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alone. You were always alone.”
    Was this just a way to hurt me? I was surprised all the same, I was stunned as if I’d been robbed. My God, so . . . neither of us believed anymore in whatever held us together?
    “Are you afraid of the truth? We don’t even feel hatred toward each other. If we did we’d almost be happy. Beings made of strong stuff. You want proof? You wouldn’t kill me, because afterward you’d feel neither pleasure nor pain. You’d just think: ‘what’s the point?’ ”
    I couldn’t help but notice the intelligence with which he penetrated the truth. But how things were going so fast, how fast they were going! I thought.
    Silence fell. The clock struck six. Back to silence.
    I breathed hard, deeply. My voice came out low and heavy:
    “I’m leaving.”
    We each made a slight, quick movement, as if a struggle were about to begin. Then we looked at each other in surprise. It had been said! It had been said!
    I repeated triumphantly, trembling:
    “I’m leaving, Daniel.” I came closer and against the pallor of his slender face, his hair looked excessively black. “Daniel”—I shook him by the arm—“I’m leaving!”
    He didn’t move. I then realized that my hand was clutching his arm. My declaration had opened such a gulf between us that I couldn’t even bear touching him. I pulled it away with such an abrupt and sudden movement that the ashtray went flying, shattered on the floor.
    I stood staring at the shards for a while. Then I lifted my head, suddenly calmed. He too had frozen, as if fascinated by the swiftness of the scene, having forgotten any mask. We looked at each other for a moment, without anger, our eyes disarmed, searching, now filled with an almost friendly curiosity, the depths of our souls, our mystery that must be the same. We averted our gaze at the same time, disturbed.
    “The prisoners,” Daniel said trying to lend a lighthearted, disdainful tone to the words.
    That was the last moment of understanding we had together.
    There was an extremely long pause, the kind that plunges us into eternity. Everything around us had stopped.
    With another sigh, I came back to life.
    “I’m leaving.”
    He didn’t make a move.
    I walked to the door and at the threshold stopped again. I saw his back, his dark head lifted, as if he were looking straight ahead. I repeated, my voice singularly hollow:
    “I’m leaving, Daniel.”
    My mother had died from a heart attack, brought on by my departure. Papa had found refuge with my uncle, in the country.
    Jaime took me back.
    He never asked many questions. More than anything he wanted peace. We went back to our old life, though he never came completely close to me again. He sensed that I was different from him and my “lapse” frightened him, made him respect me.
    As for me, I go on.
    Alone now. Forever alone.
     

The Fever Dream
    (“O delírio”)
    The day is hot and near its peak when he gets up. He looks for his slippers under the bed, groping around with his feet, burrowing into his flannel pajamas. The sun starts to fall across the wardrobe, reflecting the window’s broad square onto the floor.
    His neck feels stiff at the nape, his movements so difficult. His toes are some frozen, impersonal thing. And his jaw is stuck, clenched. He goes to the sink, fills his hands with water, drinks eagerly as it swishes around inside him as if in an empty flask. He splashes his forehead and exhales in relief.
    From the window he can see the bright and bustling street. Boys are playing marbles in the doorway of the Mascote Bakery, a car is honking near the corner bar. Women are coming back from the farmers’ market carrying bags, sweating. Scraps of turnip and lettuce mingle with the dirt on the narrow street. And the sun, glaring and harsh, shining over it all.
    He moves away in disgust. He turns back inside, looks at the unmade bed, so familiar after a night of insomnia . . . The Virgin Mary now stands out, distinct and commanding,