I realize we’re at the end now, I’m telling you this because tonight I was thinking of entering my circle … I mean, I’ve already been trotting around in here a little while … funny verb, to trot, for someone with a leg in this condition, can’t you just see it?… I can — try to picture it — some scrawny old guy, completely naked, just a sheet around him, dragging his chewed-up leg, hopping around in an empty space, making a circle … thinking about it, you want to cheer him on … get in there, go on, decide already, you can do it!.. There’s something I was thinking I wouldn’t tell you, I’ve resisted up to now, I was thinking to myself that all in all, it didn’t really add anything, anyway, and then I told myself that it’s not like it does much for Tristano’s character … just the opposite … and it feels like I’ve already ruined your character a bit … but ruined isn’t the right word … troubles … you know, a writer invents a character and purifies him somehow … I’m not being very clear here, it’s not that the writer purifies his character, it’s that whatever this character is, even if the author gives his character a human life — and people’s lives are filled with troubles, man’s a cruel animal — it’s still a life on paper, and on paper, troubles don’t stink … but if someone tells you certain things that he’s actually lived, and more than that, if he tells you these things in the flesh, right next to you, and he’s breathing and maybe his flesh isn’t in the best of shape, either, then those troubles he’s telling you are less aseptic, am I making myself clear?… But, when someone’s reaching the end … in short, I thought that thanks to you, these troubles will turn to paper, and so you’ll render them more abstract. But troubles aren’t … who knows … at times it’s so hard to tell the difference between cruelty and justice … killing … or murdering … Tristano was a pacifist, you know this from that interview a long time ago, before he made himself disappear, and he was especially opposed to the death penalty, that obtuse, bureaucratic, state-provided death on officially stamped paper … sure, but this is a matter of principle and would be worth something in a perfect world, and if you follow this principle to the extreme, then you need to go embrace that Chilean general who murdered thousands in the stadiums, go on, give him a hug and tell him about loving his fellow man, maybe you’ll wind up friends … Unfortunately, the world’s not like Tolstoy imagined, where you can convince a murderer through love and forgiveness … it would be beautiful, this utopia. Hitler promised that Nazism would reign a thousand years in Europe, you think we should allow it in the name of brotherly love?… Our principles rule out homicide, but killing a tyrant — the Beast — who’d devour our principles, this doesn’t contradict our principles … Anyway, I’ll leave that dilemma to you, it doesn’t concern me anymore … I’ll be brief, I don’t feel like going into too much detail, and really, it’s not necessary for the story, all you need to know is that Tristano wasn’t alone and that Taddeo was driving. A detaiclass="underline" Tristano wasn’t young anymore, no, he was old and needed some company … and Taddeo was also rather old, but he was the company Tristano wanted … No, listen, I’ve changed my mind, I’m only going to give you the details of the story, that’s what I want, I’m leaving out the essential part, you’ll figure that out on your own … meaning, where Tristano learned to unravel the knot, how he found the exact right spot, and who helped him in his search … that doesn’t matter. Taddeo was driving the car and Tristano was humming a little nursery rhyme,
ahi luna luna luna el niño la mira mira el niño la está mirando … There’s a gypsy legend that the full moon steals children, the child she stole from him was no longer a child but was still a child to him … Proserpina covers the dead with white sheets, luna luna luna lead the way … the road was dusty white with low shrubs on either side, and it was whiter still in the headlights … Tristano had already written a postcard to Rosamunda but hadn’t mailed it yet, it was still in the glove compartment … everyone had left that small town, it had become a tourist village, said the carabinero who gave him directions, but a specific kind of tourist village, d’élite, since those living there already were cultural tourists, that’s what he’d called them, a thoughtful community, everyone quiet, reflective, not like those young people going to discos or throwing parties with loud music and everybody getting drunk, and we’ll have to break them up … And the house was truly elegant as seen from the outside, an old country house remodeled by an intelligent architect, the kind that restores and doesn’t ruin the landscape … And its tenant, too, was an elegant gentleman, friendly, and he welcomed them in a friendly manner; for that matter, they came as friends, but I’m not saying how that happened, how they managed to get themselves welcomed as friends, because that’s not a detail … and how things unfolded exactly isn’t a detail at all, after they took a seat on those beautiful sofas draped with traditional Castilian shawls, and that pleasant gentleman offered them a first-rate brandy, aged Carlos Primero, this detail’s worth emphasizing, because brandy aids in digestion, another important detail, because they’d had an extravagant dinner, he and Taddeo, an important detail, not just for the gazpacho and the roasted angulas, which Taddeo had never tried before, but because if it was after dinner, it was night and rather late … A brandy Taddeo liked so well that he accepted a second, and then a third, and while he was drinking his third glass he said — another detail — that he really needed it that evening, something to put some fire in his veins … And now we’ve arrived at the essential part, what I’ll spare you, like I promised … I’d just like to add one more detail, that before this essential part, Tristano set a photo on the table of a boy in a wicker chair under a pergola, a jug of water in front of him and he was holding a book, you could tell it was summer, and the boy had straight, dark hair, and looked happy, his smile spoke of going out to meet the world … And he showed that photo and said … he said … I don’t remember, writer, I swear, I couldn’t tell you the exact words, but since it’s not a detail, I’ll just give you the basic gist, you can assume he said he was showing the gentleman that photo because he wanted to emphasize that this boy was his son and that he loved him very much … And at this point, that pleasant gentleman understood everything and became far from pleasant, as you might imagine, and Tristano didn’t just stop there, now he wanted to know where this man, this pleasant gentleman, had gotten his orders … which organizations, and whose, meaning, were they overseas or homegrown? And if it was something national, were these men who’d strayed from the right path, or those who’d found the right way? But these are details I’ll let you decide on, writer, as to the rest, if you have the patience for it, there’s a dossier, thousands of pages’ worth, sitting in the archives of our republic’s parliament … they’re the records of a committee with an unusual name, no other country in Europe has such a committee, we alone can brag of reaching such heights, of our parliamentary committee for mass murder, with its records available to all citizens, if you ever find the time, go take a look, I’m happy to leave all that to you, just like I’m happy to leave you this century … And when the snakes on Medusa’s head finally went limp, the two men stepped out into the night, Taddeo got back behind the wheel, there was a beautiful full moon, luna luna luna el niño la mira mira el niño la está mirando, and as they drove past a church on a small square, Tristano noticed a mailbox attached to the side of the bell tower, and it seemed like the most fitting mailbox for the postcard he’d written to Rosamunda, Miss Marilyn-Rosamunda, celestial Pancuervo, Cosmos. That was the address … an address no postman in this world could trace, but Tristano preferred it that way, he felt as though a weight had been lifted … In dreams begins responsibility, I did what you asked me to in a dream. Farewell, Tristano.