424
PARTISAN REVIEW
cross the dining room , where you were all eating. Clinging close to
the wall, I walked with fear and shame. I think there was a mirror on
the wall ; and although I didn't look at myself in it, I knew I was out
of place there. The lights grew brighter and brighter as I neared the
exit. Margarita saw me too, I'm sure. I couldn't avoid her eyes being
directed toward the wall I was edging slowly along, bent so that at
least some wouldn't see me . When I reached the door the porter
looked at me surprised. I smiled, with effort I kept the smile on my
face until I was out of the porter's gaze; then I felt the muscles in my
face as heavy as if my cheeks had been about to fall. I decided to go
back to La Rioja that very night, but I was aware that I hadn't
enough for the fare since I'd spent some. I could ask my friend, but I
hadn't the heart to. But actually I was thinking of returning and all
that so as not to think of the humiliation I was experiencing, the
blame which caused me such anguish. The worst thing of all was
that you hadn't said a thing to me, that you hadn't at least insulted
me . I felt we were two strangers and there was no longer any possi–
ble contact between us. I realized then that all my attitude toward
you was only imbecility, ridiculousness. But I couldn't avoid that
because I wanted to see you, I needed to be near you, to have some
form of communication. If to that inevitable necessity on my part the
absurdity or ridiculousness were added, the result was the certainty
that you were already for me a lost cause. That night I ended up in a
tavern. Some boys bought me a couple of drinks. I recited them a
good bit of
Martin Fierro
by heart.
I don't know what you could be saying to Luis now. I paid no
attention to the beginning of the conversation, and now your words
make no sense. At first I understood everything. You were asking
Luis things about me, and he answered others, because what you
were asking didn't apply to my situation. Then he tried to ask you
how one communicated with me and he said several times, "Come,
don BIas, now tell me if you want me to put you to bed. Well , don
BIas, if you want me to take you to the bathroom," waiting for me to
move my eyes to one side or the other, but I didn't want to do it , I
didn't want my son to know how these things are done. And if you
stay until dinnertime I'm going to be awfully ashamed for you to
know how they feed your father, the man who knew so many things.
Everything comes in due time . Forced prostration has brought
me almost to the doors of wisdom (imagine what wisdom must mean
to me). I am no longer impatient, and if! had been able to think this
way before, I'd never have followed you through so many streets and
