I talked to Ramiro, and it sounds like the mouse hasn’t left yet, but he has taken a couple of concrete steps. He bought a mousetrap (ugh, an inquisition), and he put a piece of cheese in it; he said the mouse hasn’t tried it yet but that now the whole kitchen smells like cheese. Meanwhile he put out poison for the mouse to eat, and he mixed it with who-knows-what-type of seeds for the mouse to nibble on, but apparently he was told that the poisoning takes whole entire days to happen, because the mouse takes such small bites it takes it a long time to die. This is horrifying. My humble household has quickly been transformed into a site of terror, institutionalized death, and everything, I don’t know, I find it disgusting just to think about. But Rama sounds pretty stoked about it. Like he’s gotten reacquainted with his bloodlust, his former vocation of roach catcher, that masculine thing/virility.
Today my plan is to walk around a little, get out, see if I run into anybody, by chance, I mean, although I kind of hope they don’t recognize me, like I won’t be going around ringing people’s doorbells; there’s very few folks I would actually like to see. After that I’m meeting your parents for dinner. Julián, for example, Juli’s somebody, one of the people I would (most) like and not like to see. Ever since I got here, since we started coming up on the valley, like even back on the bus, on that morning, as soon as I woke up and there started to be mountains I suddenly had the strongest sense of Julián, as though it had simply been anesthetized, put on ice or something, or in salt, that sense, all this time; I woke up and my nose had fogged up the freezing window, my face was cold and squashed, I scattered the condensation on the glass with the sleeve of my jacket, I saw the first light of morning over the peaks, not yet reaching the highway, and I felt—god—that memory in my body, in the view, everything, sense memory, sensations lodged there, memory mocking plans, mocking decisions.
And now that I think about it, those strange dreams I had last night also included Julián. I don’t quite remember what he was or anything, but I exited those dreams with still some sense of him. What I don’t get though is if that means I’d like to run into him or just the opposite. I know I’d like to hear, but just hear, what he’s been up to, but anything I might do, any movement I might make, could run the risk of being misinterpreted. I’m afraid of calling him and having his wife answer, I don’t know if he’s married, I don’t even know if he’s still in Spain or if he’s back, and if he’s back I don’t know if he came here or stayed in Buenos Aires, I doubt it, that I highly doubt, but I don’t know, I just have no idea. I don’t want to ask your mom, I don’t know why, exactly, I guess I’m slightly humiliated by the thought of her thinking I’m still into him or whatever, I don’t know. Maybe it’s not even that, maybe there are just certain answers I don’t feel like hearing, who knows. I hate that these things are like this, so tough, ex-boyfriends. The strange thing is going overnight from sharing everything with someone to no longer knowing anything about what they’re doing, the person you shared everything with and knew everything about, every day, everything that happened every day, and then, suddenly, from one moment to the next, nothing, and not even the option of giving them a call, or maybe you can call them anyway but then everything gets awkward, even the most basic things become uncomfortable. Losing all claims on the other person, losing them, completely, just like that, like it’s nothing. I hate that, that artificial death, that rehearsal for death: forcing yourself to accept this idea that that person’s disappearing, has disappeared, is gone from your life, and you no longer have any reason to expect to hear anything else about them ever. It’s absurd and overwhelming. If they’re still alive and still around, or even elsewhere, you want to know how they are, what they’re up to, I don’t know, something. Right? Isn’t that the logical response? I’ll see, I might end up going by his place this afternoon, by his parents’ place, to see what the situation is, I could end up ringing the bell, potentially find out something.
You know how cats always position themselves in the most attractive spots? Exactly where you’d go if you were similarly sized. Right now your cat is curled up in the sink. She’s in the sun that way, and she’s arranged herself over a blanket your mom left there to wash. Meaning it smells like people too. It couldn’t be more ideal. Who was it that said that man living in the city is a mammal living like an insect? I don’t know. I do know that being here you’re overcome by sleepiness, no two ways about it, and I am now a viable contender with your cat in terms of hours of sleep. I sleep a lot, as though being awake no longer held any attraction for me.
Yesterday I finally ended up going for a walk, around the neighborhood and a little bit beyond. At first I tried to kind of avoid all the potential problem areas, my route determined by all those spots I preferred to not pass by. I went around the city center, crossed the boulevard, walked along the outside of the bus station, and then I started going up, went from asphalt to dirt road without really realizing it because it starts with just the asphalt getting quietly underneath the dirt and the gravel, and then suddenly walking, taking steps, has a soundtrack, raises dust. I went up a little ways towards the lake, but the sun was intense and I started sweating, but I also didn’t want to take off any of my clothing because the air was cold, and my T-shirt was already damp, so I came back, back downhill, and started towards the highway, towards Trevelin, wanting to see a little of the countryside. Everything is so exactly the same . . . If it weren’t for the sneakers I’m wearing that I definitely purchased this year, I might doubt my age, doubt my historical moment, the point on the line of my life where I am currently positioned—I’d doubt the line. But there can be no doubt about it, there ought not to be, these sneakers are new, new soles, they’re red, I picked them out, recently, Manuel went with me, it took me three hours to decide, he and the salesperson conspired against me, mocking my indecisiveness, while meanwhile I was dealing with another type of issue, I knew I wanted these ones, the red ones, but they were expensive and I felt guilty, but at the same time there was no point in spending money on others because these were the ones, and then I had an argument with Manuel because he’d been on the side of the idiot sales guy, Manuel being like, come on, it wasn’t that big of a deal, how I’m too sensitive. Thus these shoes became my shoes, shoes of discord; therefore it is me in the year two thousand something, there can be no question. But outside of me it’s all so chillingly exactly like itself. It’s so cold here, I’d kind of forgotten how that felt, my lips are already chapped, the corners cracked, and I can barely open my mouth, such a dry cold, and so cold. I sit by the highway for a while, in some grass, in the shade but with my legs in the sun, and if I smoked I would definitely smoke a cigarette. I fish around in my pockets for a piece of candy, but they contain nothing, nothing edible. I swallow and miss how candy tastes and how cigarettes taste, in my imagination, anyway. It smells dry here, weed-like, mountain-like, hay-like, southern, a smell barely discernible due to how dry it is, so dry it nearly impedes the possibility, the constitution, of a smell, of a fragrance. This absence of moisture, this suction, this cold, could truly drive you insane, truly induce it. Moisture, moistness, makes things work, brings things together, permits them contact. With prolonged exposure to this cold and this dryness, to this dry cold, connections sooner or later stop working and then I want to see you with your centrals nervous, nerves frayed, and this desert in the back of your forehead.
I find myself on Juli’s block. His parents’ place. Everything is exactly the same: the dirt road, the same houses, everything the same. They put in some bars here and there, but apart from that it’s