insult himself, heap insulting words on his own name, He
called himself weak, mean, cowardly, and drawing new breath, tempering his courage
and his fortitude in the heat of inflamed passion, all that world of base feelings fatally
incarnated in his chest, resentment, envy, hatred, revenge, they ended up waking up
more lively, by once again taking precedence in him with the invincible exclusion of the
absolute.
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CHAPTER XIII

At the end of the year, once, among a large number of his classmates, Genaro had just
descended the wide staircase that led from the classroom to the ground floor.

He came and went uneasily, wandered from one place to another, approached groups,
listened to others speak, with that strange expression on the face of someone who tries to
listen and can't get it right with what he hears, absorbed, absorbed, completely engrossed.
on a single concern: your exam.

It was that he was playing everything for everything in the game, which for him was a
matter of life or death, it was said. An adverse result, a possible failure, in the test to
which he was going to be subjected, meant not only the loss of long years of study, of
an immense amount of perseverance and work, but, in his eyes, what was much more ,
the sacrifice of his revenge, his plan frustrated, his hopes dashed forever; Never in the
presence of a rejection, of a disgraceful reprobation that was going to fall upon him,
would he feel courageous enough to persevere in the arduous struggle, to persist with
new ardor in his designs.

And prey to that invincible emotion that awakens in the soul the proximity of danger, he
struggled in the anguish of waiting, he anxiously and palpitatingly awaited his turn; It
should be his turn that same day, he calculated that it would be after the professors had
returned from lunch, in the early hours of the afternoon, according to the order of the list.

An idea also pursued him, fixed, stuck in his brain; Increasing his anxieties, a sad
premonition afflicted him with the implacable tenacity of an obsession.

Dominated by the deep, irresistible aversion that one of the subjects contained in the
year's program had inspired in him, he had shied away from studying it.
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It was in physics, the expansion coefficient of gases. When he first approached

the point, it had been impossible for him to understand, he had struggled, he had
become confused, his head had been a labyrinth. In one of those impulses that
were familiar to him, he had then crumpled the book, closed it in anger and,
vowing never to open it again on that page, had always made a show of fulfilling
his oath.

But how much and how much he deplored it, it weighed on him now, the thirteenth
of the month and Friday, he thought, thirteen the number of the question in the
program, thirteen his own name on the list!...

Bah! He would then happen to exclaim in a sudden return to himself, worry,

chimeras... it was stupid, foolish to listen to such absurdities, monstrosities of
ignorance, vain, foolish aberrations of the frightened imagination of the masses.

All he had to do was start believing in witchcraft, he too, in gettaturas and wear
coral horns like his father after buying a watch...

Yes, obviously, yes... but why, however, this strange coincidence of three thirteen
meeting?

And a rumination worked on him, occupied his head; emanated from the depths
of his being a secret and mysterious influence from which it was impossible for
him to escape, a superstitious fear, latent in him, of the cult of the prodigious, of
the superhuman, irresistibly dragging him with all the zeal of the blind fanaticism
of his caste. .

The supreme moment was approaching, the hour was going to arrive, to be his
name pronounced; Alone, in the middle of the silence, he would come out, detach
himself from the others, move forward, approach the table.

He himself, similar to the prisoner who surrenders his person, with a trembling
and hesitant hand, would go to take out the ball from the urn, the first, the last,
any... the augury ball, the fateful, cabalistic number: thirteen. .. it was fatal!...
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If he left, it suddenly occurred to him, if he failed to respond to the call from the
table... Why not? -He began to say to himself in the vehement push of his
temptation, harassed by the sting of fear; What harm would it be for him, what
greater harm would he expose himself to, what could happen to him, in short,
by proceeding like this?... Losing the year... and well, what did he care, if he
knew that in any case, he would do it? I had lost taking the exam!...

Yes, he knew it, something, I don't know what, superior to him, told him, he
was convinced, certain of it, with the embarrassment of seeing himself fail.

Above all, he could look for an excuse, nothing prevented him from feigning
illness and coming back, showing up the next day, a Saturday instead of a
Friday, a fourteen instead of a thirteen... he would study in the meantime, he
had everything that day, a whole night in front; Yes, yes, not to mention, there
was no need to do it, it was a thousand times better, he repeated, stubbornly
persuading himself, coupling action with thought, already slipping along the
cloisters to reach the street.

But suddenly, in a fit of arrogance, he stopped; What would they say, what
would others think, what comments would they make?

As if he saw them, they were going to be falling for him, making a farce of him,
interpreting in a thousand ways, to each worst, his strange disappearance, his
inexplicable absence. No one, of course, would believe in his lie, not a single
one of his classmates would believe the Tatar story of his illness, they would
know that he had left because of fear, he would be mocked the next day,
ridiculed, a laughingstock of all kinds.

No, what he was trying was unworthy, indecorous, he would stay, whatever it
was, he would endure, he had to know how to force himself to stay and endure,
he exclaimed: "mandria, collón, gringo tachero!" It was called in the rabid
disdain that the awareness of his weakness inspired in him.

Resolutely he finally went out into the street, walked around the block, entered the
College bookstore, bought a copy of the text and with the book hidden under the flap of
his suitcase, he retraced his steps and entered the University again.
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There should have been no one, not a soul on the heights; There were two hours
left, one at least, for the exams to continue; He had time, he would try to get up to
speed on the matter, to learn something, even if it was only by heart. He thought
he remembered that the book had described a device by Gay Lussac, he would
study it, see if it stuck in his head, he would paint it on the blackboard, perhaps,
he could get out of trouble that way.

And, muffling the sound of his footsteps, crouching, making himself small, two by
three, he began to climb the steps.

The long cloister at the top was effectively deserted... Only there towards the end,
among the golden dust of the sun's rays penetrating obliquely, could a human
silhouette be discerned.

He passed, he slipped like a ghost, he got lost at the crossroads, he passed

again, at the rhythmic rhythm of his walk, a processional walk, he got lost again.
His head was bent, his arms were raised, his arms were drooping, his gaze was
loose, while, from the incessant hum of his lips, a whisper escaped, floating in the
dead air like the confused and muffled hum of a bug that would fly

Another one, another one like that, another brute like him, another unhappy one,
another poor man persisting after the crust, he said to himself, recognizing one of
his fellow students Genaro.

But in the desire not to waste a single moment, busy, leafing through the book, as
he faced the classroom, he observed with surprise that the door had been left
open.

Why would they have left her like this? An oversight without a doubt on the part of the doorman
or the janitor.

And curious and overcome at the same time with involuntary terror, in an
irresistible attraction of a condemned man at the sight of the gloomy apparatus of
his torture, he fearfully placed his foot on the threshold and looked out.

The immense room seemed larger to him in the silence, its vault more expansive,
its depth further removed, from which, similar to a false God,
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some enemy idol, with the disastrous emblem of its enormous R on the
plinth, the bronze bust of Rivadavia stood out.

Towards the center, immediately, next to the opposite wall, the tribune, the
classic tribune appeared in his sight, belly-shaped, flat, rough, faded, moth-
eaten, breathing a musty air, like an old sacristy science, like a pulpit .

Then, isolated and solitary in the middle of a wide space, like a rock in the
sea, the examinee's chair, the bench of the accused, the bench perhaps,
he said to himself, fixing his eyes on her full of shock, Genaro, his own
prisoner's dock, destined for a death more cruel and more infamous than
the other.

At half height, finally, on the head wall, a collection of cracked and dusty
paintings attracted their eyes: the effigy of the rectors of yesteryear, each
projecting from its frame the dull ray of an oblique, murky, dead gaze. ,
always the same, tireless in the angular impassivity of their old friar faces.

And the platform, the traditional ones, the old ramrod armchairs and the
table, below, imposing in its solemn apparatus, laid out in white and red
damask, dragging the wide fringe of its folder along the carpet, while among
the inkwell, enormous, and beyond the bell, whose ringing tone was like an
electric shock in the chest, the urn, the fatal urn stood out from the rest,
black, fateful, sinister in its silent eloquence of myth.

It was there, defenseless, abandoned, a few steps from him within reach
of his hand, it was open, it had inside the balls, the thirty-six balls of the
program, as if offering them, as if instigating one, as if provoking one.

The suggestion, the idea of evil came to possess him, suddenly with a
lightning quickness, stealing one occurred to him.

He could choose, take the one he wanted, the one he wanted, search in
the pile for the number of the program that he had studied most thoroughly,
in which he felt strongest; put it in your pocket,
Machine Translated by Google

having it hidden between your fingers when you go to put your hand in, pretend to be
stirring and take it out and show it later, as if only then you had just taken it.

That was success, the result of the exam assured, the outstanding vote won and who
knew maybe even an honorable mention at the table, why not?... maybe!...

It was victory, above all, the triumph over others, his supreme desire, his aspiration
fulfilled, his dream, his cherished dream of revenge realized.

But it was a black stain on the conscience, that too, the fault, the crime, the crime... In
this way, one began, out of misery, by taking a copper, a cigarette, and ended by
stealing a fortune! !...

Who, once the first step was taken, was capable of telling where it was going to stop, to
what depth of abjection the slippery slope of guilt could drag?

But wasn't he exaggerating... alarmed, frightened without reason, didn't he disfigure the
scope, the significance of the act he attempted, the character it had... it was really a
crime, a robbery... who was he harming, who? did it harm, who did it deprive of what
was theirs?...

Could it not be regarded, rather, regarded as a mere prank, a trick, a student's trick,
without seriousness, without importance, even innocent, if you wanted, imagined only in
order to be free from a bad experience, to get rid of the neck tie, a simple boy's mischief,
anyway?...

And what the hell! Even admitting the opposite well thought out, those were stories.
Morality was not subject to fixed rules; good and evil were relative, contingent like
everything that was human; They depended on a thousand different causes, on a
thousand different circumstances; time, place, environment, education, beliefs. What
was accepted in one part of the earth was rejected in another, what had previously been
accepted as good, came to be declared evil later, and not even murder, not even incest
itself,
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monstrous and repugnant incest, had ceased to have its hour of triumph, consecrated,
sanctified in the light of the sun, in the face of God and men.

All the hollow verbiage of his scholasticism, all the indigestible baggage of his philosophy,
acquired two years earlier in class, was brought to light, made a contribution by him in
support of his cause.

He had his ideas, his principles, his doctrines of which he did not give up one iota, he;
He was utilitarian, radical and declared in moral matters; An act, any action, could be
good or bad, depending on the benefit or harm that was derived from it.

That had always been his rule, his norm, his criterion, that was how he understood
things; He was marching with his century, he lived in times when success took
precedence over everything, when everything was legalized by the result. The rest was
nonsense, nonsense, nonsense, good for its own sake, duty for duty's sake... where was
that seen? let them stick it in his forehead! -he exclaimed, flaunting a cynicism that was
half true and half false, between fictitious and real, affected, forged as a weapon of
defense, as the sought justification for the motive of his behavior and tendency at the
same time, intimate in him, inherent to the very core. of his being.

The point, the only essential and positive thing, the only practical thing in life, was
knowing how to keep the forms, to handle oneself in such a way as to always be covered,
guaranteed, to not make the game known or expose oneself...

Exposing himself?... That, that rather deserved to be taken into account, that could be
serious... that he was going to find himself tied up, to get tangled in the quarters, to be
scared, to have his ball stomped between his fingers. , or it would fall from his hand, or
somehow, with fright, he would end up hanging...

Hmm!... the business didn't stop having its flaws...

Undoubtedly the most cautious thing, the most prudent thing was not to delve into
depths, the best of the dice is not to play them... all the more so that no matter how much
he insisted on closing his eyes to the light of the truth, he could not
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He couldn't stop agreeing that it was ugly, that it was badly done... no, there
was no way around it, his conscience was crying out to him.

And yet... what a great shame to give up on the ballad!... it would have been
to stick a pike in Flanders, if it turned out well...

As in a last virgin's modesty that occurs, the hesitation, the doubt, the suspicion of the
unknown, the apprehension of the uncertainty beyond the first time, for a moment they
contained him. But the cursed urn, similar to a messenger from hell, attracted him, fascinated
him, poured over him the entire demonic spell of temptation.

In vain he exhorted, fought, resisted; It was impossible for him to take his
eyes off her, he followed her, he enveloped her in spite of himself in the
greedy gaze of a Jew.

Perplexed, still unresolved, he took a step, involuntarily, as if pushed.

He imagined that the other one, the one who was walking through the
cloister, was looking at him; beast, imbecile, not to be struck by lightning,
not to burst, not to fall dead... he could well have gone to review the bosom
of the huge dog that had knocked off his legs!...

But no, he turned his back, at that moment... Then, as if snatched from the
ground by the scourge of some furious hurricane, with all the courage of
the brave, with all the intimidation of the cowards, incapable of discerning,
without the slightest conscience of his actions, as if contemplating another
in his turn, Genaro was seen standing next to the urn.
He had put his hand in, he had had the sensation of a bite of liquid lead on
his flesh; bristling with terror, he had taken it out; the balls clicked, collided,
jumped in droves, as if boiling... in the urn?... yes, transformed into an
enormous cauldron of witches, and voices, several voices, three or four,
had said it, had called, briefly, dryly, pst, ep, eh! from a window, from the
door, from above, from back there.

As if in a sudden fit of madness, seized by a raging panic, he remained

motionless for a moment, stunned, stupefied.
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Then, in a hardening of all of him, he managed to tear himself away from there, he was
able to walk, he managed to run and like someone fleeing from the fire that is burning
his clothes, outside, in the cloister, he began to see, full of astonishment, that he was
holding it tightly in his hand. hand a ball... she had stolen it... or rather not, she alone
had to have gotten it through her fingers!...

Was time; The Rector, the professors, the other students, went up, appeared on the
stairs.

Did Genaro see them, did Genaro hear them? His eyes were cloudy with blood, his
heartbeat was shattering his eardrum.

Holed up, curled up in a hole in the wall, his instinct alone, his wonderful fox instinct had
saved him.
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CHAPTER XIV

Sure of the ground he walked on, absolute master of himself, the word
flowed from his lips easily, fluidly, frankly, in the quiet silence of the room;
With the brilliance and purity of the crystal, the timbre of his voice sounded,
slightly shaking with emotion.

There, perhaps, deep down, for an observant eye, a void, a black dot could
have been detected, an absence of complete clarity, of precision in the
play of ideas, something like those masses of shadow, vague, indecisive,
that usually float in the distance, clouding the diaphanous purity of space
on sunny days.

It would have seemed like a fiction, at times, a false imitation rather, of

knowledge and talent, the tinsel of an apotheosis of theater, elaborate,
artificial, the gas light simulating the sun.

It was a triumph, however, a splendid moment of triumph. The highest, the

most honorable of classifications; a special mention from the members of
the board, congratulating Genaro for his superb exam; the general
applause, the congratulations of his companions, even from those whose
haughty disdain he had always felt most painfully weighing on him and
who, with smiles on their lips, now approached him, solicitously shook his
hand.

And all of this was going to be published, Genaro thought full of proud joy,
he, his name, his obscure, his unknown name would be seen in print, the
name of the "son of the gringo tachero" would appear in the columns of the
press, it would circulate from hand to hand, surrounded as if by a brilliant
halo of fame and prestige.

Oh, what did he care about the brokenness of the past, the mortal hours of
struggle and decay, the torrent of gall that he had drained, the offenses,
the indignities suffered, the shames devoured in silence, the long, endless
chain of his sufferings! ...
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That and so much more and more and more, a thousand times he would
have had the courage to endure, resigned, for a minute, for just one
second, when he came to feel fed up, as he is now, with the sovereign joy
of taking revenge!...
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CHAPTER XV

There was on Reconquista Street, between Tucumán and Parque, a so-called "Café de
los Tres Billares", whose numerous clientele was largely made up of family children,
public employees, shop assistants and students of the University and the Faculty of
Medicine. .

Its owner, a fat, hoarse, loud Béarnais, a great drinker of absinthe, bald with bad content
and a distinguished disputer of ailments in the history of war and politics, had, as a half-
lawyer himself, a marked predilection for the latter.

He went, in his deep love of science represented for him by the student union, to the
point of giving credit to its members of the table hour and the chinois in adverse times of
poverty.

Behind the massive street door, another stained glass door led to a vast place where
three billiards, greasy under the cloudy flame of the lamps, in the middle of an eternal
cloud of smoke, stood in tiers paying the sign of the exhibition.

Entering on the left, you could see a counter lined with zinc, then a shelf stocked with
the assortment for daily dispatch: bottles of liquor, jars of preserved fruit, jars of
cigarettes, drawers of Hamburger cigars, while next to several iron tables Beyond,
keeping their distance like marching platoons, a few dozen chairs were lined up and,
above the wallpaper on the wall, hung a collection of illuminated prints depicting battles
won by Napoleon.

But there was also something second-hand hidden from the prying and profane eyes of
the plebs, a reserved branch of the business, a secret dependency of the house, a kind
of introthelon frame to which a dark side passage, independently from the street,
facilitated access. .
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It was, above the kitchen where the coffee pots were boiling, in the back, a large room,
with a cotton carpet, white cotton curtains, a canvas ceiling, wallpaper, country furniture
and an unbearable smell of cockroaches. You climbed up a moth-eaten pine ladder, out
in the open.

Sometimes, for a reasonable profit, its owner used to put it at the disposal of friends; not
without certain reluctance, whispering in the corners and under a formal word of silence
and discretion: a matter of not compromising the credit of the house out of pure goodness
and complacency.

But he opened it, ventilated it, shook off the dust at carnival, when the dances started;
The profits at that time seemed fat and, goodbye then morals and considerations; Night
after night, from two in the morning onwards it was a train a tout casser.

There too, at the end of the year, students used to meet; friends from the same year, to
celebrate with a dinner in which there was turkey, slices of ham and even champagne
for twenty-five pesos "at a low price" for the "killing of the exam."

And eight or ten of Genaro's class and him among them had just settled around the
table, happy, chattering, while they waited for the waiter to begin bringing the dinner,
each one talking, without rhyme or reason and all by chance, of the first thing that came
to hand: the light, playful spirit, as if on vacation, after the mortal months of study and
subjection, the recovered body was eager, the appetite sharpened, as in a revenge of
the beast put on a diet.

The obsession, the constant, eternal nightmare, had ceased; The black cloud of the
exam had passed, it was like another world that had begun, they saw everything rosy
now, or rather, they saw nothing, because they looked at nothing, nor did they care
about the blessed indolence of six years. The eternal problem of life, the future, the
battles of the future, its doubts, its chances, its anxieties... Bah! Much was given to them
about the future, about the future... the three months of vacation in the present was
enough for them, they were more than enough for the joy of existing.
Machine Translated by Google

One, at dessert, got up and toasted, made a speech in which science, love,
freedom, democracy, dewdrops, the country, the song of nightingales, the
petals of flowers and other things, everything mixed, scrambled, confused,
it was, like the surf of the sea, relentlessly carried downstream in the
rushing torrent of the word.

Several of the others, stimulated by the example and overexcited by the

wine, hastened to imitate him, all finally asking that the hero of the day
speak, the vote of distinguished with a mention; Let's see, let him say
something, let him show himself too...

Genaro speaking, improvising... and what would he have said!...

Oh! While his companions stood, their eyes shining, their cheeks flushed,
their glasses raised, they let the fertile fountain of their lips flow without
violence, he was abstracted, absorbed, there, alone inside himself, he
laboriously rehearsed, searched, tried to give form thought, test once again
the measure of its strength, and, once again, unhappy! He was assaulted
by the sad and painful persuasion of his impotence.

Nothing... not a sentence, not even two words, sensible, pertinent, accurate, he would
have thought capable of coming out of his lips... nothing. . His head felt dry like the
Champagne glasses scattered on the tablecloth.

And, with that rude and excessive insistence that wine communicates,
urged, urged with shouts by his companions, without knowing what excuse
to give, or what to say, or what to do, as if breaking into pieces in the
middle of the hubbub, his heart beat. , his ears were whistling as if shot at
point-blank range, his ideas were confused, scrambled, tangled, similar, in
the sudden rush of his blood, to the pieces of a machine that had just
exploded.

Far from giving in to the others, however, the scream continued, stubborn,
thunderous. They had surrounded him, grabbed him, pulled him, the
drunkest; "Let him speak, let him speak... yes, sir, he must speak!"
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Drunk?... yes, they were, unfortunately for them, the wine had gone to their heads at a
bad time...

But... but why then didn't he consider himself to be such, he suddenly thought and tried
to see himself free in that way, it wasn't the most natural thing, the most feasible thing
that would have happened to him what was not possible for the others. With everything
explained like this, his stubborn silence, his attitude?...

Idiot, not having thought of that before... what better pretext did he want!

And with all the skill, with the trick of a comedian, he pretended to be drunk too; He
blurred his vision, separated his legs from one another, tilted his body, as if he had lost
his head in the chair, he nodded, drooled, stammered, and asked for more wine.

"The gringuito is mamau," the others burst out in chorus, laughing out loud, "miserably
mamau... little angel... let the creature go to bed!..."

Very soon, in an oversight, attention diverted from him, he was able to leave
Genaro, without being seen, tiptoed down the stairs and, getting lost in the thick
shadows of the hallway, entered the street:

-The Neapolitan has gone up in smoke, the Neapolitan has gone up in smoke... Ah, you
shameless scoundrel!... He must be hiding there, sleeping around or losing his soul in
some corner!...

The others went out in turn, they searched, they searched with the zeal, with the
fierceness of rat-dogs, they went back and forth through the house, they asked the
waiters, the boss; None of them had seen him, no one knew how to explain why he
disappeared.

- Downstairs, on the benches along the promenade, the bastard must have gone out to
get some fresh air at least!... - dominating the confused Toletole, a voice suddenly
jumped out as if inspired.

Surely, then, it was clear, it was obvious... not having realized it before, idiots!...
Machine Translated by Google

And they decided without further ado to go downstairs.

But at the corner, already a thousand leagues from the object that was carrying
them, just because and as if a wind was pushing them, they continued straight south.

They walked as if in a troop, stepping on each other's heels, talking loudly at the
same time, asking passers-by for a light, without noticing that they themselves had
lit cigarettes.

There was no shortage of people, in front of the Merced atrium, who declared that
they would not go any further; He would be stubborn like a packed horse, sit down
on the steps of the parapet and begin to sing the national anthem at the top of his
voice.

The happiest person in Victoria Square, a suddenly melancholic sadness invaded

him, a painful memory awakened in his memory: Misia Pancha, his godmother, one
who gave him a mascot when he was little, who had helped him with measles and
who was close to the mother, was sick in bed, very seriously.

And he was miserable, a great culprit, a great scoundrel for having put himself in that state
by walking around like that, "tomau", when who knew, the poor lady was not already on her
last legs, dying or perhaps dead!... .

And, possessed of cruel remorse, he soon began to cry with sobs, he wanted from
there, from there and without loss of time, to go to find out, to investigate, to take
reports in the house, to offer to the family or, in other words, last case, if he came
late due to his misfortune, to have the consolation, he said, of seeing the deceased.

This first, then that, and another later, one by one, two by two, they dispersed, each
one going his own way. Those who, due to the cool night air, began to feel their
heads clear, came to eat; Meekly resigned, they lent their help to others, they took
them to the door of their respective homes, they refrained from putting their foot on
the threshold themselves, fearful that one party would "attach them", of rejection in
some furious paternal philippic.
Machine Translated by Google

And little by little like this, the procession finally came to be dissolved.
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CHAPTER XVI

What had happened to Genaro in the meantime, how did his night end, why his
clandestine exit, his abrupt disappearance from among the others, perhaps to get rid of
them, of their stupid and annoying drunken jokes?

No; Believing him to be overcome by the effects of drunkenness, they had already given
up their efforts to make him talk, they had just left him in peace, without worrying about
him at all, forgetting him completely, as boys forget the toy that no longer amuses them.

And then?

Oh, I could hardly have concealed it! It was that the spectacle of that frank
joy, of that sincere and unduplicated expansion among friends, in the midst
of a camaraderie free of pettiness and misery, hurt him who breathed hatred
and revenge, in whose heart he felt only that the Envy, a low rivalry, a base
emulation had a place.

It was that the sight of his fellow students joyful, satisfied and happy with
their own happiness and that of others, lavishing, in the generous impulse of
their souls, praise and applause to others, while they themselves showed off
and as a luxury of their wit, had ended up becoming, in the long run, hateful,
unbearable.

That's why he had come out, he had escaped, he had slipped into the
shadows, like a thief had escaped from there; because the saliva he
swallowed was gall, because he choked, he suffocated, because he lacked
air in that elevated and pure atmosphere, as it lacks for the reptiles where
eagles hover.

Yes, that's why, that's why, nothing more than that, he exclaimed, he told
her, he repeated it in the boast of a beggar who takes pleasure in showing
off the wounds on his body.
Machine Translated by Google

But, from the depths of his rebellious conscience, a cry of recrimination and protest
arose, as if strange, as if from another, a voice that accused him, that exposed his
weaknesses, the absence in him of any generous impulse, of all disinterested and
dignified motive, his lack of height and nobility, his low actions, his clumsy and rude
feelings, the profound perversion, the abjection, in short, of his heart and his spirit, that
moral abjection in which he saw himself, in which he felt himself falling, larger and more
complete each time, as the figure of the man detached itself from the outline of the child.

And he would have liked not to be like that, however, he had tried to change, to modify
himself, day after day he did not tire of making the most sincere, the most serious, the
most solemn resolutions of amendment and reform; yes, at the same time as shame, in
the deep feeling of contempt that he inspired in himself, with the desire for life of
someone who feels like he is drowning, he had not stopped agitating, struggling
desperately in that struggle; Yes, to all the ardor of his will, to all the contingent of his
effort, he had appealed a thousand times... to be inspired, to temper himself, to redeem
himself in the example of the good, the pure, the noble, that he saw around him. , resist,
overcome that innate tendency that drove him to evil.

Vain task!... It worked in him with the immutable fixity of eternal laws, it was fatal,
inevitable, like the fall of a body, like the passage of time, it was in his blood that,
constitutional, inveterate, came from him. chaste like the color of the skin, it had been
transmitted to him by inheritance, from father to son, as the poisonous virus of syphilis
is transmitted from father to son...

Wretched... wretched... wretched!... He clutched his head in despair, crying, clenched

his fingers in his hair, tore it out in clumps, cursed, blasphemed, banged his forehead
against the wall, angrily, wildly and, blinded by crying and dazed by the blows, he
staggered, stumbled, in the dull light of the oil lanterns, he swayed on the sidewalks of
the suburbs far from his house, as if he too were falling from drunkenness!...
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CHAPTER XVII

The incessant and gradual action of time, the truth, the reality felt from day to day, from
hour to hour, had slowly exercised their inescapable influence on the mind of Genaro,
familiar more
and more, seasoned, finally accustomed to the idea of what in his eyes had reached
the brutal eloquence of the facts: his lack of aptitudes and means, the absence in him
of all intellectual strength.

And a discouragement, a deep, complete indifference, came to

invade him, a feeling of cold compliance that, more than the
resignation of the defeated, was the indolence of the cynic.

He threw away the books, quit, cut short his career in law. Why, if he
couldn't, what was he allowed to hope for in the best of cases,
assuming that in exchange for continuing to lead the life of a beast
of burden and thanks only to the indulgence of his teachers, he
would finally be able to awarded your diploma? Defend poor people's
lawsuits, earn barely enough to avoid dying of hunger, fleece your
neighbor, exploit someone left by the hand of God who has the
misfortune to fall into your power, vegetate miserably as someone
assigned to some other study, to the shadow of the reputation and
talent of others, relegated to the last plan, acting as an inkman, an
amanuensis and for four reales they paid him!...

Or, at most, that's what those in their class used to end up doing,
getting, by dint of requests and efforts, some appointment as a
Judge and deciding to live among the moth of the files and burning
their eyelashes ten or twelve hours a day, so that no one, in short,
would thank him or remember him.

No, damn what flattered him, and lately, damn what mattered to him
either... He was tired, annoyed, already given to the devils!...

A good fool would be a good fool, with such a perspective ahead of

him, to be racking his brain, wasting his best years.
Machine Translated by Google

of his life, when he was at an age to enjoy, to have fun, and he did not lack,
for now, what he could do so.

The old woman had her pesos, her income, her house; What was money
for, if not to spend it! Tomorrow someone would die... But it wasn't going to
happen to him, not that, that he got out of hand, he wasn't going to be like
many of his acquaintances, who grabbed it and threw it, without looking
back, without rhyme or reason. They are... that's it and thank you!...

However, eating stew and barbecue, drinking carlón wine from the
warehouse and living in the streets, in the middle of the mob, among the
hustle and bustle of the upper neighborhood... She would have liked a
house, even if it had been small, on Florida Street like between Cuyo and
Temple, for example, at that point, in the neighborhood of Tono, where you
could only see decent families, being there too, living among those people,
being able to show yourself, go out, stand at the street door on Sundays. ,
at the time when the cocks went to the Retiro.

He dreamed of having a gathering in Colón, of going by car to Palermo,

being dressed by Bonás or Fabre, being a member of the two clubs, the
Plata and the Progreso, of the latter above all, whose accession was seen
by him as the greatest honor. exalted, like the goal of human greatness,
and in front of which, upon retiring to his house in Colón, he used to spend
nights dancing, contemplating the house bathed in light from below, as the
fox in the fable contemplated the grapes.

Oh, if he could, if somehow he managed to achieve it, if one of his fellow

students wanted to take charge of introducing him, of sponsoring him, of
working on his behalf!...

But how, being who he was, could he dare, with the father he had had, with the mother,
a top-of-the-line Italian, an old laundress!

It wasn't a toy, it was serious, that business was hairy. There were members,
as they said, a bunch of lazy people, proud and retrograde unitarians who
ran the puppets and didn't understand girls, who scavenged one's life and
shook him, without further ado, to get rid of those straws, every penny. black
woman who sang the creed.
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His father... thank goodness, he had died and no one remembered the dead;
but his mother was alive and by his side, being with him, it was a joke, a nail,
where would he go so that they would not see him, so that they would not
know, so that he would not make his face fall in shame with the appearance
he had, with his caravans of gold and her bun hairstyle!

A fixed, persistent idea, a single thought ever since occupied him, filled his
mind; to be free, to get rid of it: the poor old woman's illness was the pretext:

-You're always suffering there, mom, with that damn cough that doesn't give
you rest. Why don't you figure it out and take a trip to Italy? The sea air had
to suit him, he sees his family, he stays there for a few months with them
and then returns; I'll wait for her.

He refused, the unhappy woman protested at first:

-To Italy I... leave you, my little son, go so far away sick and alone... you are
crazy, boy... what if I die and if I never see you again?...

If he had shown himself willing to accompany her... still, it was something

else like that... he wouldn't say no, he would think about it and manage to
rent the little house and previously arrange his things, his little money...

But Genaro couldn't, there was no need to think about that, his studies, his
tasks prevented him from doing so, it was a question for him of nothing less
than his future, his career.

In the end, tearful and sad, deeply affected, but unable to put up serious
resistance, to the ascendancy, to the absolute dominance that, in her infinite
affection as a mother, she had unconsciously allowed Genaro to exercise
over her spirit, she ended up giving in and resigning herself.

He knew well, he understood well that everything was for nothing, that his
illness had no cure. But how could I say no to the poor thing!... I did it for her,
for her own good, because I saw that her illness was not giving her relief.

How much her Genaro must have loved her when he was content to separate
from her!
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CHAPTER XVIII

A short time later, of age and in possession of ample power from his mother, Genaro
was left alone, he found himself independent at the age of twenty, absolute master of his
actions, detached, it was said, from all ties on earth, free, in purpose, he exclaimed, of
carrying out as he pleased the life program he had outlined for himself.

But, to his great displeasure, a first and serious difficulty certainly did not take long
to occur. The house on Chile Street had been rented for a thousand pesos; they
gave fifteen hundred titles of public funds; From the total, one hundred francs per
month had to be deducted for the mother; the rest was for him.

When she was absent, he had given her a sum of money, his savings, twenty
thousand pesos that he had saved month after month on household expenses.

He could do what God did not allow! His son would get sick, he would need a doctor
and a pharmacy, he would find himself in some emergency situation, and it was
good as long as he left that little money in reserve. With what need to ask others
for a favor?

-But, what about you, mom?

-Oh, do not grieve for me; Having the ticket I pay, why else?

With that amount - a fortune, he had never seen so much money with him - without
the slightest worry about the future, about what might become of him later, Genaro
decided to live expensively.

He began by renting two large rooms, a living room and a bedroom, on the main
floor of the Golden Anchor at the front. He had lunch, lunch and dinner daily at the
Café de Paris, he went to the theatres, from one place to another, he toured the city
in rented carriages, he had them parked for long hours at his door, he arranged
various suits in
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At Bonás, he bought linen, gloves, and hats from Bazille, and night after
night, around the Plaza del Parque, he could be seen rolling around late
in the day, entering the houses with grilled doors on Libertad, Temple,
and Corrientes streets.

Not a month had passed, however, when, at that rate, he observed with
surprise, surprised, that his inexhaustible wealth was running out, that he
was beginning to see the end of his twenty thousand-peso bills; There
was barely a remnant at the bottom of his bag.

And how now, with only two thousand paper pesos of income per month,
can he face the series of expenses that he had planned to make, proceed
with his permanent installation, have his own carriage, pay his expenses,
meet the demands of the way of life What did you aspire to?

Impossible; It cost more to rent the house, for a house in the center like
the one he wanted.

I had counted on without the guest... two thousand pesos... how far I could
go with such misery!... I thought I had much more...

And there was no way around him in the meantime, there was nothing to
do, no matter how difficult it was for him to conform, to renounce his
projects, his ridiculous pretensions of being a son and of greatness... look
at his figure, too, wanting to put on airs with that... big handful were three
flies! -He exclaimed to himself, confused and ashamed, in a dull
humiliation, as if his relative poverty had been a stain, something infamous.

He applied himself, he made his calculations, his calculations, he did them

again, he re-did them, he counted, he put them aside, he tried to distribute,
to give a suitable destination to his money: the material and first expenses
of life, the house, the table, the clothes on the one hand, the accessories
on the other, the theater and the coffee, the carriage, the cigar - he liked
to smoke well -, the women, he would always spend about four or five
roles out of a hundred on that. pesos at least...

But he couldn't get anything, not even close, no matter how much he tried
to stretch the rope, he couldn't reach it, he had no other choice.
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You have to confess that you are a worm, bite the bullet and greatly reduce
your expenses.

Above all, what was essential for him were the manners, the appearance:
walking around, walking around in a cigar on Florida Street and never having
fifty pesos in his pocket with which to buy a ticket and a seat for the Colón.

The rest, even if he had to tighten his stomach and eat in the taverns and sleep
on a canvas cot, that, how could it be!... that was his business, he would figure
it out there...

There was no point in showing the thread, above all, giving hints, making it
known, publishing it to the sound of whistles and drums.

He spoke to the hotel owner, agreed with him and changed rooms.
Even though the room was small, dark, humid, reeking of a latrine and on the
servants' floor, being seen even leaving the house was something, being able
to say that one lived in the Golden Anchor.

He went immediately and paid for it, took possession of the Fonda Catalana;
four hundred pesos in a separate room; I ate early, before everything got full of
people.

And then by eliminating the useless, superfluous outlays, that of having a car
at the door, of spending half of his time in public houses, of wasting money on
gloves, perfumes, canes, dozens of ties, he managed to in order to balance
your budget badly or badly.
Machine Translated by Google

CHAPTER XIX

A young woman, almost a child, was going to the opera in Colón.

She was dark and very pretty; at the same time full of shapes, thin and fine; Like
a black enamel light, it shone, emerging in sullen reflections from the haggard
orbit of his eyes and, while revealing an intense power of feeling, his sharp nose,
wide with nostrils, dilated, nervously contracted for moments under the impression.
melody of the sound or the attraction of the scenic game, in his mouth with thick
and red lips, all the heat, all the burning fire of the Creole blood was evident.

He occupied a front row box, with his family, his father, his mother.
Genaro opposite, from his bench-top gathering place, night after night he fixed his
glasses on her.

He had investigated, he had taken information, her name was Máxima, she was
the daughter of a rich man, owner of many leagues of countryside and many
thousands of cows, possessor of one of those old-fashioned fortunes, a donation
from some viceroy or some grandfather, confiscated. by Rosas, and tenfold in
value after the fall of the tyrant.

Genaro knew who he was, by name, a name everyone knew, he had heard it
pronounced a thousand times.

What purpose in the meantime animated him, what goal guided him, why did he
look at his daughter, like this, tenacious, obstinately; In an exquisite instinct of an
artist he was attracted, his eyes were captivated by the mere contemplation of
the beauty in the woman, or perhaps a feeling spoke in him, and then, what a
feeling, it was a whim of his, a simple hobby, purely a boy's toy. thoughtless, or
was it serious, was it true affection, was it love that he felt, a passion that was
awakened in his being?

The artist, he capable of delicate refinements, a man of passion he... bah!...

Machine Translated by Google

He liked it, the cock was very tasty, he would eat it with kisses, who would like
to have a good time with it, to have his brave sweet potato from the country
with one like that, with a pompadour, with bells... even if it had not been more,
for soon, that with a little eye, that he would notice him, that he would pay
attention to him... later... who knew later, the world would turn so many times!...
he could even very well formalize, get serious about the matter with him.
time... why not?... When it was about to be the first time either. Everything
depended on the girl, on whether she came to love him... And what a ball for
him to finally be able to join the family!

Because that's what he had to look for, well thought out that was the shot, to find a
woman who had the kidneys covered and catch her, try to marry her.

Study, work, hump from January to January, and all for what? To get a patent
for a mess?...

What a study, not what career, not what anything! That was the best of studies,
the most productive of careers, there was nothing more effective or more
practical, a more lucrative business to take out the belly of a bad year and
become rich overnight, without work and without troubles. head.

He had become disillusioned, money was everything in this world and that was what he was going
for...

But the bad thing was that not a single devil was ahead, not even the slightest
bit that the girl thought she was alluding to him, damned if she had not even
realized that such a creature existed in the world!... and yet, she had it in plain
sight. , well in front; It seemed impossible that he had not already kicked, that
he had not realized it... Would it be stupid?...

The truth, on the other hand, was that he didn't pay attention to anyone, that
he had no eyes except for what was happening in the scene: "Let's see,
daughter... what's hard for you... look at me... come on, then!" -he stammered,
he repeated between his teeth, the glass fixed on her, his body tilted,
uncomfortable, shrunken, balled up in his seat.

Oh, but he was not going to declare himself defeated by so little, he was not
the man to give up his arm just like that, with two pulls; poor
Machine Translated by Google

He stubbornly took out crusts, the thing had gotten between his eyebrows and he had to
do so much and so much, that he had to get his way, that he had to fall, that he had to
snout the very scoundrel in the long run.

One night, in fact, as she turned around in her seat to listen closely to something her
mother was telling her, Genaro thought she noticed that she had suddenly come across
her glass. It even seemed to him that he had flinched, turning away, abruptly looking
away.

Could it be true, could it be true, or was it a hoax? -he came to ask himself in doubt, not
without feeling himself that a slight emotion was dominating him.

You see, you wouldn't have to wait long to know what to expect; since no other feeling,
curiosity alone had to lead her to direct her eyes towards him again... or she would
cease to be a woman.

He waited a long time, but in vain; attentive, motionless, the scene as usual seemed to
absorb her.

He had stepped on it... there was no more... optical error, without a doubt... patience and
shuffle!...

Although no, it was not an illusion, he was not wrong that time, he looked at it, he had
looked at it, he was sure, very sure; As she looked distractedly around the room, a
moment, an imperceptible moment, had stopped her on him.

And if the shadow of a doubt had still lingered in Genaro's mind, it would have taken little
time to dissipate.

Yes, she clearly made it known, everything about her revealed it, the glowing color of
her skin, the nervous restlessness of her person, the involuntary movement of her eyes;
Yes, she understood now, she knew and, in her ignorance as a child, in her innocence
as a virgin, she was perhaps going to imagine that there was a man in the world who
loved her.
Machine Translated by Google

CHAPTER XX

Genaro passed by three or four times a day along the block of San Martín
Street, where Máxima lived.

When she was going to take her carriage, once, accompanied by her
mother, at the very threshold of the street door, they both hit the mark.
meet.

That was enough, he was able to see her from now on, he used to be able
to make out her wrapped in the darkness of the room, as if hidden behind
the drawn blinds; from time to time first, then more frequently, then always,
day after day, at the same time I expected him.
He slowed down his march when he arrived, turned his face; She put her
head close to the glass, leaned down and then carefully, tenaciously, they
looked at each other.

In Colón, now from his chair like the first night, now from the galleries of
the theater, he spent hours contemplating her, while as if in a gift of double
vision, through the thick walls of the building, she sensed his presence,
guessed his silhouette. , there, lost in the shadows, behind the window of
a box, or the crack of some half-open door.

Moments before the end of the show, he left his seat, hurriedly put on his
overcoat, ran to stand in the hall, next to the exit door through which she
had to pass, and, scurrying, weaving among the crowded crowd, the He
then continued to the carriage, to his house, along the opposite path,
stopping his step; when, on calm and temperate nights, the family would
retire on foot.

During the hours of walking along Florida Street, in the atrium of the Cathedral, at the
end of mass, in the Retiro afterwards, everywhere always, infallibly, where she was like
her shadow he was.
Machine Translated by Google

Only in Palermo was he not seen; I never went.

And how would it have gone, in a carriage, in a broken rubble, pulled by two little
musketmen with some bachicha in a hat?
donkey belly or some mulatto compadre on the box?

Not even with sticks... nice, nice role, a strong role I would play with the eyes of
the other who was leaving all luxury, in an open carriage with a liveried coachman
and a team of good pingos!...

By horse? Nor, it was ordered to be guarded, it was guarangos

that.

In a carriage rented in a corralón? Even less, worse than worse, I want to and I can't, it
was showing the thread, that's another thing, it was misery and vanity...

He preferred to stay at home.

Yes, but not letting yourself be seen too, being eternally conspicuous by your
absence... what would she say, she would surely realize, if she hadn't already hit
the nail on the head, she would figure that he was a poor guy and that he didn't. I
had what... the purest truth, on the other hand...

For the better, that one of those cock-raising types would come across her, that
they would be looking at her, wanting to drag her wing, in love, and he, like a
turkey, without knowing a thing, while perhaps she was going big with others. ...

She kept being teased... very teased... What remedy, however?

Oh, there was one resource left for him, he knew it, it had not stopped occurring to him,
there was a way; He could get hold of a part of the income certificates that his mother
had given him, there, worth about twenty thousand pesos, for example, and sell them,
negotiate them; He was on the other side with that, he had enough to buy a jacket with
a horse and he even had enough left over for a year's pension at the stable.
Machine Translated by Google

Yes, it depended exclusively on him, hadn't the old woman left him the highest, the
broadest powers, didn't he have the free administration of the goods?...

If he hadn't already done it, it was... not even he knew why at a fixed point; considerations,
delicacies, scruples of conscience.

Very foolish scruples indeed, misunderstood delicacies, because, in short, half of that
was his, he had inherited it from his father, only the other half belonged as marital
property to his mother.

Something had weighed on him, something had influenced him, I couldn't stop intimately
understanding him, his way of being, his nature, his own nature; He knew himself, he
even had that merit, it was difficult for him to get rid of money, he was mean and mean
at heart, miserly like his father. Another garment to add to the clothes that adorned him,
another nice gift that the old man had given him, another present to thank him for...
damn... he could never, ever remember him without hatred, even without disgust!... .

But it had to be mastered, it had to be overcome; He was not born in Calabria, he was
born in Buenos Aires, he wanted to be Creole, generous and selfless, like the other
children of the land; It was a misery, an indecency, a nameless poshness that, if he
could, he stopped buying what he was missing.

And later, in any case, to cover the hole, to fill the deficit and replenish his capital, he
would work something, he would try to start some business, he would sell the house, for
example, and he would have a stay, he would spend part of the year in the countryside,
It would save on excess winter expenses in the summer months.

That, well understood, if before he didn't achieve what he was chasing, like someone
who said put on the boots, take off the big one, get a good marriage, with this one or
that one, with his cock or any other, he would have three dicks as long as she was rich.
Machine Translated by Google

CHAPTER XXI

Once his wish was fulfilled, the funds were sold and the jacket was purchased,
it was no longer this one, it was not a car, it was the Club.

Naturally, her father was among the members of the Progreso, and Máxima attended
the dances. What figure did he, Genaro, make in the eyes of his girlfriend? The good,
the best of Buenos Aires was gathered there. The mere fact of being a member, of
having access to that center, was like a diploma of social worth, of distinction.

It was enough for a name to be excluded from the list, so that, for that reason
alone, like a shadow enveloped it, a suspicion, a vague presumption, would fall
on it, it would inspire an uncertain distrust and one would be exposed to being
branded, since not a mulatto or a thief, a guarango, at least, a mediocre
individual, a type, a riff-raff.

Then; dancing, grabbing women, hugging them, squeezing them, as if it were just a
matter of fooling around with them, didn't suit him; Damn how funny it was to think that
they were touching his cock, just because it was playing music.

Yes, it annoyed him, it made him angry, not precisely because of her, because
he was jealous of the girl - he was going to fall into that kind of crazy, not even
because he had really been loving her to take it so personally - but rather
because of him, a matter of himself, of self-love, of not considering himself
smoked and of not appearing stupid in the eyes of others... much more so,
when it began to be revealed, to become public among his relationships, that
he was walking in the dark with the subject.

Being from the Club... That had been stuck in his mind for a long time, and he
didn't dream of anything else.

To have the right to enter his house like Pedro, to go to lunch, to dinner
whenever he felt like it, to clear his table, to be able to rub shoulders as a friend
and as a buddy, partying with all those people, walking among them; was
Machine Translated by Google

like raising rods, so that no traces or vestiges would remain of the past, of his origin, of
who he was or where he had come from.

And what a pichincha at the dances, very much like a lion among countless
girls, arm in arm with her, giving something to say, pretending to be interesting,
seasonal with her in the corners, at the table!

If he didn't advance along the way like this, with that ease of seeing her, of
being there, of talking to her for hours on end, at ease; If he couldn't get things
to mature that way, he might as well go off and fry fritters, he was more than
unhappy, he was miserable!

Yes, obviously, without a doubt he had to do it, it was clearly convenient for
him. But, what?... wanting was not being able to be admitted, that was the
point, the big issue, not exposing oneself to rejection, to having the door
slammed in his face and suffering a uselessly embarrassing... I didn't have it
all together...

Much, however, had to consist of the person, who presented it, who was
someone of position, of importance, someone capable of influencing, of
weighing on the mood of the Commission, and who spoke, who took the thing
with warmth. and became interested in him when the
case.

Who among your acquaintances, among your friends? He had so few; friend,
true friend, I could say that with none; and all because of him, because of his
way of being, his character, that damned gift of getting on with others, of
bringing on the antipathy and ill-will of every living creature around him.

He thought first of his lawyer.

No, it wasn't the man; He didn't know, he certainly didn't know to what extent
he could have a high profile in the Club; He distrusted him, he seemed very
Creole, very rancid; entirely vicious of bitter mate and blacks; It was impossible
for him to be one of those who called the shots... thank you for putting up with
it...
Machine Translated by Google

And furthermore, the man had to walk with it half crooked; I hadn't seen him in a
century, ever since he had dropped out of school and had been thrown off by the job.

Some of his former classmates were more like... Yes, one occurred to him, Carlos, a
good guy, a good boy and the first, the main thing in Buenos Aires. The two of them
had always gotten along very well, he had been on the committee several times,
according to what he had the idea of having heard him say, and he didn't go out, he
spent his life at the Club.

He believed that he would not be denied, that perhaps he would be willing to serve him.
I would go see him in any case, I would try to understand him, to know what disposition
he was in, to test the waters first, just in case...

It was good not to take your feet off the plate...

Machine Translated by Google

CAPÍTULO XXII

-Is it very difficult to be admitted as a member of Progreso?

-According to; why do you ask me?

-For nothing, just like that, I'm talking to you about that like anything else.

-It depends on the candidate, and also on the way the commission may be
composed.

The old ones, the founding partners, are generally clearer, more full of
scruples and stories. Retrograde, reluctant by principle and by system, they
understand that today's Club is the same as before; They don't understand
that twenty years have passed since then, that they already made an era,
since the women of their time are today married, big-headed women with at
least half a dozen children and that the Club is like a wake.

The young people, the boys, do not go beyond continuing to be boys for
them, little bit... they barely resign themselves to looking - and certainly not
with a very good eye - that one or another has entry; and that one, outside of
which there is no salvation, must belong to the number of the elect, to the
little circle of wild families of the siege of '53, it must be better known than
the rude and clean as a whistle.

Genaro heard it in silence; Altered, his chest palpitating, his face is ravished
by the fire of his blood; a malaise, such a bitter disenchantment, invaded him;
He saw his hopes remote, already lost; His aspiration seemed foolish to him
now, reckless. That they accepted him, that he imposed himself, that he
wanted to become people... How, even for a moment, could such absurdity
have fit into his head!...
He must have been gone or crazy!...

"Now," the other continued, however, "when we are the ones who direct the
tambourine, things change in appearance."
Machine Translated by Google

Since we don't find it very funny that we say we spend our time reading newspapers
and playing mus, backgammon and billiards with an old man's tip, above all, what
we want is to put it together, to be able to hit it, night after night if it comes to hand,
revelry, fun, batuque, the first thing that occurs to us, as soon as we take hold of the
reins of government, is to open the two doors of the door wide and let people come
in, the girls, the new element of action,! those with an ax and chalk!...

-But what about you, friend, what are you doing, why don't you dare and show up too?

-God save me! -Genaro blurted out in a hasty voice, still under the impression of his
companion's first words, that abrupt exclamation springing from the most intimate
part of his soul.

-And why, man, are you afraid that they won't accept you?

-Not that; Why shouldn't they accept me? I'm not any mangy myself.

-And then?

"It's not that," Genaro continued, looking for a way out, trying to find an excuse, some
pretext, "the expense is what's a joke, the five thousand pesos, I believe, that one
has to spend."

-The expense... the expense... of when you are here so poor... a real dandy, a young
man with a car and with a gathering in Colón!

-No, not so bald, don't believe; I have attentions, serious duties to fulfill; The old lady
spends a lot in Europe, I myself tend to go off the deep end here myself.

-Bah, bah!... don't be kidding, mate... Above all, if you need to, talk, I'm here, you
have me here at your service.

-Thank you very much, my doctor.

-There is no need to give them.

Machine Translated by Google

A moment of silence followed.

He was exaggerating, lazy, to have been moved, to have been scared like that.

Carlos spoke of his possible income as the most natural thing in the world, he had
offered himself to him, he had put himself at his service, he had even wanted to lend
him money to pay his fee...

It was not so absurd then, his claim was not so far-fetched, the lion was not as fierce as
they painted him... Genaro came to say to himself, reacting internally, already back from
the violent emotion that had just dominated him.

And, encouraged by the facilities offered to him, in the presence of the apparent
certainty that his friend would appear possessed, little by little he himself, daring,
allowing himself to be carried away by the invincible temptation, ended up opening
himself openly to his friend.

"Why go around and hide and seek," he suddenly exclaimed. If you want me to tell you
the truth, little brother, to you who are my friend, it is not the will, it is not the desire that
I lack, but there is something deep down than what you imagined.

Yes, why hide it. I don't stop having my distrust, my misgivings... that by chance
someone might not like me and finally come out with my tail between my legs, snubbed,
snubbed...

That, nothing more than that, is what stops me; You see that I do not sin by lack of
modesty.

"Hum..." the other simply said as if he had suddenly finished

assault him, as if in an involuntary and sudden fluctuation, as if giving to understand in
spite of himself that he was not far from sharing Genaro's fears, regretful perhaps for
having inspired in him a confidence that, after a second of reflection, he himself did not
sheltered

The poor devil might well not be without reason; because in short, judging by the kind
of life he led, by the relative luxury that
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spent, he seemed not to be deprived of resources, of fortune, although

the contact, the university friction with the boys of his time gave him a
certain veneer, allowed him to live among them, hang out with certain
people, personally, who was he?

No, it's nothing strange that, going into overdrive, they found out about his
life and the poor man turned out to be in a bad position...

And how can he get rid of the problem now?... It was clear, Genaro had
gone to see him with the intention of making use of him, of asking him to
be in charge of introducing him...

Damn it!... Why would he have spoken, why would he have made him
consent to the individual?... The way, then, the ease of telling him no...
He had behaved like a cadet, he had stepped on it like a a tilingo Bad
business, unpleasant, annoying... More than for him for the other
unfortunate man.

-But what do you think, brother, what do you think about the thing, do you
think there is any danger? Tell me frankly, as a friend.

-No, man... what am I going to believe, where am I going to figure... they are stories, your
nonsense... well, it doesn't seem to me that there would be a reason...

And despite having caught his attention the change that occurred in
Carlos, his attitude, his reserve, his sudden coldness, the ambiguous and
doubtful tone of his words:

"It means, then," Genaro ended up exclaiming, determined to play

everything for everything, not to give in, once his self-esteem was
compromised, "that you would have no problem helping me, lending me
your help, being the one in charge of the task." affair.

-Me?... This... well, agreed.

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CHAPTER XXIII

Eight days, eight deadly days, had to pass during which his name would be found
in the pillory, written in all the letters on a sheet of paper, in a visible place, exposed
to everyone's eyes... It was obligatory, it was a regulation. That's what Carlos had
told him.

Good luck!... and so much antipathy, so much ill will that they had towards him!...

If for the sole pleasure, for the sole desire of causing him harm, someone, one of his
acquaintances, his former classmates, were to tell his sad story, to reveal his life and
miracles within the commission, his family , his father, his mother, his childhood, the
tenement on San Juan Street, all that past of misery and shame, the story of the Chinese
man from the market, repeated by word of mouth, public, proverbial among the students
of the University, everything would be brought up, everything, with hair and signs, would
come to light... they would sink him with it... they would kill him!

And in the anxiety, in the anxiety of waiting, time dragged on, hours became
centuries for him.

Somber, taciturn, he could be seen wandering, wandering on adventure, day and night,
pursued by incessant obsession; that they would close the doors on him, that they would
expel him, that they would ignominiously, reject him because he was unworthy.

He seemed to hear the noise, perceive the dry sound, the dull thump of the balls
as they fell, see that the urn was opened, that those came out black, and the urn,
the balls, the commission erected as a court, all that formalism of secrecy, That
whole apparatus of voting involuntarily awakened a reminiscence in him; his
examination, the other urn, the other court, the robbery he had committed and
which had gone unpunished. If I was going to pay it with proceeds from that fact...
If there would be justice... If it would be true that there was God?...

He looked in vain for respite from his affliction, in vain he tried not to think, not to
remember, to distract himself, to even daze himself, and he drank, he asked for
Sherry, Port, and Champagne with his meals.
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Neither the capitol vapor of the wines, nor the bustling camaraderie of his friends, nor the
coming and going, the confusion, the movement of the streets, the public animation on the
walks, in the cafes, in the theaters, were enough to tear him from his depths. absorption; not
even his loves themselves, not even Maxima, whom he unexpectedly, as if by chance, met,
whose steps he followed in a petty manner, out of habit alone, out of the habit of following
and on whom he kept his eyes like an automaton, at whom he looked without seeing,
unconscious, without knowing, completely absorbed in the fixed idea.

The deadline expired, however, eight days expired. In the early hours of the night the
commission had to deal with him; Carlos would immediately inform him of the result, they
would both see each other at the Café de Paris at ten.

Before the hour and already tired of waiting, Genaro had exhausted his supply of cigarettes,
he had ordered cognac, chartreuse, anisette, it didn't matter, whatever the waiter wanted to
give him, one of those things, anything with the coffee... . and newspapers that had been left
unread, folded on the table.

Ten, a quarter past ten, half past ten; The doors opened, they closed again, their hinges
creaked, their leaves slammed, Genaro turned his restless gaze; nothing... they were strange
faces, regulars at the café, people coming in and out... the other didn't appear, they didn't
notice.
I saw it appear.

Had I got the time or place of the appointment wrong, did I understand that they had talked
about the Café de Catalanes... was there perhaps a missing number?... Yes, more like that;
The Commission had not been able to meet due to the absence of one of its members... In
any case, Carlos should have warned him.

Or had he forgotten it, worried only about his affairs? Impossible knowing everything that
was going to him in the game... it would have been unforgivable on his part, to break up with
him, to throw him out at a bad time and never speak to him again in his life!...
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Finally, after waiting in vain until eleven o'clock, Genaro noticed that one of the waiters
approached carrying a paper, like a letter in his hand.

-This, sir, the porter gave me a moment ago; He says they have left it for you.

Turned suddenly red with emotion, a livid, earthy tinge of a corpse then bathed
Genaro's face. The paper trembled between his fingers; I had just read the address;
The lyrics were Carlos's...

Why, instead of going, did I write to him?

And violently, nervously, without giving himself more time, he tore the letter envelope:

"My dear Genaro - he could see through thick smoke, forced to rub his eyes several
times - things have gone badly for us, despite my best will and my efforts in your
favor.

"But what do you want, these people are like that, vain and hollow, swollen like
peacocks.

"All I have been able to obtain is that your matter be considered withdrawn, or
better yet, not received.

"Be calm, philosophy... what do you care; finally, you are worth as much or more
than them!

"Always your friend.

Carlos. "

Without having wanted to, encouraged by a remnant of hope that, despite everything,
did not abandon him, without having dared to penetrate into the depths of himself, to put
his finger on the painful sore, Genaro had, had always had, a Consciousness wanders
in the background, a dark premonition, like a hidden intuition of the announced outcome.
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It was not, then, the treacherous blow of surprise, nor the honest cry that injustice raises, nor
the black despondency, nor the deep prostration of misfortune; It was the spite of envy, the
rage of impotence, a low burst of hatred, that burst from his lip.

Who saw them, who heard them, all of them... where they came from, where they had come
from, who they had been, their caste, their grandparents... brute gauchos, baguals, raised
with their feet on the ground, Indian bastards with the smell of foal and Galician with the smell
of filth, adventurers, upstarts, perdulators, without God or law, office or benefit, the kind that
Spain sent by boat, which it threw in heaps into the sewer of its colonies; His parents were
peddlers, shopkeepers who lived on roasted chorizo in the brazier in the back room and bitter
mate thrown behind the counter; shopkeepers, peddlers themselves!...

And they blazoned themselves as great afterwards and tried to boast, they dismissed her as
noblemen, of nobility, they put a tail on the name, they signed themselves as, they talked
about their families, they wanted to be category, aristocracy and they looked over their
shoulders and threw him at him! with the mud of his contempt on his face!...

Aristocracy... what designs, what figures those are for aristocracy, here where everyone knew
each other!...

He? Yes, true, he was the son of two miserable gringos, but his parents had been married,
he was a legitimate son, his mother had been honest, he was not a son of a bitch at least, he
did not have any of those stains on him, while he did not They could all say the same and that
by lifting up the shirts of many of the most conceited...

And proper names, names and surnames, echoes collected by him in his childhood, tales of
a cook gossiping in the markets, entanglements of the service mob, in the houses where the
mother had entered in other times, gossip of servants repeated by her. , at night, in his
conversations with the old man, and that he heard; what he knew later, what was whispered
in the classrooms, what the students murmured about their homes, their families, their
mothers, their sisters, about each other, among themselves, all the low and base gossip, the
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common currency of street gossip, it was like retching coming out of his mouth, like
streams of poison was vomited by him.

And they wanted to be an aristocracy, and they had thrown him out onto the street... he repeated...
Blessed God... don't let the house burn down with all of them inside!...
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CHAPTER XXIV

Oh, but he who inherited it did not steal it; All of his offspring were stubborn
and without a hint of shame, for the better, in order to get a profit.

He had lost a girl, how could it be... time after time... he did not despair of
revenge; They had closed the door, it could very well happen that they got
in through the window!...

The only thing that, after the first moment of anger, continued to make him
itch, the only thing that was making him think, was that the word would
spread, that it would spread and that his bald forehead would reach the
girl's ears...

Very capable, with the pretensions he should have, of looking at him like a
dog... Bad then, then yes, work and lost time... a matter of going back to
his old ways with someone else, and discredited, discredited in addition,
demonetized in plaza like bad metal.

Without a doubt, Carlos told him in his letter, that he had managed to
withdraw the request as a gift to him, that it was as if they had not voted for him.
That faker too... he shouldn't have even bothered, he had taken out the
body, he had just left it hanging... he was going to make him believe a lot,
he was going to have a lot of faith in him... they were all cut down by the
same scissors!...

But even assuming that he had told the truth, to what extent was it
trustworthy to attribute importance to it, to what extent did it deserve to be
regarded by him as a guarantee?

Stories, probably, parts, scams of the other to sugarcoat the pill...

No, there was no need to have any illusions, he could live with one thing, convinced:
that he was alone, against everyone in the world...
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The old woman?... Her mother didn't take into account at all, she was fine where she
was, there, in her country, involved with her relatives... If she didn't come back... one
less nuisance!

Yes, universally disliked and disliked, he would never expect support or assistance from
anyone, and left to his own efforts, to his sole action, he had to not stop short until he
entered through the devil's hoop, if at all hand came; all the means were good, all
without exception, willing, determined as he was.

What situation was yours in the meantime?

Unfortunately, of course, I was wasting my time. That thing of having fun with the other
could have been very good and very fun and very nice as an exordium, to begin with,
but it led to nothing, it meant nothing in the long run, it was, in short, a thing for
creatures, for tilingos.

And poor thing, throwing away the little he had, on the way to being left in the middle of
the street before long and now rejected from the Club, with that shame, with that affront
more on his soul, was it better for him to let himself walk, having lost hope, moreover,
opportunity to approach Máxima, to talk to her at dances?

The sooner he had to see, he had to try to get into the old people's hands.
House.

As? I didn't know. Would someone introduce it? I didn't know anyone who was related
to the family. Find who had it? No, it was cured, already scaly; He didn't want to expose
himself to another slight, to suffer a new disappointment.

Then, going like that, being carried officially, just because, he showed certain airs, a
certain dose of vanity, of pretension, which could well harm him, put him in a bad point
of view, in a bad opinion in the eyes of the family.

The old man would naturally come in to investigate, to find out, to fear, to ponder. Who
was the guy, the quidam, what did he want, what was he up to?
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searching his house, it wouldn't definitely be him or his wife, but his
daughter, probably the girl.

And of course, there would be no shortage, as there was never a shortage,

of an officious, restrained person who would pick up the gossip and put it
to rest. No, that was not the way; The turns, the detours, the curved line
used to be the shortest and straightest path. Find a motive, a reason,
some excuse, enter as if unwillingly, as if forced and, playing the tame,
the humble, the dead fly, by dint of art, skill and stupidity, end up winning
the side of the houses, by cut off the navel of all those people.

A commission, some party, some concert to benefit the poor... any

subscription, fundraising... something, something like that, so that they
would offer him the house...
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CAPITULO XXV

Máxima's family spent the summer in a villa on the outskirts of Belgrano.

As the afternoon fell on one of those sweltering December days, under the
Corridor, to the east, the young woman was gathered with her parents; They breathed in a
respite from the heat swept away by the cool breeze of the turn.

A thick cloud of dust, at the foot of the ravine, behind the fence of reeds on the road,
as if the carriage that was lifting it had stopped there, began little by little to dissipate.

And, moments later, in fact, a man appeared, entered with an uncertain and cautious
step, as if stepping into a closed area, stretched out his neck, looked around, stopped,
moved forward again, went up, approached, following the s's of a path, vaguely
suggesting in its gesture, in its walk, the idea of the slippery walk of snakes.

Suddenly noticing the presence of the inhabitants of the house, hidden until then
from his sight by the plants in the garden:

"Excuse me, sir," he said from a distance in a soft tone, with a shy and clingy accent,
addressing Máxima's father, "a small mishap has just happened to me, a small
accident in my carriage, a screw that I have lost, that has fallen out of place. the rod...
is little, almost nothing, enough, however, that it is not possible for me to

Continue.

Something, any piece of string, with which to secure the pole would be enough for
me and I have had the courage, I have taken the liberty of
to enter...

-You have done very well, sir, I am going to order you immediately, please sit down
in the meantime, please wait a moment.
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And calling one of the people on duty, the coachman of the house, he
ordered him to get out and without loss of time take care of fixing the carriage.

-Thank you a million, sir, but... I am truly afraid of disturbing, of being

indiscreet, and I ask you, of course, for your forgiveness.

-Absolutely, sir.

A change of words, of banal phrases followed; the obligatory theme of those

who speak to each other for the first time and want nothing or have nothing
to say to each other.

Máxima only remained silent, her cheek flushed, her gaze averted, as if in a
nervous restlessness of all of her.

Ten minutes later, however, they announced that the carriage was ready.
Its owner then, without waiting any longer, stood up and took his card out of
his pocket:

"I reiterate, sir, my most sincere gratitude," he said, "you have a humble servant in me."

-This is your house, gentleman, we are here at your service.

And attentively, from the edge of the ravine, the old man said goodbye to
his guest.

"Genaro Piazza" - he read back, as he returned to his wife and daughter - I

don't know, I don't know who he could be... but the young man seems very
good, very fine, very decent...

"Magnificent, splendid, priceless," the other exclaimed to himself, jumping in

his seat with joy, while, releasing the horse's rein, he walked away
surrounded by the whirlwind of dust from the road.
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CHAPTER XXVI

Take advantage now, not let it get warm, return as soon as possible, on the trail, two
or three days later.

Yes, but to return... here I am because I have come... very loose in body, to visit, like
the house, the relationship, like servants together... And what did it mean, who put it
in, as a matter of that?

Hum!... half like that, half shady, half ugly, not very Catholic, that was... it was enough
to make the father distrust and open his eye.

Brave coincidence, the car breaking down so soon at the same door and what a
breakage! What a desire, an enthusiasm, valid for the fact that out of policy, out of
compliance nothing more, they came out offering him the house, immediately
blowing!...

It was decidedly more difficult to enter through the open door, to return the second
time than to have been there the first time.

But he would see, it would happen, it didn't cost him anything, he belonged to
everyone on the street, maybe Máxima would wait for him in the garden, in the ravine,
he had time to think about everything and decide or not.
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CHAPTER XXVII

He moderated his pace at a distance; The carriage strode forward, its owner
perplexed, irresolute.

Would it hold, would it enter? He could do it, they had given him that right, his
family was undoubtedly going to receive him, there was certainly no danger of
being thrown out onto the street with untempered boxes... but... what would he
talk about, what would he talk about, how to explain his presence there, without
cause, without pretext now?

Meanwhile, he was approaching, he was already arriving, he was going to cross

in front of the entrance gate. The fifth would have been said to be deserted,
uninhabited; No one could be seen, a great silence reigned. Yes, how stupid,
Rome everywhere, the world was one of the daring!...

And, as if a strange hand held the reins of the carriage, it continued walking,
however, Genaro continued, at the trot of his horse, heading towards Belgrano.

A band played in front of the station when he arrived. Under the dense double
row of the streets of paradise, a large influx of people could be seen, families
who lived during the summer months in the little town, others who left the city in
their carriages, people who were on horseback or on the train.

Here and there on the promenade benches, scattered mothers; The daughters gathered
together, coming and going, parking in groups of friends in a society of young people,
of "young men." They caressed each other, held each other's waists, one on top of the
other, they lay down lovingly, swaying their bodies, squeezing each other's hands,
playing with flowers on their lips. They are smiling, lively, telling, sometimes affecting to
lean in, exchanging with a mischievous gesture in the ears of their neighbors some
short word, some furtive phrase.

And they smoked, they even smoked black tobacco in the meantime, and
everything was intemperate and loud, the tone of the voices and the colors,
confused with the tone of the band, loud and intemperate.
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Would Maxima be there? Genaro went down, searched, one by one he observed the
groups, he walked the streets of the promenade in every direction; When, after a long
time had passed and he had already lost hope of finding her, among the thick crowd, he
thought he could distinguish her from a distance.

Yes, with the mother; She was coming towards him, dressed in a plaid Indian scarf, the
navy blue barely dominating among the muted and somber inks of the shawl, her waist
tight in relief; the narrow skirt, fallen simply, without adornment, the heavy mass of her
black hair lost under the brim of an antique gold and velvet straw hat. She let her foot be
seen flirtatiously, glimpsed, rather sensed, as she walked, the birth of her leg in the violet
silk of her stockings.

They passed. Smiling, with a kind gesture, the lady had returned Genaro's greeting.
They passed again; Máxima and he looked at each other... as they knew how to look at
each other.

And timid, apprehensive, yet cowardly, with the austere cowardice of a miser, he did not
want to let himself be.

Why rush, why rush the march of events? No, slowly, little by little was better; carefully,
prudently, cautiously... I didn't see the need to take everything with me...

Now, especially, that he knew, that he was sure of finding her on Thursdays and Sundays
at that time. Even if the mother did not want to, she would have to go, carried, dragged
by the daughter... And there would be no lack of opportunity afterwards, any opportunity,
some favorable situation, that would allow her to approach without violence, as a natural
thing, as if led by the hand, as if it fell from his weight to do so.
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CHAPTER XXVIII

Just as he had imagined and longed for, one day of celebration, when, by
exception, the attendance became larger, Genaro heard Máxima's mother
murmuring as she passed by him:

-I would sit, where, if all the seats are full?

"Here, miss... allow me, lady..." the man hurriedly exclaimed, standing up
abruptly.

-No sir, not at all..., and you?

-Oh! I... don't worry about me.

-It is a lot of kindness, a lot of gallantry, and I thank you and accept it, sir,
because I really feel somewhat tired.

Had the old woman just spoken without noticing that she was close to him,
or had she done it with intention, tired of rolling around, had she used that
means to get him to give her the seat?

Coincidence or not, what did he care?... The frost was broken, he had
passed the Rubicon, he could now tighten the pegs!...

And once again, under the pretext of the lady's alleged fatigue, as she and
her daughter were leaving, Genaro offered to lead her to the carriage:

-We came on foot, we are so close...

-All the more reason then, deign to lean on me, lady, to take my arm.
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CHAPTER XXIX

Admitted to frequent the house, accepted by the family, an intimacy, a trust, growing,
was insensibly established.

Not that this was caused by Genaro, that he was trying to impose
himself, that his behavior, his attitude, had never harassed the
slightest mischief on his part, the smallest license. Far from that,
always measured and circumspect, withdrawn in the presence of his
parents, sinning rather through an excess of shyness and modesty,
he made it a point of study to remain humble from a distance.

The young man was a cutie, the lady used to say when talking about
him, so attentive, so kind and so formal at the same time... she didn't
care that he went too far, that he went too far in the slightest, he
wasn't like others. daring, knew how to give place.

Yes, true, the father agreed, the boy seemed good, discreet, serious,
decent, very little man... and he wasn't stupid either.

Without a doubt, other members and relatives of the family, relatives,

friends, who were more or less aware of what Genaro's life was about,
found it strange, inexplicable, the ease with which he had been
welcomed, and the warnings , warnings, reflections and advice were
naturally not in short supply.

What, they didn't know? It was said that he was the son of a so-and-
so, they spoke very badly of him, he had had the audacity, the
audacity to be introduced as a member of the Progress Club and of
course they had blackballed him; His own classmates looked down
on him, the same ones his age, he was a jerk, in short, nowhere, in
no decent house did he visit, only they received him.

Slander, the lady exclaimed, taking Genaro's defense, indignant, lies.

Gossip, just the envy they had of him!...
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But what was said was vague, indeterminate, the husband in turn observed
calmly, he saw no direct charge leveled against the young man, no
dishonorable act, no bad action for which he was intended to be held
responsible.

That he was of humble origins and well, what did they mean by that?
All the more merit on his part if, despite the condition of his parents, he had
known how to make his way and rise to another level.

That they had rejected him from the Club? Very badly done from the moment
that they could not reproach him for anything, that nothing showed that he
was not personally worthy and honorable...

No, it did not satisfy him, all that was not enough for him to believe, in
conscience, that he was authorized to dismiss him from his home, to give
him such a right. There was undoubtedly a lot of ill will involved, a lot of
unfairness, a lot of unfoundedness. He didn't know why they were so cruel
to the poor young man.

Above all, he didn't want him as his daughter's husband... let them leave him
alone!...

And while he was busy with his business, going out frequently, going to the
city, attending the Stock Exchange during the day, and attending the Rural
Society at night, among whose members he was, it also frequently happened
that the lady and Máxima found themselves alone in the country house. .

The mother herself, in the favorable opinion, in the high idea that Genaro
harbored, in the unlimited and blind confidence that he had known how to
inspire in her, requested by the thousand attentions of her house, did not
hesitate to leave the living room or the garden, in tolerating without a shadow
of suspicion that, just the two of them, he would remain for long hours with
his daughter.

Oh! and he had not wasted his time; He was now far from the time of his platonic
celebrations, of his vain and childish love affairs, one day after another concretized,
reduced to contemplating her and following her trail from a distance!...
Machine Translated by Google

It was more than the sweet confession, than the magical word from chair to chair
exchanged, more than the phrase whispered in the ear in the warm caress of the
breath, the foot searching for another foot, the hand pressed between another
hand; It was more than the kiss lavished, loved, demanded, in the greedy fever of
desire, in the voracious fire of blood.

And even more, everything would have been, without the last apprehensions,
without the supreme alarms of the virgin:

-Yes, sweetheart, yes little girl, leave me, look how you make me feel, how I suffer,
don't be mean, don't be cruel!...

-No, not that, I don't want... never, never that!...

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CHAPTER XXX

But it had to be, it had to happen one day or another, no matter how much
he didn't want it to happen, he didn't have to go very far.

He knew well the oxen he used to plow, he knew well what to expect, the
role he played, how he was received by the family, who did nothing but
tolerate him, who accepted him as if with pity, who looked at him like a
bug! harmless, like a kind of cuzco of the house, that they considered him
stupid!

But even if he tried to tear off his mask and show his nails... whoosh!... his father
grabbed him by the ear and kicked him away, just like it sounded...

No, there was no more, there was no other way, it was necessary for the
girl to fall; that Máxima would become his... And he had to ask them, would
they see then what was good!... What choice did they have left, fear of a
bell ringing, of a major scandal, than to say yes and let out a pledge?

Not what else were they going to want or what else did they want lately... he was even
doing them a favor by getting married, no matter how well served they could be that,
once the individual was teased, he wanted to take care of her!...

The opportunity... that, that above all, he was missing. No matter how
trusting, no matter how much of a soul of God the lady was, at home it was
impossible, very difficult, very exposed. An open door, a mirror, a
carelessness, a servant, everything, at every step, could sell them, discover
them and, of course!, Máxima spent it embarrassed, in a continuous
turning, in a continuous looking and getting up, going to to spy.

Go out?... he didn't want to, nor could he, he never went out without his
mother, and yet, what a joke for him to catch her alone out there,
somewhere... at a masked ball, for example , on the occasion of the
approaching Carnival, at one of Columbus's dances, since he couldn't go
to the Club!...
Machine Translated by Google

She remembered hearing that some friends had invited her to go out
in a troupe, but that she had refused, for his sake, because she
imagined he wouldn't like it.

He would tell her not to be stupid and to accept, he would submit his
plan to her: while they were all at the Club, it suddenly occurred to
them to go to Colón, to see, to explore; a whim, a whim, a girl's
mischief, indulged, in those days of madness and license when
everything was allowed.

It was not something from the other world, in short; that she would try,
that she would talk to the others, they could see each other like that,
spend part of the night together.

The rest, the intentions he had, that for later, those were his accounts...
Machine Translated by Google

CHAPTER XXXI

The ear could hear from afar like the dull crackling of an oven; The windows were open,
all of them, wide open, as if in piles, the light fell and spilled over the square; The curious
loitered, occupying the sidewalks in front of the gated entrance doors; The rabble of
urchins, traffickers of passwords, swarmed in the middle of the street and, when they
went to enter, everything filled with people until the lobby, a smell felt hot and fetid, it
came out of the theater in puffs like the stinking breath of a beast.

The rumor increased, the tumult grew, it rose in pitch, it became a hubbub, an infernal
hubbub inside; not in the hall, not in the vast expanse of the proscenium and the stalls,
where confused Moors and Christians, Turks, counts and shepherdesses in loving
consortium, silently, gravely and left-handedly shook each other, swinging their bodies
to the beat of the mazurkas and habaneras. As soon as the high-pitched falsetto of
some young compadre managed to throw a sour note into the ensemble, or perhaps
the momentary throng of some quarrel disturbed the order.

It was the tole-tole upstairs, it was in the foyer, in the salons, the hubbub, the uproar,
the screams, the boisterous interplay, the enervating, exasperating chatter of two
thousand disguised Creole women, unleashed under the cover of disguise...

A group of eight to ten dominoes, white, struggled to make their way through, barely
managing to penetrate to the corner room.

Together they all looked around as if strangely surprised. If a man happened to speak
to them, abruptly with a spring-loaded movement, they turned their backs, pressed
themselves even closer, without answering, some letting out laughter under the mask,
a nervous and stifled laugh.
Machine Translated by Google

Two, however, as if undecided and consulting among themselves, after speaking,

whispering in each other's ears for a short moment, they detached themselves from
the others, approaching Genaro.

He watched them from afar, intently, leaning against one of the columns in the room.

"Give me your arm," one said to him.

-With great pleasure.

-Thank you dear, and see you later then.

"You see, I have done it," continued the domino, "Máxima," taking her boyfriend's arm,
both walking away, "and it wasn't without work, I swear to you." Mom didn't want it at
all, she said that ours was a crazy person, that we didn't make any sense to come to
Colón; But we have begged, insisted and begged so much, that I finally got her to
accompany us and there she is, the poor thing, with another lady sitting in the foyer,
waiting for us.

Let's just go for a walk, my old man, eh? I won't be able to stay, I won't be able to be
with you much; They have brought us with that condition and we have agreed to meet
with the others in a moment.

-Is that the way to prove your affection to me, you barely arrive and you already want
to leave?

-Ungrateful, say that I have done little for you!...

-What I'm saying is that I have you, ma'am, and that I won't let you go just like that,
with two pulls.

-I just can't, my little son, my friends are going to be looking for me, my mother is going
to be careful if I'm late...

-With going to see your mother.

Machine Translated by Google

-No, no, for what? You may realize, distrust, imagine that all my efforts have been
nothing but to meet you; No, don't let him know, better than not.

-But the time, my life, to spend half an hour by your side, the two of us together, for
you to see at least something of this hell...

You can't walk or breathe here; It is unbearably hot and the balconies are full of
people; Come, let's go out.

-Where?

-Wherever I want to take you and shut your mouth and obey.

They went down the steps of the square, walked to the corner, entered through the
café again, crossed the hall, continued to the left, stopped in front of a door; Genaro
had taken out a key.

-What are you doing?

-You see, open and enter. We're going to be here like princes, just the two of us
behind the bars.

-And you won't see, you won't be able to distinguish?

-How do you want it to look, without light inside!

One next to the other they sat in the shadows, in the darkness at the back of the box;
Genaro back, Máxima forward.

-Take off your mask. - He would put his arm around her waist when speaking to her. It
seems like a century ago, my China, that I haven't looked at you... and that I haven't
kissed you.

He attracted her, he held her close in the meantime; she wanted, she let herself. For
an instant, up close, the two looked at each other and their mouths suddenly joined
together, their eyes narrowed, long, deliciously, like someone who drinks, dry with
thirst.
Machine Translated by Google

-Well, that's enough, isn't it? Be sensible now, like a well-bred little boy, and let
me see the performance.

What figures, holy God, what a cache of women these... and even dirty ones!...

She continued chatting, criticizing, taking care of the audience, the dancing; him holding
her; He told her that he loved her, he gave her kisses, from time to time, on the neck,
under the ear; She trembled all over, she shrank; one by one, he gently began to remove
the buttons from her robe; she went back to buttoning it:

"Stay still, stay still, stay still, I tell you..." in a sweet languor, lazily, as if dozing,
he repeated.

Disturbed, the air filled the senses; An acrid smell of sweat and patchouli made
one dizzy, it could provoke disgust or desire, just as certain delicacies disgust
or incite one to eat. The couples passed by, intertwined as if in braids. A man
and a woman, nearby, there, were touching each other. The orchestra finished
the Faust waltz.

Abruptly, Máxima was felt, seen thrown, thrown on her back across the width
of the sofa, pushed by Genaro, and he on top of her:

"What?... no!..." she stammered, embarrassed.

-Shut up, if they hear you, if they see us, there will be a scandal!

The elastics creaked, there was a dull, confused rumble, a muffled noise of
struggle, then silence.

"You are infamous, you are miserable!..." exclaimed Máxima, standing in the middle of
the box, repairing the mess of her suit, lifting her mask from the floor. His breath was
labored, his voice was moved, his hands were trembling.

-Take me upstairs, where my mother is.

-Maximum...
Machine Translated by Google

- My ID.

-But daughter...

-Take me I repeat or I'll go alone.

He wanted to give her his arm; He took a step back, crossing hers.

-Go on, walk.

And as he, reluctant, will not hurry:

-What, can't you hear me? Walk, get out I tell you!

Wide gap of pride, a brutal pride of a satisfied male, he was laughing in his own
beard; I thought: it must pass...
Machine Translated by Google

Chapter 32

Lazy, she was lazy, a coward! -exclaimed Genaro, confronting Máxima with
his misgivings, his fears; What did she give for living like this trembling,
scared to death! If no one had ever known, if nothing had happened until
then, why should it happen?

She saw it well that the lady spent the years inside, that she validated the
trust that had been given to him in the house, she even used to not even go
out to receive him, and that now especially, in the city, it was a thousand
times better, safer than in the fifth, more difficult for the servants, hidden
there, in the back, to spy.

Owner of the field; Being able to become strong with the old people, Genaro said to himself,
the girl being his dearest, which was what he was... what did he care, let's see if the same
father didn't catch them, the better, as soon as possible!

He was just running out of a Christ, he was running like a donkey with
everything he had, with the lazy life he led; He had already stopped sending
two monthly payments to his mother, and it was very good that his father-in-
law's pesos would come in handy, like a saint, with a couple of candles.

He even wanted to put him in the secret himself, to write him an anonymous
letter so that he could blow the bomb once and for all.

Without a doubt, there was still a tail to be skinned, there was a danger: there
was a risk that in a first impulse, in an impulse of rage, the other person
would break his soul, although... not even who knew, because what was
going to happen? take out, what was going to be gained, in the end?

Maybe he wouldn't stop understanding it, he would think about it, meditate
on it, look at it from that side and come to terms.

Above all, that was well worth the bite, the slice that he was going to get...
that and much more!
Machine Translated by Google

But, the mother was blind and neglected, the father was almost constantly
absent, while the situation continued, Máxima and Genaro freely saw each
other, in the house, in the living room, alone, the secret of their loves
hidden from everyone's eyes. .

He had come to notice her worried, however, sad, silent, dejected at times,
as if brooding, as if dominated by an intimate and painful feeling.

He had tried to find out the cause: he had no doubt, what could it be? He
was as always, things about him, he just imagined.

He found her pale and haggard once, more polished and haggard than usual, her eyes
swollen, bloated, her eyelids red, she had evidently just cried:

-You won't say no, you won't be able to deny me now... but what about it,
tell me what's happening to you, don't you have confidence in me and in
who better can you have it?

You know that when it is about you, as if it were about myself, that what
directly or indirectly affects you, affects me, that your sorrows, your regrets
are mine, that I love you, that I adore you, in short , with all my soul and
that, linked you and I, by the bond that unites us, we are called, both
destined to suffer the same fate.

"Wow, my little daughter," Genaro continued, taking a seat next to

Máxima, taking her by the hand, caressing her:

-What is happening to you? Tell your old man... I beg you, I beg you...
because of the love you have for me... you can't imagine how much it pains
me to see you like this!

She let him speak, motionless in silence, her eyes lowered as if she heard
nothing, as if no one was there at her side:

-It is necessary, it is necessary, that I conclude this, however - with a lively

movement of impatience, he began to pace the room at long paces -
, It is ridiculous, absurd that you persist in that way; above all,
Machine Translated by Google

I need, I want to know and I don't ask, I demand that you speak... what do you have?
Answer.

"What I have?... is that I don't have what women have," Máxima ended up saying
abruptly, as if making an enormous effort, covering her face with her handkerchief,
her voice muffled between sobs.

-What women don't have?...

-Since... three months ago.

-Let's finish!... Is that it, that's it?

And without being able to contain a gesture of intimate joy:

"I thought so," Genaro murmured, as if talking to himself.

-As?

"Of course, then," he continued calmly, with aplomb, "it had to happen, I was
seeing it coming..."

-You?... you had assured me that not, however, you had told me to have
confidence in you, that you knew, what you would do... what do I know!... that I
should live calmly and without worries, that It was impossible, anyway...

-It's just that I wanted it, that with all the ardor of my soul I longed for it... Does
mine seem little joy, little happiness to you, being the father of your son, imagining
that you are going to be the mother and mother of my son yourself?

-Were you lying then, were you knowingly deceiving me?

-Oh! with the holiest of intentions, my little daughter, just for you, as a gift to you,
so as not to alarm you, so as not to scare you.

He had raised his eyes on him, he was looking at him with profound astonishment, as if
a veil had just been removed before his sight, as if another Genaro man had been
revealed to him at that moment:

-But... what about me?

Machine Translated by Google

-Do you think that I do not know my duties, that I do not have to fulfill what
my conscience as an honest man dictates to me, that I am a miserable self,
some scoundrel?...

I am ready to respond as a gentleman for my actions; You will marry me,

you will be my wife.

She remained silent again, tears bathed her face again:

-You know that I would even have the right to get angry, to resent you
seriously, that I could even see a lack of affection in your behavior, in your
affliction, in your tears... I truly believe that you don't love me, at least! how I
love you!...

-What to do, my God, what to do?

-To do?

He was going to tell her, have courage, courage, resolution, speak, confess
everything to the mother who was a holy woman and who was a mother, who
He would end up opening his arms to her and taking charge of obtaining her
husband's forgiveness.

No, no, God help her, just thinking about it, her face fell with shame, it was better to see,
wait, who knew? It could be something else, a temporary indisposition, some illness, it
could all come to nothing in the end...
Machine Translated by Google

Chapter 33

It ran for a month; She had told her: uselessly, it was vain to persist in waiting, to
continue having her hopes, she had asked, she had consulted with a doctor who was a
friend of hers, the whole picture of symptoms of pregnancy was presented, it was
undoubtedly, evident that she was pregnant.

The situation was getting worse meanwhile, soon it would be impossible

for him to hide it from the eyes of his mother, his father; For the family, for
the public itself, how later, how to hide it if it left care early?

One month... two months... still, it was easier that, they could say that the
little boy had been born at seven, they could, by going to live temporarily in
the countryside, in one of the father's rooms, delay, hide the true date of
birth.

But for it to be resolved once and for all, every day, every hour that passed,
was precious time that was lost. Not for him, for him personally, what did
he care... he was a man!... for her, for her son, in the name of his
compromised reputation, in the interest of the poor, innocent creature that
spoke, that he earnestly begged him.

He finally achieved, he obtained from Máxima what he wanted; Urged by

him, urged, forced, also by the very force of the sad limb to which she was
reduced, Genaro extracted from her the promise to confess everything to
her mother hours later.

It was going to be a night of anxiety for him, it was just that he wanted, that
he longed to know, they agreed on a sign, it would happen the next
morning, one of the blinds in the living room would be found half-tied, it
would not be favorable for him to wait unless he was Thus, at least nothing
had been resolved yet.

In fact, he did not sleep, agitated, feverish, tossing and turning in bed
incessantly, it was impossible for him to fall asleep for a single moment.
Machine Translated by Google

He thought, he worried about Máxima, he suffered for her, a feeling of affection

and pity at the same time led him to sympathize with her state, the unfortunate
victim of his! Did she even say to herself, reduced, violated, at his mercy, in front
of him? her own parents now dragged to make the tremendous confession of her
shame, and alone, without defense, without protection or protection in the terrible
and hazardous trance?

Fear was what he had, a selfish and cowardly thought that occupied his mind, the
idea of danger that he was in that would suddenly assail him and come to dominate
him.

Fear for him, for himself, for himself alone, fear of another, fear of facing the
father's anger unleashed against him in a blind outburst of spite.

Whatever she did, whatever she saw of saving him and accusing herself, she
would say that she alone was the only one to blame, that she had sought him out,
provoked him... as long as she tried to somehow save him, which she did! lest the
old man go against him!...

That, that's what he had to do, that's what he had the right to expect from her, to
demand from her affection, if he really wanted it.

He got up when it was light, and bolted the door, which was already locked. The
coming and going of the service people, the awakening of the other tenants, the
continuous movement on the stairs, in the hallways, all that daily noise of the
hotel, to which he had been accustomed for months before, filled him, however,
with involuntary terror; He stretched out his ears, startled and throbbing with every
step; Someone was coming up, someone was getting closer, were they going to
stop and hit?

He thought about buying a revolver and putting it in his pocket, as he came out,
there on the way back, at the Bertonnet gun shop.

He entered before going down to one of the front rooms, its owner had just left, a waiter
was putting it in order. From there, up, hidden, hidden, stretching his neck, outlining the
body, he spied, searched the block; The other could be waiting for him on the sidewalk
and hunt him down at the exit.
Machine Translated by Google

He inquired from the doorman if anyone had gone looking for him and hit him, quickly,
almost running, he got out and turned into the street.

Would he buy a revolver?... Waste money, he thought later... why, if he knew himself, if he
knew that he was not going to make use of it, that he was very capable of
fall with fright as soon as his father appeared from his hands to his mouth!...

He crossed Calle de la Piedad, continued in the direction of Plaza de la Victoria, looked at

the clock: nine o'clock.

From the sidewalk of the Cathedral he carefully observed the long line of rental cars, he
wanted one with a window.

"To Retiro, straight through San Martín," he said to the coachman, and got in.

You lower, close the blinds, all of them. What would have happened, how far could that
barbarian have gone?

It seemed to him as if he received an impression of mourning as he passed by, as if he

were breathing in an atmosphere of death, like a silent tomb, the house frozen, and,
suddenly moved, a word of compassion appeared only then on his lips:

"Poor thing!..." he murmured. Although no, stupid, idiot! The door was open, both leaves,
wide open; nothing that he imagined there could be, nothing serious, serious in that sense
so
any less...

Would Máxima have regretted it, would she have felt scared, intimidated at the last moment
and would not have spoken... what was happening inside, what?...

The carriage arrived at the Retiro; He stopped next to the fence of the Plaza:

"Wait," Genaro ordered. He would come back later, he thought; Where would I go in the
meantime? Was it time for lunch, on Moreno Street? No; The doorman knew that he ate at
that inn; The individual could go looking for him, ask questions and find him; find it there...
Machine Translated by Google

Damn the appetite I had either!

Several times during the course of the day he rode up and down the street in
a closed carriage; nothing; He went back to prayer, at nine, at twelve, nothing,
always nothing.

Another night of agitation and insomnia, another like the previous one, another
blank one, another worse night awaited...

Malhaya! What a stupid thing he would get into, in Honduras... a thousand

times like a black crime on his conscience it weighed on him... ugly, very ugly,
tremendous the business was getting... some barbarity and capital barbarity,
some of bullet and dagger, some bloody drama was going to finally come to
fruition.

It was enough to see his appearance, he was not a type, he was not a man to
allow himself to be touched with impunity; His background, his way of being,
his entire life were revealing him, persecuted by Rosas, emigrated in the year
40, former officer of Lavalle in his campaigns...

It was impossible for him to stay with the casing, for it not to explode; Don't let
the old man explode... he could be counted among the dead!...

Until two thirty in the morning, he stayed in the cafe, in the Tres Billares establishment.

Some were fond of the house; Remembering old times, they used to hold
meetings there, and he had also gone, fleeing from being alone, in horror to
his hotel room, driven by a sudden need to be stunned and noise.

Distracted, worried, like an idiot, he thought, he had taken his money out of
his pocket and dismissed the car when he arrived. He did not dare, he did not
risk going back to his house alone now, and one of those who were there, an
acquaintance of his, who lived on Defense Street and left him on the corner,
hot, tied up with another in a match to the sticks, he didn't even mention
retiring... Patience, I'd wait for it!...
Machine Translated by Google

Both of them separated, in the barely half a block of road that took Genaro
away from the hotel, three times, avoiding the encounter of as many
packages, he crossed to the opposite path. Badly intertwined, suspicious
types; He thought he saw one of them, dressed in a poncho, who seemed to
have wanted to follow him, to get too close to him, to look for him treacherously.

Fortunately, a guard managed to pass by!...

With a trembling and nervous hand he pulled the bell, meanwhile he pushed
the door leaf; He entered as if without chirping, like a shadow crossing.

Had no one been there, hadn't a letter arrived for him? Like a horse looking
for something to be scared of, Genaro climbed the stairs and up there,
between the four walls of his own room, still overcome with terror, gasping
for breath and anxiously, he looked, searched, searched under the sofa,
under the bed, after From the door, in the corners, he felt the clothes hanging
on the hangers in the closet.

Late already, he threw himself out of bed the next morning; sleep had
overcome him, he had slept, he had dreamed; They had killed him first, it
turned out to be false later, they wanted to marry him, marry him to another,
to an old woman who was Máxima's mother and who was her same mother;
And out of fear, out of cowardice, I was going to do it, I said yes.

What did he know... an accumulation of nonsense, untold absurdities, a

world of nonsense and always and everywhere, clear, powerful as alive, as
real, the figure of the angry father pursuing him with the specter of his
revenge! ..

My head now felt heavy and sore, my tongue was dry, my taste was bad,
there was a hint in my mouth, a bitter hint of tobacco, my stomach was stirred
up, revolted with anxiety, and yet nothing, almost nothing, had been eaten:

-Eh?... with a thousand demons at the end... - in an exasperated coward's

outburst, he shouted, denying, it wasn't living that, it was suffering, it was
killing him over a slow fire, it was suffering a thousand deaths! Let it end as
soon as possible , that he had him murdered, that the very savage had him
stabbed at once!...
Machine Translated by Google

CHAPTER XXXIV

"I need to talk to you; please stop by my house at four today."

The individual was like a tutor, he was known. With everything. .. that already
varied in appearance... good difference... now yes... his soul had returned to
his body! It was certainly not with the intention of directing him to the other
world, that, at four in the afternoon and in his own house, the old man would
go to meet him... but not even to grab him with kisses... hum! !... what did he
want, what embassy would he get?

Would he go? Yes, involving barbaric violence, but it would go... It's a shame
that it wasn't a matter of something in which a third party could intervene, to
remove him before bait, as his representative, to send him in his place, just
in case.

The father received it in his desk; With a dry and icy gesture, he indicated a chair to
Genaro:

-You have been a great scoundrel, young man, and I... I am a great culprit...

I must, despite my regret, and unfortunately for myself, resign myself to

seeing in you my daughter's husband...

-Mister ...

Stopping him, cutting off Genaro's words with a simple gesture of his hand:

"Please spare me the useless trouble of listening to you," he continued, "only

for the purpose of letting you know my orders. You are here and I understand
that they are executed to the letter, without any observations on your part
and without any mine take into account nor do I care what you think, want or
say.

Máxima, I repeat, will marry you, within a month, without noise, without
mystery, simply; You have asked us, she wants it; Wishing not to upset her,
her mother and I have consented before my family and
Machine Translated by Google

before the public, that will be the explanation of what is difficult to explain:
that I give him the honor of accepting him as a son-in-law.

I have nothing left to add, you can leave or go to the room if you want.

Ah, Piazza, I would never have said that about you... I thought you were
such a gentleman, so decent, so incapable... in the trust we had given
you, to abuse yourself like this, to deceive us in that way and you, you so
soon! ...

Suffering it first from the other, each of whose words had been a slap, a
whip in the face, a spit on the forehead, tolerating in silence that he had
put him in the dark, and as if it were still not enough, as if he were not yet
It's enough to have to put up with the old woman now, to be forced to listen
with the patience of a saint to her nonsense, the whining, the jeremiads of
the very tilinga... Ugh!...

Máxima and he were finally alone; What was missing was that this one
also began to tear the lining...

He took a seat next to her, on the sofa, he wanted to rush in, hug her to his chest, warmly,
effusively, in a chaste embrace, as if alien to him at that moment, removing any idea of
sensualism from his mind. Solicitous, loving and affectionate, he asked to know, to be
informed, to tell him, to tell him, how the poor thing must have suffered... and he... ah! He...
He had not stopped thinking about her for a single moment, about his China, about his
beloved China. He would have liked to have wings, to be able to fly, to slide like a shadow
across the walls, to appear to her, to enter her room at night, to be there by her side, to
console her, to wipe away her tears, to revive her depressed spirit, to give her new strength,
to instill in her new breath to the heat of his caresses...

But reduced to struggling himself in impotence, to sterilely agitating in the

anguish of doubt, in the anguish of waiting, he had been given nothing to
do as a gift to her... nothing... And his son, the creature that Máxima
carried in her womb, his blood. Ah! He could believe it, yes, he told her
the truth, he swore it, he had not lived in those days, he had never
experienced, he would never experience such cruel hours, such bitter
moments of despair and pain.
Machine Translated by Google

He answered briefly, in monosyllables, she barely nodded, from time to time, with a
slight nod of her head.

You would have believed that she had been penetrated, intimately penetrated, that her lover
was lying to her; of the falsehood of Genaro's words, of the duplicity, of the imposture of his
protests; He would have told her when he saw her, somber, dejected and as if insensitive in
her seat, prey to one of those disappointments that leave a deep mark on existence.

She was going to marry him, they were going to marry her; and well, yes he would get married, no
He said no, he didn't refuse, he couldn't refuse, nor did he want to. Lost, disgraced, on
the path to becoming a mother, social law, the facts themselves, fatally threw her into
the arms of her son's father. For him, for her, for her family, for everything, in short, she
understood, she saw the need for Genaro to become her husband.

But was it the lover's longing, or was it the woman's compliance, the mother's imperious
duty, the victim's resignation?

He felt an emptiness, like a cold in the depths of his soul, in the depths of his heart; No, I
didn't love him, no, I had no love, nothing, not even the slightest bit for him. Remorse
haunted her, regret for the mistake committed afflicted her. Oh! If the past could be forgotten,
if it could be erased from life as the effect of a single will could change the future, if it were
now possible for him, as before, to look only at a strange entity in his beloved, at a stranger,
at one! of so many in Genaro! ...

But no, as if challenged and imprisoned, she found herself in the presence of the fatal,
the irremediable; She had been guilty and no one in the world could make her not guilty...
yes, she had been guilty, day by day, hour by hour, more and more! ...

And how, why had she committed a crime, how and why, without love, had she tolerated,
endured Genaro's dominion over her being until he consummated the clumsy act of
violence, until reaching the brutal possession of her person?
Machine Translated by Google

How... did she know?... Thoughtlessly, without even the slightest awareness of the
lightness with which she acted, unable to measure the extent of the danger to which
she was exposing herself.

He looked for her, he followed her, he never took his eyes off her, in the street, in the
theater, on walks he always saw him everywhere, he seemed in love, lost, crazy about
her, the poor thing! She told herself, she thought it, she believed it, at the same time in
the flattery of her childish self-love, moved by a feeling of secret sympathy, which was
only deep down a feeling of compassion.

Why?... because yes, to follow, to imitate, in his vain and childish daze, the example of
the others, of his acquaintances from school, of friends, of cousins he had, women at
the age of twelve who They played boyfriends like they played dolls.

Although she understood it now, as if a bandage had been torn off, the truth had been
revealed to her eyes, she had been able to read deep inside herself.

Born from the first moment of outburst, a mixture of astonishment and spite and
repugnance and disgust at the same time, in the presence of the man turned into a
beast, an instinctive, involuntary withdrawal, had insensibly distanced her from Genaro.
And it was not just his indifference, it was not that indifference that begins where
disenchantment ends, it was something more, it was something worse, it was a
persistent resentment, an invincible resentment that, unfortunately for him, he had
enough of it, in the consciousness that of the value The moral of his beloved, hour by
hour since the cursed night of Columbus had come to form, threatened to turn into
hatred and contempt.

Hate, hatred and contempt for the father of her child: that was what she was condemned
to, such was the future, the life that awaited her, such the horrible magnitude of her
misfortune!...
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CHAPTER XXXV

They would spend their honeymoon in the countryside, far away, on one of
Máxima's father's properties, on the border, to the South.

Shortly after the marriage was celebrated, on the pretext of health reasons, the
lady would go to join them. She wanted to be with her daughter, not to be
alone, advanced as she was in her pregnancy; accompany her, attend to her,
lavish her, in the anguishing moment of childbirth, with her caring motherly care.

And thus the month of November arrived, the three of them living under the
same roof; living nevertheless as strangers to each other.

Máxima always at home, with her mother, busy getting ready, preparing in
advance the necessary clothes for the child, busy with her work, night and day
dominated by the unique idea of her son.

Her husband?

Little, almost nothing I saw; at lunch, when eating sometimes, if Genaro was
not absent even during those hours, since he had not, since early in the
morning, gone out to the countryside on horseback or in a carriage.

Better, yes, a thousand times better, a thousand times preferable to live like this, away
from each other. It was calm, calm, peace at least, if not the happiness to which she,
like the others, would have had the right to aspire on earth.

His little son, in him, in that still unknown and mysterious, loved, adored,
however, that he carried, he felt palpitating in his bowels, his being was
concentrated, his longing, his aspiration was encrypted; She would give herself
body and soul to him, all of her would be consecrated to him, hers, the tender
creature's would be all her eagerness and her cares...

And the restless and capricious flight of fantasy, as if discounting with the mind
the future, saw him already born, contemplated him growing up, becoming a
man at her side, under the protection of her maternal custody,
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a good, generous, noble, beautiful, prettier, kinder, nobler and more generous man than
the others, yes, all human perfections would come to be found together in the head of his
son; and in the flow of her mother's love, immense, inexhaustible, she would find it as a
just compensation from heaven for her misfortune as a woman, as a consolation, as a
supreme balm that would pour out the infinite mercy of the Lord on her painful existence.

Meanwhile, another was the reason, the constant object of the worries, of
the thoughts that absorbed the husband's mind. As the owner now, Genaro
looked around the room.

Shouldn't old people die one day or another, wasn't his wife an only
daughter? That, that and the rest, fields, farms, houses in the city, the
enormous, huge fortune of his father-in-law would be his in time, he could
say that it certainly was.

Oh, but the moment he came into possession, the day he managed the
puppets, other roosters would crow, he had to get the business out of the
way, he had to make it sweat!...

The state of abandonment in which everything was found was deplorable,

a laziness, a scandalous waste, there was no order, no administration, not
a devil, everything was in the spirit of God who is great, because the cows
gave birth, it was because they produced, but if It gave one, it could give
ten, if only I could get things right...

The living forces of his nature being distracted by the deep agitations of
the last period of his life, as if stifled for a moment by the very violence of
the events that transformed the face of his existence, his instincts were
now revealed again, the innate tendencies of their being, calm returned to
their spirit, more clearly every day, at every moment they came to accuse
each other.

Was it not a mischief, for example, an abuse that did not deserve
forgiveness from God, during the day, that the meat was available to
everyone, hanging there under the ombú, that each of those gossips,
aggregates who had chosen domicile in the kitchen just because and
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They lived at the boss's expense, going out and grabbing and cutting and
grilling as they pleased, as if they were deceased property?

They had to keep it under lock and key, give the workers the ration, twice a
day and thanks; no roast; stew with cabbages and pumpkin, with enough, with
a lot of pumpkin, that pumpkin was not expensive.

Cookie, fariña, yerba to the stall holders?

He had to give them whippings, poison!... a couple of capons at most, at most

and they would buy salt and salt them, sow... lazy people, drones... they
would spend the whole day belly up, thrown into the bargain. There they had
land, free land, that they could bend their backs and break it, that they could
sweat if they wanted...

A kennel was the room; What did he know... there were ten, twenty, thirty of
those bugs... useless mouths, waste of meat, magnificent for shaking in the
mate!...

Another thing that had gotten between his eyebrows, the little wool of the stray ones
that was scattered on the ground, in the corral and that was all wasted, why shouldn't
they be able to take advantage of it, what did it cost them to gather it and wash it? ? It
was about pounds, about arrobas at the end of the year.

The same with the claws, they cut where they fell and left a leather jeme on
the legs, leather that was sold by weight; It seemed like nothing, but it was
good money that went away in the long run, yes, like someone who didn't want the
What...

And that thing about grabbing and throwing the meat in the meat, the liver,
the beef, the heart, the tripe... that and five hundred other things and
everything lately, he had a fever, it made him sick to be impassively witnessing
such waste!... .
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CHAPTER XXXVI

Killing horses at night a noise came from the little town.

They announced by letter from Buenos Aires that Máxima's father was ill, serious.

There was no remote possibility, nor was there any thought of returning the three
of them to the city. I hoped to get out of that for moments of care; His condition did
not allow him to move.

Will the lady take a trip alone? It was his first inspiration. But how, on the other
hand, can you separate yourself from your daughter, resign yourself to leaving her
like this, in the risky state of her birth, especially a first birth, far from any center of
resources, abandoned to the care of her husband, of a man. .. what did men
understand about these things... and then, he, Genaro... Ah!, well she took charge
of her poor daughter's situation, well she saw the affection that he professed for his
wife, the interest that he showed him, how the two of them lived, unfortunately he
had had the opportunity to study him, to observe him, he knew what

his son-in-law was capable...

It was true that the town's doctor was warned; He would come, he had promised to
come at the first call, but... and the distance, the leagues of distance that he had to
travel... would he be at home, would they find him at the right moment, would
Máxima be so lucky?

Even if it happened that way, it wasn't enough, no, it wasn't the same; Neither the doctor
nor anyone, nothing in the world, replaced the mother's presence in such cases... No
matter how much the fatal news affected her, no matter how much she wanted to fly
back to Buenos Aires, impossible, no, no, no. He resolved, how it should be... his
daughter, Máxima above all!...

What to do then? His son-in-law ended up offering himself.

He would leave immediately, he would go to the city.

Although it was sensitive to him, it was extremely painful to separate from

Máxima, in similar moments, did not fail to understand, for
Machine Translated by Google

On the other hand, the urgency of the situation, to explain the lady's affliction, to
recognize the need for a close member of the family, a son like he was, to be at the
bedside of the sick person.

He was ready to leave, he would do so calmly and without fear, leaving Máxima with her
mother, knowing that she could not be better accompanied, better cared for than by her.

I would also see the doctor while passing through the little town, I would talk to him, I
would consult with him, and in any case, I would send him, I would ask him to stay night
and day, living in the room until after the birth.

Every remote hint of danger disappeared like this and whatever the cost... in matters of
health, it mattered little, the sacrifices of money were nothing.

His offer was accepted by the lady, and it was finally agreed that Genaro would travel;
He wanted to do it now, immediately, without wasting any time, the time necessary to
put in horses and tie up the carriage; He became so determined, his will and his
affectionate interest were so great that, as a gift to his father-in-law, he showed himself
animated.

It was that he had his plan, his idea behind it, his hidden intentions, what he didn't say,
what he kept from saying.

It was convenient, it was prudent, of course, it was more urgent not to leave the old man
alone, in the hands of relatives. Who knows?... Some mischief, some trick, they could
make him do, some will or codicil or something like that, favoring third parties, favoring
themselves, and in which he, Genaro, would finally come out with a fortune... .. lucid, fun
it was going to be.... it was nothing, a pittance, the fifth of what the Code gave him the
power to dispose of the other freely!... And so much that his father-in-law loved him... the
fifth, he reflected , he repeated to himself, if it had only been the fifth, he later thought,
but the tail remained to be peeled, the imbroglios, the simulated sales, the false deeds,
the five hundred cabals, the five hundred
Machine Translated by Google

a thousand entanglements that, acting in bad faith, it was possible to use to

plunder someone, to steal what was legitimately theirs.

When I thought about what it had cost him, the tenacity, the perseverance, the
patience with which he had armed himself, the embarrassments that
He had suffered, the juleps he had gone through, what he had experienced
scared to death, dreaming of murderers, seeing them on every corner, counting
himself among the dead now!...

The only thing missing was that the lady was going to let herself be blown now
like a big idiot!...

The possibility, the mere idea, warmed him, made his blood burn, it was enough
to drive him out of his mind...

Well, not that she was going to stay in the room... much more, by ordering to
move, she saw herself free from the revelry of childbirth, which was no bargain
girl; of the boy's enchantment, of the hubbub, of the women... he already
imagined what music it must be!
Machine Translated by Google

CHAPTER 37

Two days later, without stopping for a moment along the way, he arrived
Genaro to Buenos Aires, and arrived late nonetheless; His father-in-law had just died.

Accusing in the expression of his countenance one of those feelings of deep sorrow, of
mute and absorbed suffering, he entered the room, stopped in front of the bed,
motionless for a long time, in collected silence, his handkerchief over his eyes, his face
hidden in presence of other family members surrounding the still hot corpse.

Later those who had assisted the dead said goodbye; a brother, his daughter, an old
aunt, another nephew of another sister.

They would return to watch over the body at night; They offered
themselves, they were willing to lend their help, their services in
everything that related to the burial and other preparations for the funeral
ceremony, leaving Genaro, due to the tacit authority that his character
as son-in-law, Máxima's husband, gave him. attributed, in possession of
the house, owner and only finally...

He called his father-in-law's trusted man, an old brown man, his assistant
on his campaigns, and ordered him to immediately hand over the keys,
the ones he used, the ones his boss was accustomed to using. Where
were they? He had to know it.

Yes, next to the bed, inside the nightstand drawer, as well as the watch,
like the cuff buttons: two thick stones set in matte gold medallions.

It was fine, he didn't need it anymore, he could just leave.

To the pocket with everything by prompt providence... lest the devil be

misplaced in the hubbub!...
Machine Translated by Google

Without delay, Genaro began to examine the other furniture in the room,
the washbasin, a rack for shirts... there was no money along with the watch
and the keys on the nightstand, it suddenly occurred to him, and yet it was
impossible. that his father-in-law would not have with him when he fell ill...
unless it had been forgotten, stuffed in some pocket... it was easy... what
suit had he been wearing that day?

Intrigued, he continued searching, searching the clothes in the closet, the

frock coats, the pants, the vests; He left nothing unturned, there was
nothing, he found nothing!

Of course... so many had been coming and going... the relatives were the
worst!...

Patience, the others had woken up early... about four or five thousand
pesos, for the least part, they must have been relieved. The old man was
headstrong, like all the Creoles of his time, he liked to walk placidly, the roll
never fell out of his pocket.

But in the hallway room, in his father-in-law's reception room, was where
the big stuff should be, the roe.

As if the Indians had not been there too!...

He brought light, locked himself in, went to open the desk - a solid,
mahogany minister's desk. I was shaking when I put the key in; the pulse
was uncertain, it sounded, it rattled in the silence of the room, crashing as
it penetrated the keyhole.

An unforeseen obstacle after being able to open stopped him; The

superimposed drawers inside the furniture did not give way; To no avail he
pulled, struggled, and, curious... it was not seen that they had a key... there
must have been some secret, it was undoubtedly, but what?

In order to give better light, he took the candle from the candlestick and,
bending his neck, the flow of his blood rushing to both sides, up, down, to
the bottom, he laboriously extended and inserted his hand. He had to give,
he had it nailed between his eyebrows, he had become infatuated, he had
to find, and he was determined, he
Machine Translated by Google

He was obstinate, he became enraged, but not without repeatedly turning

his head with the unhealthy emotion of a thief, believing he heard noises,
seeing shadows crossing, hearing someone knocking on the door and
pushing it.

Tired after a long time of fruitless attempts and when Genaro tried to give
himself a moment's rest, he saw with surprise, as he sat up, that the drawers
suddenly opened with a loud noise, all of them.

Chance came to his aid, perhaps he had just rested his elbow on a spring hidden in the
very wood of the furniture.

There were papers inside, many, some new, others yellowed from old;
receipts, deeds, property titles. And there was something else in the middle
drawer, something that, to Genaro's astonished eyes, was what the
unexpected caress of light was to the eyes of a blind man: gold, money,
rolls of sterling, bundles of banknotes, papers of five thousand pesos from
the Banco de la Provincia, an amount, a high of "Vélez"; new, folded, blue,
sky blue!...

In the sudden shake of a hungry cat, he instinctively extended his arm; His
fingers were clenched, as if his claw had already been dug into the pile of
bills, and suddenly he stopped.

Did all that belong to him, was it his, really his, was there any right in him to
attribute it to her like that, on his own authority, behind closed doors and
just because?

Bah... she had a pact made with her conscience... ancient history... it had
been a long time since the two of them had understood each other, that
between her and him the matter of the points that related to ailments of
moral!...

The scruples... those of Father Gargajo..., even if they would have assured
him of the result, guaranteed impunity!...

But there it was, it was that he couldn't count on it, that he couldn't start
from such a basis... what if it became known, if some clue sold him, if then
some evidence came to light and left him hanging?
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It wasn't four reales, the business was sluggish, it was a lot... it was difficult for him to have,
no matter how neglected, no matter how abandoned, as a good son of the country, his
father-in-law in matters of money, he had a tip of thousands saved. , like someone who
saves loose pesos for household expenses.

Why wouldn't the idiot have taken them to the bank, earning the interest?

Some entry from those days, without a doubt, some business, sale of farms or fields...

Perhaps the illness had not given him time and nothing could be easier, that being the
case, than for the old man to have later mentioned, before dying, that he wanted to record,
perhaps in his will... his
testament...

Would the happy will exist, his eternal nightmare, his bete noire, he thought, Genaro asked
himself, doubly concerned with that idea now and brooding, would it exist... of ancient or
recent date, would the father-in-law have taken his measures in advance for every event,
Or only after being sick and feeling serious would it have occurred to you to do so?

Probably the first thing he hates is him, his son-in-law, for stinging him, so to speak, for
taking away, if not everything, part of what the law gave him, of the rights that, as the
daughter's husband, The Code agreed with him... Perhaps leaving this one to do his
legitimate job and disposing of the rest in favor of the others... something like that, some
move like that... he feared a lot, he had had that mistrust for a long time, with that fear and
I was hungry to finally clear my doubts and know what to expect.

A long, bulky sheet of paper fixed the direction of his gaze, precisely at that moment it
caught his attention. Genaro hastened to seize it; There were only two words written on
the front of the envelope: my will. On the back a large red wax seal closed it.
Machine Translated by Google

He had no right to complain, it had cost him little to find, not even by the art of enchantment,
not even if the devil himself had put his hand in it!...

And in the dull discomfort that the loss of a latent and last hope caused him - that there,
by chance, his father-in-law could have died intestate - he meditatively moved the sheet
between his fingers, attentively and minutely observed it, brought it closer to the light. ,
he raised it to the height of the flame, determined to read, seeking to surprise, in favor
of the transparency of the paper, the secret it contained.

Uselessly, nothing was revealed, nothing Genaro could distinguish; That one was
opaque and hard and thick like parchment, making it impossible to discover its contents.

But the document obviously had to be holographic, from the appearance of the document,
in the author's handwriting, without further formality or requirements, without witnesses...
Perhaps there was a second means left.

Either his wife's father had left two copies, another in the hands of a third party, or there
was only one, the one he, Genaro, had in his possession.

If the first, it was enough to look for a similar envelope, find the stamp, somewhere,
inside a drawer, on top of some inkwell, I would undoubtedly find it, and finally try to
imitate the handwriting.

If the second, it was even simpler; By simply tearing the envelope, he was on the other
side... and thus the individual would have intended to deprive him of a single peso, of a
quarter cut in half... neither traces nor ashes were going to remain! ..

Confident in his deductions, calm now and without misgivings regarding the possible
consequences of the act he was meditating, with a sure and abrupt hand he tore the
paper and began to greedily devour its contents.

It was first the enunciation of the assets, a long list of urban and rural properties, several
houses in the city, the fifth
Machine Translated by Google

of Belgrano, other lands, three populated ranches in Buenos Aires, fields in

Santa Fe, securities, shares, income securities, etc.

Not even a mention, not a word was said of the discovery that he had just
made, with intimate satisfaction, and while, without taking his eyes off the
paper, he continued his reading, Genaro observed in passing.

The operative part of the act then followed. The testator declared that the
assets were community property, half belonging to his wife.

He left the other half, he disposed of everything he owned, in favor of Máxima,

but not without an express condition: only upon the death of the mother would
she come into possession of the fifth, whose administration and usufruct
should correspond exclusively to the lady.

And it was his will, he ended up declaring, his final will, if she survived his
daughter, that he distribute the aforementioned fifth during his lifetime or
bequeath it upon death to the poor.

The poor! The poor people were going to thank him very much... just to be
able to ruin him... old scoundrel, mean, thief!...

And obeying an instantaneous and blind movement of spite, Genaro was

already preparing to destroy the will, to tear the paper to pieces, when, drawn
there, at the bottom of the page, two single lines caught his attention:

"There is another one of identical tenor in the office of the notary Cabral."

It was as if his hand had suddenly cramped.

Machine Translated by Google

Chapter 38

Fifteen million despite the filth of his father-in-law, of the three who had
cheated him, fifteen million as someone who didn't say anything... his
own... not even for the Pope's would he have changed his luck, and,
curious, nevertheless. .. he himself couldn't realize it, he felt an
emptiness deep down, a hole, little by little annoyance had taken over,
he was horribly, horribly bored, he walked like a ball without a handle,
he didn't know what to do at times with his lump ...

Live the intimate life of the home, devoted to his son and his wife?
Nice entertainment... with Máxima, who was an ice, who seemed to have
no job other than giving him a wooden face, and the music of the
brat by his side, bawling night and day, like a pig, who couldn't even sleep...

With the income, with less than the income of his fortune, Genaro told himself, he could
have swam in opulence, lived in a palace, spent in a box and in a carriage, given meals,
meetings, dances in his house, inviting half of Buenos Aires. . And they had to go, they
had to gather together, to gather at the noise of the weights, as the flies gathered at the
smell of meat... if only the sky would have been so safe... the same ones who had looked
at it as if it were a mangy animal being poor, how was it that they had changed later, why
the crazy ones had just accepted him, accepted him without discussion, opened the
Club wide to him like a pretty girl... the proud ones, the ones with the raised pompadour! ,
flattering him and taking off his hat, considering it an honor to be received by him, in his
house, in the house of the guy of yore, the guy from the tachero gringo!...

Yes, undoubtedly, the thing of doing the business as a tickle of self-love

was still flattering, tempting. It was the other side of the medal, the
compensation for the indignities suffered, as if the others were repaying it
with profit, it was to savor in gulps the delicious pleasure of revenge, its
revenge, like the crowning of the work, like a kind of apotheosis of his
triumph, in short.
Machine Translated by Google

But, and... when it comes down to it, how much would the party have
cost him, how many thousands, at that rate, would have come out of
his pocket, at the end of the year... and all in all, to what and for what,
simply out of vanity, in honor of a petty feeling of vanity? Bah!... times
had changed, he was not the same man as before, those things no
longer affected him, he had learned the hard way and his skin was
hard, he had become very philosophical and very practical...

Would you go out of your way to entertain others?

Of course... flying... they could afford, if they wanted, the fun with all
their soul... He wasn't up to keeping drones!

A matter of surrounding himself with luxury and comforts? Hype, misery,

ostentation. What more was there to live in your own home than in a
rented house?... You could sleep on an iron bed or on a mahogany bed
and there was nothing better, healthier or more hygienic, than exercising
on foot. and the brave pout of the country.

That's why he had gone to live with his wife in a small house with two
windows that had been inherited by her.
Modestly; furniture from the country, cheap, bought on Arts Street and
a Creole cook for two hundred pesos.

To occupy oneself, to fill one's time, it used to be said at times, to apply

one's faculties to something, one of the branches, the thousand
branches of activity, of work or of human knowledge, to have an
objective, a direction to pursue, ambitions, public life, politics, for example?

Yes, that resource would have been left to him in the absence of
something better, to dedicate himself to politics, to join any party, he
could, with his weight, gain influence in the campaign, become a deputy
for where he had the stay that Máxima had been given in the inheritance,
being a Minister and even becoming Governor, how strange isn't it?
Others more brutal than him had been...

But he didn't give it that way, he didn't enter his kingdom, politics wasn't
his forte, leggings, jokes of another kind, useless headaches, with what
need?
Machine Translated by Google

For him, for himself, because he was born to aspire and smiled upon
power, public honors, high dignities, exalted possessions, because he had
ever ambitioned, cherished the idea of making his name an illustrious,
immortal name that , recorded in the history of your country, will pass into
the centuries to come? Something more positive and effective than all that
vain litter of human greatness had always been the sole desire of his life;
something better and more substantial than glory: the pesos, the money...

As a patriot then, as a pure patriot, as they say, as a pure idiot, would you
go and get involved in dances, risking having your leather pierced one day
by a bullet in the atrium or by a stab in some duel?

He laughed when he heard them talk about homeland to others, about homeland and
patriotism, saying with pride, filling their mouths, that they were Argentines... What more
was there to be Argentine than Kaffir, to have been born in Buenos Aires than in the
China? The homeland... the homeland was one, his own, his home, the best of
homelands, where he spent his life at its happiest and happiest!...

Rather, it occurred to him to negotiate, to undertake something that could

produce him, to enter into speculations... Land speculations were in
fashion, the order of the day, one heard only of thousands, of improvised
fortunes buying and selling lots, it was mentioned cases of individuals who
had removed the belly of a bad year in hours with just a transfer of a ticket.

Of course, being told about that, congratulations, it was an honor and

benefit, it was even worth it...

Without a doubt, he did not have much need, being rich, since Máxima
was, but there was never too much, what was abundant did not harm. He
would thus prove to all of his wife's relatives that he was not dependent on
what she received from her parents and that he was as capable as
anyone... No, he did not dislike, far from it, the idea of a few more million.
in the pocket... and even a duty could be considered on his part, a father's
duty, to increase his son's assets, to help ensure, with his work, the future
of his family.
Machine Translated by Google

I would see first, I would do the test, carefully, with prudence, not to rush,
not to go headlong, something like a simple amateur ballad, a simple
pichuleo to start.

Keeping his mouth shut, he had put in the Bank what he had sniffed out
from the old man in the hiding place of his desk, the sum he had found and
of which not a jot was said in the will, nor had it been said afterwards.

Everyone was unaware, it seemed, that such money existed, and it would
surely not be he who would open his lips to rescue the mother-in-law and
the woman from the ignorance in which they found themselves.

Precisely, they came well; For testing, withdrawing a couple of thousand

dollars from the Bank's deposit was enough; nor did he need to use his
credit, to ask anyone for anything.
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CHAPTER XXXIX

It had been like seeing the legs of the jack; how to play with loaded dice;
sure, fixed, infallible, you bought for ten to sell for twenty, everything,
whatever was presented, whatever fell, business was done with everything,
there was a buyer for everything, you didn't make money from everyone
who didn't want to.

He had started with a miserable fifty thousand pesos and in three months he had a
profit of a million.

And he had gotten hooked, he had just continued entering, firmly, without
looking back; He had gone deep into the world, a bunch of lots, near, far,
to the North, to the South; Even because of the Flores bath and the quakes
of La Boca, he had tried to make sure ahead of time, he had bought whole
apples that he did not even think about leaving, as long as they did not pay
him what he had wanted to ask for them.

Of course, at the time they painted her bald, it would have been more
stupid not to take advantage!

A vague and dull restlessness, however, an ill-defined distrust, came to

take possession, one day soon, of Genaro's mind. It wasn't just like that,
so easy, so simple, to always find the perfect fit, to find fans, who were
willing to please you, to say amen to your whims.

There seemed to be a shortage of candidates, a kind of cooling appeared

in the public, like wanting to withdraw, people to become cowed, he was
seeing it, becoming disillusioned... no, it was not the frenzy, the madness,
the fury of before... not even near!...

Without a doubt, although not with the barbaric profits of the beginning, he
would have been able to sell, get rid of what he had acquired with
advantage and, whoever came back, let him herd, let others take the risk...
prudence, perhaps, the healthy prudence, I advised it like this...

But it was that he had his views, his calculations, his plan combined in
advance; that he had set a limit, he had proposed reaching a certain figure,
a round sum, around ten million to liquidate and retire, free of dust and
chaff.
Machine Translated by Google

And it was hard for him, it became difficult for him to resolve, to suddenly
give up what he had seen as something done, as his, in that case as if he
already had it in his pocket.

Who knew either, who could assure that they were not simple alternatives,
passing fluctuations, ups and downs of the moment, as happened in all
kinds of businesses?

There was no justification, there was no reason why, having been valuable
until then, overnight, the land would fall down the cliff and stop being
valuable. Because? One hundred thousand immigrants landed a year, the
country was going through the roof, going from strength to strength...

What the hell... who said fear... broad chest... he would be prepared for
contingencies, he would hold out for another month or two.

Recovering, barely saving his money, not without difficulty, shortly after,
Genaro would manage to realize a small, minimal part of the sums he had
committed.

Under the impression of panic, in the midst of a crisis, a general, sudden,

disastrous crisis, waiting, dreaming only of selling, will have been dreaming
of the impossible. Nothing, to no one, for nothing, not even at the cost of
enormous losses, in exchange for immense sacrifices.

It was his strength to attend, to worry meanwhile about the accumulation of

commitments in the Banks, in the market, money taken as a prize, a lot,
everything that had been offered to him, everything that he had been able
to obtain and that in the fever, in the delirium of speculation and of the profit
that he came to feel possessed, he had hastened to convert into land, as if
he had contemplated it, by that fact alone, converted into an inexhaustible
source of wealth.

What temperament to adopt, what discretion to subject oneself to, how to

comply, how to get out of trouble... make a delivery, throw them the last
inch of the filth that is on their land, like someone throwing out an ember...
tell them: there you have it, carry it yourself . with the dead dog and
understand each other as best they can... or, what amounted to the same thing, no.
Machine Translated by Google

pay, declare yourself liquidated, bankrupt, go bankrupt, speaking in silver?

Yes, it was an idea, an idea like any other, the most practical without a doubt, the most
comfortable and effective to be on hand with everyone at once.

But, not so bald... it was to appear very completely shameless, all at once... In a pretty
point of view it would be, accredited it would be!...

No, that's all there was to it, everything had its limit... no matter how much he lacked
desire or guts, and be careful that he wasn't a baby, he was a man of hair in chest for
those things; He didn't dare, he couldn't bring himself to ring such a bell.

Of evil the least; If he had been able to dispose of the woman's affairs as he pleased...
but not even that, no sir, the law obliged him to ask her for her agreement, her
permission, his Excellency, he, the husband, the head of the family. , as if they knew,
as if the women of those people understood something
things...

And it was men who made the laws... imbeciles, cretins!...

Damn his stomach, how funny it was, but he had no choice but to hustle and talk to
Máxima so that she would authorize him to sell or mortgage.

He would be very nice to her and very kind, melting, he would pass his hand to her, he
would try to wrap her, to cajole her. He knew well how to handle himself...

He would, of course, be careful not to tell her the truth, to confess in confusion; He
would lie to her, he would deceive her: he was making a fortune, a fortune; It was
precisely in order not to miss a splendid opportunity, a real pichincha that was presented
to him, that required the immediate use of greater capital.
Machine Translated by Google

And not for him he did it, not for sure, he put God as witness. He was the one she cared
the least about, but only as a gift to the little boy, for his sake, in his interest that he
stayed up all night working, because he wanted him to be rich, immensely rich, his son,
her son, both of them... No, it was not a petty and selfish motive that inspired his actions,
his fatherly love only drove him, ambition awakened in him.
Machine Translated by Google

CHAPTER XL

A first time, a second time, then three, four times he found Máxima ready, ready to
accede to the wishes expressed by him.

Without any observation or reservations, without investigating, without knowing at a fixed

point, without a clear idea of the scope of her actions, she wrote her name, blindly lent
her signature.

Sealed paper, signatures, notaries, witnesses... She understood nothing of all that, nor
did she try to understand, nor was she interested in it.

What could she care about a handful of money in exchange for him leaving her alone,
for Genaro to free her from his presence? Yes, that he should not worry about anything,
that he would never remember her, as if such a woman did not exist in the world, to live
calmly, retired and alone, was the only thing he asked for, what he did understand to be
so, what she did demand of her husband.

As long as she had her son there, at her side, so that heaven would preserve him!...

In the presence, however, of increasing demands on the part of the first, of new demands
for money, reiterated incessantly, and her husband having announced one day that he
would bring her something later in order to be signed by her, she finally wanted, waking
up in her soul a suspicion, brooding and alarmed, trying to realize, to see, to ascertain
with one's own eyes.

It was the deed of sale of the house on San Martín Street.

-How, do you intend, are you going to sell it?

-Yes, my little daughter; They offer a crazy price for it and I thought I should not hesitate.
Machine Translated by Google

-But to sell that so soon, the paternal house, ours, my family's, where
we have lived for so many years with dad and mom!...

-They are nonsense, daughter, worries; What more does that one have
than any other?... Old walls, bricks at last.

The question, what should interest us, is the price, knowing if it is

convenient, what you can get, and it is, I repeat, a splendid deal.

-Anything you want, Genaro, I don't doubt it, it will be so. But, frankly, I
tell you that it would upset me greatly, that it would greatly upset me, to
see the house where I was born and to which my father had so much
affection in the hands of strangers.

-I must warn you that it is not a definitive sale, that I have set a condition,
that there is a clause that establishes what they call a resale agreement,
an article of the contract that gives us the right to keep the property
again, within a certain time and for the same price.

You see that nothing is lost and that we would always be in time to
recover it, if you wanted.

-What to sell it for, then? The price is not so good, the business is not so splendid, as
you say, when you reserve for yourself the power to undo it...

-Eh?... this... is that one can never count on certainty, in an absolute way, you
understand, and out of caution nothing more, out of an excess of prudence, I have
deemed it convenient to leave that door open...

But, anyway, if it annoys you, if it causes you so much displeasure, let's

fold the page and let it be said no more. I will look for a buyer for one of
the other properties.

-Which means that you need even more money, even more money...
Hey, Genaro, listen to me. I am not aware of your things, nor do I ask
you nor do I intend for you to impose them on me. Repeatedly already, I
Machine Translated by Google

You have seen me give in without resistance to your desires, I have shown myself to be
submissive and accommodating to you, I have signed what has been your will to sign,
without asking you why or for what purpose.

But until when, for God's sake!... everything has its limit and it seems to me that enough
is enough.

Don't be surprised that I speak to you like that, nor be surprised by my resolute and
determined attitude... Why want to intervene, why mix myself in what is foreign to us,
women, in matters of you men, you will say and perhaps you are not lacking of reason.
It's true, I'm nothing more than a poor ignorant girl; But one thing I know, however, is
that I am a mother, that, in that capacity, sacred duties weigh upon me and that that is
enough for me.

What I have received from my father, I want to leave to my son, it is his, it belongs to
him, and, without my words being a reproach, allow me to remind you that you and I
are under the obligation to preserve and transmit to him intact the heritage that It comes
from his grandfather.

-Anyone who heard you, my little daughter, would believe that I was trying to squander,
to throw what we have onto the street... that I was miserable or crazy, unconscious at
the very least...

-No, I'm not saying that much, I'm not saying that; But thrown into business as you are,
your calculations can go wrong, you can make mistakes unfortunately, suffer losses,
setbacks and even motivated by the healthiest intentions, thus compromising the fortune
and future of your son with your behavior.

"Fortune... fortune..." Genaro exclaimed with a vehement gesture of impatience, "as if it

were all fortune, only what one must leave to one's children... And the name that they
inherit from their children?" parents, and if it were not just about money, if there were a
question of honor and decorum for me, of fulfilling unavoidable commitments under
penalty of going back on my word and compromising my credit, of appearing as a cheat
before the public, as a thief?...

-¡You!...
Machine Translated by Google

-It is what you do not know and what is important for you to know, however, what I let
you know since you put me in the position of telling you, since you force me with your
foolish and petty behavior towards me, your husband after all.

Yes, I owe, I owe a lot. It would take a long time to explain why. Businesses, operations
that I have entered into, that must necessarily produce me, from one day to the next, a
hundred times what I have invested in them, but that it is not convenient for me to carry
out, until the time comes and a change does not occur. ; something that I count on in
an undoubted way that cannot fail to occur, that is certain, fixed, infallible.

Now, decide for yourself, choose aunt. Wealth on the one hand, since you talk so much
about wealth and fortune; ruin and disgrace for the other, if you obstinate and persist in
denying me the miserable sum of
money that I request from you.

There was a moment of silence between them. Genaro came and went throughout the
piece, a violent agitation apparently dominating him.

As if doubt had arisen in her spirit and made her hesitate despite herself, Máxima
stubbornly watched him.

Was her husband lying, was that man's farce, comedy like other times, or did his accent
bear the seal of truth, what to believe, what to think? She came to ask herself,
possessed, at the same time of a tenacious and deaf distrust, of a strange feeling of
compassion:

-How much do you need, in short, how much do you say you need? -
He abruptly ended up exclaiming.

-Three hundred thousand pesos would be enough for me.

-Take them and God grant that they are the last!

He had fallen into the club, he had stepped on it, he had hit her on the elbow and made
the girl open her hand! ...Pava...pava...although
Machine Translated by Google

not so much, she had no trace of having been so convinced that it was said...
Rather because she was free of it, like a toothache, it was known that she had
let up.

Not even when it was such a lie, such a Tatar story, about the mountains and
wonders that I had painted for him? He himself kept a hope, he was deep down
that, sooner or later, a turnaround would occur, the reaction consequent to any
crisis would occur.

Well, if it weren't for that and if he didn't believe it that way, he would have been
so clever, he would have been so upset to pay!...
As if he hadn't gone until he had thrown his cape on the bull. It was very good,
very nice, the honor thing sounded very good, but the benefit was at home...

In short, what was of interest for the moment was the three hundred thousand
from the other, he would have to check, to maneuver with them.
Machine Translated by Google

CHAPTER XLI

But one by one, like the beads of a rosary, new obligations followed one another,
new deadlines were met. A due date, among others, of thirty thousand dollars and
full payment, made Genaro worried.

It was coming to him in those days... What saint to entrust himself to, to appeal to
Máxima by making another entry?

Mansita had let it go, as if to get away with it now and have the two of them on foot,
and he would turn around with one hand behind and the other in front, which was
the most probable, the safest, given his wife's attitude, according to what was said.
He had shown the little way he had taken, the little genius he had revealed, the
same genius of the old father!...

Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, thirty thousand pesos.

But, stupid, he thought, it suddenly occurred to them, why start talking about strong
ones, with what need? It would be enough to tell her, to make the other believe that
they were paper pesos, ordinary currency pesos. He would half muddle the $ sign
when filling out the letter, he would read pesos; or neither that, nor would she read,
nor would she pay attention and more than bad, more than a bitch, she would
behave, going to deny him his signature for such a nonsense!...

His was undoubtedly a good blow, Genaro told himself with intimate joy, satisfied
with the expedient he had imagined, proud of his idea, of the pilgrim and happy
inspiration he had had.

He found himself, despite the confidence he had in success, forced to protest,

reduced to pledging the guarantee of his word, to swear by his honor, by the
affection he professed for his mother, by the life of his son. that he would never,
ever, again request, implore any favor of money from his wife. All the means, the
means, the resources that a supreme extremity suggests to man, were touched by
him, he resorted to everything, to supplication, to cunning and deception, to threats,
to a threat of death, of
Machine Translated by Google

suicide. Yes, he was desperate, crazy, there was no other way of salvation
offered to him to get out of the tremendous situation in which he found
himself, other than to end up blowing his brains out!...
Machine Translated by Google

CHAPTER XLII

Days later, Máxima received a visit from her father's brother.

He wanted to see her, to talk to her in secret about something serious that
had come to his attention and that, in his capacity as an uncle and given
the affection he professed for her, he believed it was his duty not to let
pass in silence... because, in short, she was a woman. She was a young
woman, a girl with no experience and could not always be in a position to
properly appreciate, to maturely weigh, the consequences of her actions in life.

It was about her husband. A friend, a member of the Bank's Board of

Directors, had approached him and had informed him of Genaro's affairs.
He owed large amounts of money in the market; It was widely known that,
having embarked on past land speculation, the crisis caused him enormous
losses; people talked about him, the poor state of his businesses, his
criticism and precarious position, as something well-known, known and
found out; In short, everyone assured him that he was a completely ruined
man.

The person in question added that numerous bills and promissory notes,
among others one of recent date and worth thirty thousand pesos, were
circulating under her name, Máxima, and carried her signature at the
bottom as a guarantee.

It was explained, it was understood that, obeying impulses of the heart and
animated by a noble feeling, she came to the aid of her husband, offered
him the means to save himself, to preserve, since it was not unscathed,
his fortune, his reputation and his name. , at least.

But where was she going, on the other hand, thus compromising what was hers, blindly
handing over, with full hands, her father's inheritance, what should one day belong to
her children; To what extent could Genaro consider himself authorized to demand from
her such a costly sacrifice, his own needs, his constraints, the demands of the situation
he was going through, what term would they have, what limit did they recognize?... Not
even he himself would have known say it...
Machine Translated by Google

Máxima had to think, reflect seriously, realize that it was not only about her present well-
being, but that she was also compromising the future and fate of her son with her
reckless behavior. That she loved her husband and showed all her desire to help him,
holy and good, she advocated on his behalf, she spoke very loudly in his favor; But it
was important not to forget that, before being a wife, she was a mother.

-Thirty thousand pesos! Are you sure, man, are you sure of what you're saying?

-And how do you not want me to be? I know, at least, I remember perfectly that the fact
has been reported to me by someone who is in a position to know it and has no interest
in being untrue.

He had abused her trust, he had surprised her good faith, he had lied to her, he had
deceived her, he had robbed her unworthily, her husband was a villain, she was the wife
of a forger and a thief.
Machine Translated by Google

CHAPTER XLIII

Like a runaway animal that runs to crash into a wall, it goes and
crashes, so and despite his solemn oaths, Genaro went to his wife
to demand new sums of money:

-But tell me, you don't have the slightest bit of shame, not even a
drop of blood in your veins... and you dare, after what you've done,
to still come see me and ask me?... .

-What's going on, what's going on, daughter, say, what's the matter with me?

-About what? Of everything, of your entanglements, of your entanglements and dastardly

schemes, of your latest exploit above all, of the perfidious conduct that you have
observed towards me, of the iniquity that you have committed by taking from me what,
like a vulgar swindler, like a scoundrel, I you have started!

-What do you know, have they told you? And well, yes, it is true, I have failed,
I have behaved very badly, I confess, I have deceived you... but you also put
yourself in my case... What did you want me to do, what would you have done
yourself in my place?

-Are you asking me?

-Loaded, riddled with debts, persecuted to death by my creditors,

with three letters protested that day, threatened to see myself sunk
in the opinion as insolvent, perhaps pointed with the finger as
fraudulently bankrupt and knowing that nothing otherwise would
have obtained from you , that you would have given me nothing,
you who had been my guardian angel, however, my only providence until
so...

Ah, forgive me, I am a poor unfortunate man rather than a culprit,

more than your anger and your spite, I deserve your compassion,
forgive me!...
Machine Translated by Google

-Those times are over... I have learned, you have taught me through my evil to
know you and I know who you are. Don't expect to be able to persuade me with
lies and new tricks, nor for me to let myself be softened now as before, by those
hypocritical airs that you affect, you fake, cynic!

His wife was trilling... it was clear, it was obvious, she was not going to achieve
anything, not even half of her was going to get out of it by playing that string.

-Maximum! - Genaro exclaimed then, changing his tone abruptly, the fire of anger
shining in his eyes, accusing himself in the folds of his lip -, do not insult me, do not
offend me without right or reason... I am determined to show myself good and

tolerant, not to leave the calm and temperance that I have imposed on myself; I
have just endured harsh words from you that no person in the world other than you
would dare to address me with impunity...

But be careful what you do, reflect, be careful not to test my patience, which could
perhaps cost you dearly!

-Are you coming to me with that, with threats now? You are, I warn you, pitifully wasting
your time - she replied provocatively -, invent something better - and fixing her gaze on her
husband, a look of red and profound hostility - what else, tell me, what greater misfortune
can happen to me? than the ignominy of having a husband like you?

-The remorse of having been the cause of my death!... -at the same time that he
put his hand on his waist and with a tragic gesture he held a small pocket revolver,
as if out of control, Genaro shouted.

-Kill yourself?... you're not capable... cowards don't kill themselves!

With the expression of someone who feels hesitating and can't figure out the doubt
to be resolved, he remained standing motionless for a moment.

What would he say, what would he do, what did he have left to do or say, where
was it best for him to burst?... and without saying a word, he finally left in a rush.
Machine Translated by Google

He had managed to step on the threshold of the street door; He stopped suddenly. Was
he wearing his hat? Yes, I had it. He looked inward and waited, tried to listen.

Nothing, complete silence in the house; No noise could be heard, no voice, no one
called him.

Would his wife let him leave like that, would he be able to, having told her that he was
going to commit suicide no less, would he have understood it so thoroughly that he had
known the game and had no doubt that his game was a grotesque farce... or He hated
him so much, his aversion was so deep that he even rejoiced, even congratulated
himself that the devil was carrying him?

Genaro mechanically crossed the street, along the opposite path he advanced slowly in
the direction of the North.

And he looked, turning his head with each step hoping to make out, in the uncertain
gaslight, Máxima's silhouette at the door, to see the maid appear, run out in search of
him, whisper, catch up with him and call him in embarrassment. lady's name

Fiasco, it had been a fiasco, a complete fiasco... no more nor less than I looked at him
like a dog... and it was a man, however, the one who had just announced his resolution
to kill himself and his own wife was the one to whom He had told him, and from his own
house, from the very heart of his home, that this proof of icy disaffection came to him...

Alone, alone, he had been, he would be all his life, always, it was fatal... Indifference, if
not alienation, repulsion, was what he had found, what he had harvested throughout his
life.
path...

"Alone, alone," Genaro repeated sadly, dominated, in spite of himself, by a strange and
afflicting impression of helplessness, as if feeling that his being was sinking in the
darkness of an immeasurable void.

No, it was unfair, the old woman, the poor old woman, she only did...
Machine Translated by Google

And for years he had not even written a word to his mother, and many times
he did not even bother to read her letters... Always the same story, too, the
same music, the everlasting chorus... that he did not want to die without seeing
him, for him to go to Europe, since she was sick, paralyzed, crippled as she
was in her hands and feet, she couldn't even think about
move.

Hey! his mother, Genaro burst out, with a desperate gesture of rage and
discouragement, letting himself fall on one of the benches in the Plaza del
Parque, his elbows on his knees, his forehead in his hands; his mother and
his son and him and his wife and everyone and everything... he was beginning
to feel overwhelmed, to be fed up!

What flattery, what incentive did existence offer him, what ties to the land
bound him?

Duty? ... And duty, what was it, what constituted it, who set it, what authority
demarcated it... why shouldn't that, what they called duty, consist of taking
each one where best and best for him? Would it suit you?

Would ambition make you live, the desire to be or do something? All his
desire, his only dream had been money, he had had it and losing it and losing
himself was what it had served him for...

Perhaps the voice of the heart, the strength, the vehemence of feeling, love,
affection for your loved ones, for someone in the world? He didn't know what
it was like to love him, he loved no one, he had never loved... not his son, not
his mother... he was on the verge of believing that not even himself!

And if he had been born that way, if his parents had made him that way and
thrown him into the world, was he responsible, was he to blame? No, just as
the vipers did not have the idea that their fangs were poisonous.

But what mission in life was his, what was his role, what did he do, what the
hell was he for then?

Oh! for nothing, but nothing good, nor useful, nor worthy, nor fair for sure.
Machine Translated by Google

The trap could take him as soon as possible, a mandria, a trumpet

any less...

And on him alone, on him alone I depended; The thing was very simple.

There, for example, at that very moment, alone, at night, in a square... He felt the lump,
the weight of the revolver on his thigh; inside his pants pocket... a matter of a minute, a
second, of reaching in, putting the gun to his temple and pulling the trigger suddenly, like
someone who hits by closing his eyes for a moment.

Yes, but he wouldn't do it, he was a thousand leagues away from doing it, you had to be
a man for that and he wasn't one, his wife had told a great truth, he was a coward, a
coward.

No, he wouldn't, just thinking about it, even imagining it, made his flesh tremble miserably.

Would he kill himself, as a scoundrel and a scoundrel, sentence himself to die and thus
escape shame?... Never, never... not from that sad trait of nobility, not from that last one,
not from that only proof of courage and fortitude he was capable of.

Poor, miserable, his body covered in rags and scourges, eating husks, rotting in a prison
dungeon with no hope of getting out of it, he had to still want to live, he would live, he would
continue to cling tooth and nail to life, like the dogs to the bones!...

Don't let the soldier go crazy, that sentinel who was walking guard in front of the Park
gate... don't feel like shooting him, turning him over with a bullet from behind, without
him feeling it!

Resembling some enormous and monstrous animal, something both snake-like and
whale-like, spitting high jets of steam into the shadows, a train crossed, hissed, arched,
creaked in the abrupt curve of the square, as it entered the season.

What time was it already? Genaro took out his watch: half past twelve at night.
Machine Translated by Google

And would he have the soul to show up, to return very loose in his body to his house...
would he go in on tiptoe, running, embarrassed, with his tail between his legs, like a
pichicho?...

What Máxima would laugh at him, the gesture she would make, a sovereign gesture
of contempt, if not of disgust, a gesture of disgust when she heard him enter...
There was that faker, the dead one, the one who committed suicide, healthy and
good... degraded... useless!...

No; It was too much, too much already, for his face to fall from shame!...

What had the scoundrel imagined, that he was going to be able to put it down like a
rag, like a floor, just like that? She would see if she should play with him, if he was
the man to allow himself to be groped with impunity by a brat like her!

And without realizing exactly the purpose that guided him, uncertain of what he would
do, still not knowing what he was going for and for what purpose at a fixed point, knowing
only that the idea of harming, of causing harm, the need, an imperious and sudden need
to revenge drove him, taking hasty steps towards his house, Genaro had just left his seat.

What had his wife thought?... he had to stop her on her toes, he had to lift her up, he
had to pay her for what was done and for doing it... he would see, he would know what
was good... What had he imagined, what had he believed, he furiously murmured,
repeated under his breath as he walked.

He came pushing the doors, banging them shut, with a crash, like cowards sing to
give themselves courage. He entered the living room, passed through the anteroom,
and entered his wife's room, still awake:

-Will you sign the promissory note, give me the money, yes or no?

-No.
Machine Translated by Google

-¿No?

-A thousand times no!... I'm the owner, it seems to me...

-The owner, you say? of your money, but not of your ass... I own that!...

And throwing himself on her and tearing her from the bed and, pulling her across the
floor, making her roll, he left the five fingers of his hand stamped on his wife's flesh.

-Miserable! -Máxima shouted running wildly, going to hide her shame-, miserable!
-he heard her exclaim from the next room- "miserable, miserable!" -he repeated
further, that single word gushed throbbing from his lip, like blood flowing from the
mortal wound of his modesty.

He, meanwhile:

"Just go on, daughter of my soul... these are not spankings..." he growled, "I'm going
to kill you one of these days if you're careless!"