conclusion could be summed up as follows: Thatâs why he came in here like he knew the place. Itâs got nothing to do with the millions that Moro attributes to him. Heâs trying to act like he never left .
The barman deposits the bottles, ice, and glasses on the counter, along with a dish of peanuts and another of green olives. Nula takes out a cigarette but (because heâs lost in thought) doesnât offer one around, and, after lighting it, returns the lighter and the red and white packet wrapped in cellophane to his jacket pocket. When theyâve finished preparing their drinks, Nula holds out his glass, as though heâs about to give a toast, and heâs just about to add his own ironic comment when he realizes that the other two men, poised at the threshold of old age, have lapsed into thought after taking their first sips (Escalante drinks his orange soda straight from the bottle), and so he keeps quiet. Suddenly, he understands what Moro had been trying to explain to him at the estate agency when he described his meeting with Gutiérrez on San MartÃn and said that at one point he got the feeling that if he spoke to Gutiérrez the other man wouldnât even have noticed his presence because he seemed to be in a different dimension, like in some science fiction show. The past , Nula thinks, the most inaccessible and remote of all the extinguished galaxies, insists, endlessly, on transmitting its counterfeit, fossilized luminescence.
And yet, Nula realizes, they donât allow themselves, in public at least, either nostalgia, distortion, or complaint. They exchange words that, from the outside, seem formulaic, but which Nula can sense are loaded with meaning. They start talking about Marcos Rosemberg and his political altruism, exchanging a brief smile that Escalante tries to hide with his hand and that signals their tacit recognition of a certain disposition, crystallized some forty years before, that they attribute to Rosemberg and which seems to provoke both sympathy and disbelief. And Nula, who knows Rosemberg well, since he, too, is a clientâRosemberg was the first to suggestselling wine to Gutiérrez, saying that if he told Gutiérrez heâd sent him, he would definitely buy someâthinks he can guess that the sympathy comes from their affection for him and the sincerity they attribute to his political activities, while the disbelief, modeled after a self-fashioned image of the cynic, reflects their doubt regarding the actual likelihood of the efficacy of those very activities.
âAnd you? Gutiérrez says.
Before answering, Escalante considers Nulaâs presence, apparently asking himself whether or not itâs the right time to disclose his personal life, and Nula, as he thinks this, and as Escalante looks him over quickly, tries to muster, not altogether convincingly, a look of neutrality and indifference. But the one that appears on Escalanteâs face after the inspection, when he begins to speak, doesnât indicate a favorable appraisal of his person, but rather something more generalized, a sort of philosophical posture or moral reflection through which he recalls how trivial and revolting anyoneâs private life is.
âEverything Marcos must have told you about me is true, Escalante says, and Nula remembers thinking, a few minutes before, that despite his apparent curiosity and subtle exclamations of surprise, theyâve both known everything about each other ever since Gutiérrez came to the city the year before.
âI was married, I was locked up, I gave myself to the game, for years, and then I got together with my thirteen-year-old maid. After I lost everything, I took up the profession again, trying not to exhaust myself, until I was able to retire. But my wife works now. He falls silent, and then, in a murmur, adds, The perfect crime .
âBalzac said that behind every great fortune there is a great crime, Gutiérrez
The barman deposits the bottles, ice, and glasses on the counter, along with a dish of peanuts and another of green olives. Nula takes out a cigarette but (because heâs lost in thought) doesnât offer one around, and, after lighting it, returns the lighter and the red and white packet wrapped in cellophane to his jacket pocket. When theyâve finished preparing their drinks, Nula holds out his glass, as though heâs about to give a toast, and heâs just about to add his own ironic comment when he realizes that the other two men, poised at the threshold of old age, have lapsed into thought after taking their first sips (Escalante drinks his orange soda straight from the bottle), and so he keeps quiet. Suddenly, he understands what Moro had been trying to explain to him at the estate agency when he described his meeting with Gutiérrez on San MartÃn and said that at one point he got the feeling that if he spoke to Gutiérrez the other man wouldnât even have noticed his presence because he seemed to be in a different dimension, like in some science fiction show. The past , Nula thinks, the most inaccessible and remote of all the extinguished galaxies, insists, endlessly, on transmitting its counterfeit, fossilized luminescence.
And yet, Nula realizes, they donât allow themselves, in public at least, either nostalgia, distortion, or complaint. They exchange words that, from the outside, seem formulaic, but which Nula can sense are loaded with meaning. They start talking about Marcos Rosemberg and his political altruism, exchanging a brief smile that Escalante tries to hide with his hand and that signals their tacit recognition of a certain disposition, crystallized some forty years before, that they attribute to Rosemberg and which seems to provoke both sympathy and disbelief. And Nula, who knows Rosemberg well, since he, too, is a clientâRosemberg was the first to suggestselling wine to Gutiérrez, saying that if he told Gutiérrez heâd sent him, he would definitely buy someâthinks he can guess that the sympathy comes from their affection for him and the sincerity they attribute to his political activities, while the disbelief, modeled after a self-fashioned image of the cynic, reflects their doubt regarding the actual likelihood of the efficacy of those very activities.
âAnd you? Gutiérrez says.
Before answering, Escalante considers Nulaâs presence, apparently asking himself whether or not itâs the right time to disclose his personal life, and Nula, as he thinks this, and as Escalante looks him over quickly, tries to muster, not altogether convincingly, a look of neutrality and indifference. But the one that appears on Escalanteâs face after the inspection, when he begins to speak, doesnât indicate a favorable appraisal of his person, but rather something more generalized, a sort of philosophical posture or moral reflection through which he recalls how trivial and revolting anyoneâs private life is.
âEverything Marcos must have told you about me is true, Escalante says, and Nula remembers thinking, a few minutes before, that despite his apparent curiosity and subtle exclamations of surprise, theyâve both known everything about each other ever since Gutiérrez came to the city the year before.
âI was married, I was locked up, I gave myself to the game, for years, and then I got together with my thirteen-year-old maid. After I lost everything, I took up the profession again, trying not to exhaust myself, until I was able to retire. But my wife works now. He falls silent, and then, in a murmur, adds, The perfect crime .
âBalzac said that behind every great fortune there is a great crime, Gutiérrez
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