The Unknown University (32 page)

EMPTY CARS

Nameless girl wandering the working-class neighborhoods of Barcelona.
He
woke with a start.
A girl born in France, to Spanish parents?
The beach stretches in
a straight line until it reaches another town.
She opened the window, it was
overcast but hot.
She went back into the bathroom.
She looked curiously at the rows
of apartments buildings lining the street.
All of this is paranoia, she thought, the
girl is 18 but she doesn’t exist, she was born in an industrial city of France and
her name is Rosario or María Dolores, but she can’t exist because I’m still here.
A
tiresome camera trick?
the guard is asleep?
She looked at her watch.
Returning to
the window, she lit a cigarette.
She looked through the curtains: below the boys
dozed amid the shadows.
Intermittent forms, the sound of barely audible voices.
She
stared at the moon that appeared over the building across the street.
From the
street came the words “ship,” “Olympia,” “restaurant.”
The girl sat on the terrace
of a “restaurant” and asked for a glass of white wine.
Over the girl’s head was the
green awning, and, above that, the summer.
Like the moon peeping over the building
and her gazing at it, thinking about the motorcyclists and the name of the month:
July.
Born in France to Spanish parents, blond hair, very far away from the
restaurant and the words with which they try to distract her.
“I woke up because you
were lost in the shadows of the bedroom” .
.
.
“A powerful explosion” .
.
.
“I was
deaf for the rest of the day” .
.
.
She dreamed of empty cars in the lots of an
abandoned supermarket.
There is no more town or working-class neighborhoods for this
actor.
18 years old, so far away.
She goes back into the bathroom.
Girl kaput.

LOS ELEMENTOS

Cine entre los pinos del camping
de Mar, los
espectadores miran la pantalla y con las manos espantan los mosquitos.
Rostro
amarillo surge de improviso entre las rocas y pregunta ¿a ti también te persigue
Colan Yar?
(Rostro amarillo cruzado de anchas cicatrices oscuras, árboles quemados,
sillas blancas de plástico duro abandonadas frente a los bungalows, una bicicleta en
medio de la maleza.) Colan Yar, por supuesto, y placas iluminadas tenuemente por la
luz de la luna.
Abandoné el puesto, con pasos lentos me dirigí al restaurante aún
abierto a esas horas de la noche.
«Colan Yar detrás de mí, justo detrás de mí»,
escuché que decían a mis espaldas.
Al volverme no vi más que siluetas de árboles y
tiendas oscuras.
En el cine uno de los actores dijo «nos persigue un volcán».
Otro
personaje, una mujer, en determinado momento afirma: «es difícil llegar a ser mayor
del Ejército Inglés».
Perseguidos por los Nagas, guerreros diabólicos con cascos de
cuero negro; adoradores del volcán, tal vez sacerdotes y no guerreros; en todo caso,
eliminados pronto.
La actriz: estoy cansada de luchar contra estos seres horribles.
Un actor le responde: ¿quieres que te lleve en brazos hasta el avión?
Cinco figuras
corriendo a través de un valle en llamas.
Un rompehielos de la Armada los espera a
las 20.30 horas, ni un minuto más.
El capitán: «si seguimos aquí después no podremos
salir».
El capitán tiene el pelo completamente cano y lleva uniforme azul de
invierno.
Modula con lentitud: «no podremos salir».
Aparté la mirada de la pantalla.
A lo lejos las luces de las pistas de tenis se asemejaban a un aeródromo
clandestino.
Desde allí el que huye de Colan Yar escribe una carta sentado en una
banca al aire libre.
Aeródromo clandestino.
Espejos.
Otros elementos.

THE ELEMENTS

Movies under the pines at the
de Mar
campground, the spectators watch the screen and slap at mosquitoes.
Yellow face
suddenly appears among the rocks and asks: are you, too, being chased by Colan Yar?
(Yellow face crisscrossed with broad dark scars, burned trees, hard white plastic
chairs left in front of the bungalows, a bicycle in the weeds.) Colan Yar, of
course, and plaques faintly lit by the moon.
I left my post, with slow steps I
headed to the restaurant, which was still open at this late hour.
“Colan Yar after
me, right on my heels,” I heard people saying behind my back.
When I turned all I
could see were the shapes of trees and dark tents.
In the movie one of the actors
said “we’re being chased by a volcano.”
Another character, a woman, at a particular
moment declares: “it’s no easy thing to become a major in the English army.”
Chased
by the Nagas, diabolical warriors in black leather helmets; worshippers of the
volcano, maybe priests, not warriors; in any case, soon wiped out.
The actress: I’m
tired of fighting these awful creatures.
An actor says: Do you want me to carry you
to the plane?
Five figures running through a valley in flames.
An Armada icebreaker
waiting for them at 20:30 hours, not a minute later.
The captain: “If we stay, we
won’t be able to get out later.”
The captain’s hair is completely white and he’s
wearing a blue winter uniform.
He enunciates slowly: “We won’t be able to get out.”
I glanced away from the screen.
From the distance the tennis court lights made it
look like a secret airfield.
Back there, the person fleeing Colan Yar writes a
letter sitting on a bench outside.
Secret airfield.
Mirrors.
Other elements.

NAGAS

¿Cine entre los árboles?
El operador duerme la siesta en el patio de
gravilla de su bungalow.
La muchacha desconocida desapareció tan suavemente como la
primera vez que la vi.
Avancé sin temor, mis huellas quedaron marcadas levemente en
el polvo, en línea recta de mi bungalow a los baños.
Eran las doce de la noche y vi
coches policiales detenidos en la carretera.
Dejé sin contestar la última carta de
Mara.
La muchacha caminó de regreso a su tienda y nadie pudo asegurar si realmente
había estado en los lavaderos alguna vez.
«No puedo escribir nada más» .
.
.
«Sólo
queda una niña pequeña, diez años, que me saluda cada vez que nos encontramos» .
.
.
«Se sentaba sola en la terraza del bar, junto a la pista de baile, y era difícil
encontrarla» .
.
.
En la pantalla aparecen los Nagas.
Espectadores rodeados de
mosquitos a las 12 de la noche; miré a la derecha: luces lejanas de una cancha de
tenis nocturna.
Tuve deseos de dormirme allí mismo.
Éstos son los elementos:
«impasibilidad», «perseverancia», «pelo rubio».
A la mañana siguiente ya no estaba
en su tienda.
Por las carreteras europeas condenadas a la muerte se desliza el
automóvil de sus padres, ¿hacia Francia?, ¿Suiza?
.
.
.
El tipo miró para arriba con
gesto cansado, luna creciente, copas de pinos recortadas contra el cielo, ruido de
sirenas a lo lejos.
Pero aquí estoy seguro, dijo, el que venía a matarme no me
reconoció y se ha ido.
Escena en blanco y negro de hombre que se adentra en el
bosque después de la sesión de cine.
Últimas imágenes de adultos durmiendo la siesta
mientras un automóvil desconocido rueda al encuentro de una luminosidad mayor.
«Deseo que te amen y que no conozcas la muerte.»

NAGAS

Movies in the woods?
The projectionist naps on the gravel yard of his
bungalow.
The nameless girl disappeared as smoothly as the first time I saw her.
I
walked forward unafraid, leaving faint footprints in the dust, a straight line from
my bungalow to the bathrooms.
It was twelve at night and I saw police cars pulled
over on the highway.
I didn’t answer Mara’s last letter.
The girl walked back to her
tent and no one could say if she’d ever actually been in the washroom.
“I’ve written
all I can” .
.
.
“A ten-year-old girl is the only one left, she waves to me whenever
we meet” .
.
.
“She sat alone on the terrace of the bar, next to the dance floor,
and she was hard to find” .
.
.
On the screen, the Nagas appear.
Spectators
surrounded by mosquitoes at 12 p.m.; I glanced to the right: distant lights of a
nocturnal tennis court.
I felt like falling asleep right there.
These are the
elements: “impassivity,” “perseverance,” “blond hair.”
The next morning she was no
longer in her tent.
Along the death-doomed European highways her parents’ car
glides.
On the way to France?
Switzerland?
.
.
.
He looked upward wearily: waxing
moon, the crowns of pine trees silhouetted against the sky, the noise of sirens in
the distance.
But I’m safe here, he said, the killer didn’t recognize me and he’s
gone.
Black-and-white scene of a man who heads into the woods after the screening.
Final images of adults napping as a strange car moves to encounter a greater
brightness.
“I hope they’ll love you and you won’t be faced with death.”

POST SCRIPTUM

De lo perdido, de lo irremediablemente perdido, sólo deseo recuperar la
disponibilidad cotidiana de mi escritura, líneas capaces de cogerme del pelo y
levantarme cuando mi cuerpo ya no quiera aguantar más.
(Significativo, dijo el
extranjero.) A lo humano y a lo divino.
Como esos versos de Leopardi que Daniel Biga
recitaba en un puente nórdico para armarse de coraje, así sea mi escritura.

POSTSCRIPT

Of what is lost, irretrievably lost, all I wish to recover is the daily
availability of my writing, lines capable of grasping me by the hair and lifting me
up when I’m at the end of my strength.
(Significant, said the foreigner.) Odes to
the human and the divine.
Let my writing be like the verses by Leopardi that Daniel
Biga recited on a Nordic bridge to gird himself with courage.

ICEBERG

ICEBERG