Read Online The Lost Origin by Matilde Asensi - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Matilde Asensi
Ads: Link
about the Miccinelli documents and the Incan writing system….” I reminded my sister-in-law.
“Ah, yes!” she remembered, bringing her legs up into the chair and crossing them Indian-style. “Okay, so the thing is, while Laura Laurencich-Minelli studied the historical andpaleographic part of the documents, Marta Torrent studied the
quipu
that came sewn into the folded folio, and in doing so she discovered that there was a direct correlation between the knots and the quechua words that appeared written above the cords. She deduced, obviously, that she had before her a new Rosetta Stone, which would allow her to find the lost key to deciphering all of the
quipus
, but it would take years, so, with permission from the owner of the Naples archive, Clara Miccinelli, she made copies of everything and brought them with her to Barcelona.”
“And, once here, our dear Marta got to work and began to unravel the mysteries of that old writing system,” I commented, “but since it was a titanic undertaking, she looked for help among the best-qualified and most intelligent of her professors, and she chose Daniel, to whom she immediately proposed a collaboration on the project.”
Ona’s furious expression returned.
“But, Ona…,” I hesitated, “Dr. Torrent didn’t do anything other than offer Daniel a unique opportunity. Imagine if she had offered it to someone else! I don’t understand why it bothers you so much that she thought of Daniel for something so important.”
“Marta Torrent only offered Daniel the hard work of the project!” my sister-in-law said, irritated. “Your brother was very clear on that, he knew from the beginning that she would exploit him, and that later, when it came time for recognition and academic merits, he wouldn’t even get a thank you. It’s always like that, Arnau! He was killing himself working outside of class time so that she could receive, comfortably seated in her position as head of department, updates on the progress he was making.”
I was somewhat surprised by that energetic response. Things must be very bad at the university for Ona to express herself like that. Normally my sister-in-law was an agreeable and mellow young woman. It’s not that I hadn’t heard of the abuses that went on in the departments, but I never would have suspected that my own brother was one of those poor unfortunates being leached off of by his superiors. Still, it was the manner and not the meaning of Ona’s words that shocked me.
Daniel, probably incited by the tone of our conversation, suddenly became violently agitated and began to tirelessly repeat the word which, that night, had obsessed him:
“
Lawt’ata, lawt’ata, lawt’ata
….”
“There’s still one more thing I don’t understand, Ona,” I mentioned thoughtfully. “If Quechua was the official language of the Incan Empire and the
quipu
of Naples also came with the key in Quechua, why did Daniel abandon the study of that language in order to devote himself completely to Aymara?”
My sister-in-law arched her eyebrows and looked at me with very wide, disconcerted eyes.
“I don’t know,” she declared at last, in a dispirited voice. “Daniel didn’t explain it to me. He only told me that he had to focus on Aymara because he was sure that’s where he would find the solution.”
“The solution to what?” I objected, “To the
quipus
in Quechua?”
“I don’t know, Arnau,” she repeated. “I just now realized.”
When I was writing the code for some application, as simple as it might be, I never made the mistake of supposing that among the thousands of lines I was leaving in my wake, there was no hidden fatal mistake that would impede the function of the program on the first try. After the effort of conceiving the project and developing it over a period of weeks or months, the hardest and most passionate work still remained: the desperate search for those imperceptible structural failures that ruined the
“Ah, yes!” she remembered, bringing her legs up into the chair and crossing them Indian-style. “Okay, so the thing is, while Laura Laurencich-Minelli studied the historical andpaleographic part of the documents, Marta Torrent studied the
quipu
that came sewn into the folded folio, and in doing so she discovered that there was a direct correlation between the knots and the quechua words that appeared written above the cords. She deduced, obviously, that she had before her a new Rosetta Stone, which would allow her to find the lost key to deciphering all of the
quipus
, but it would take years, so, with permission from the owner of the Naples archive, Clara Miccinelli, she made copies of everything and brought them with her to Barcelona.”
“And, once here, our dear Marta got to work and began to unravel the mysteries of that old writing system,” I commented, “but since it was a titanic undertaking, she looked for help among the best-qualified and most intelligent of her professors, and she chose Daniel, to whom she immediately proposed a collaboration on the project.”
Ona’s furious expression returned.
“But, Ona…,” I hesitated, “Dr. Torrent didn’t do anything other than offer Daniel a unique opportunity. Imagine if she had offered it to someone else! I don’t understand why it bothers you so much that she thought of Daniel for something so important.”
“Marta Torrent only offered Daniel the hard work of the project!” my sister-in-law said, irritated. “Your brother was very clear on that, he knew from the beginning that she would exploit him, and that later, when it came time for recognition and academic merits, he wouldn’t even get a thank you. It’s always like that, Arnau! He was killing himself working outside of class time so that she could receive, comfortably seated in her position as head of department, updates on the progress he was making.”
I was somewhat surprised by that energetic response. Things must be very bad at the university for Ona to express herself like that. Normally my sister-in-law was an agreeable and mellow young woman. It’s not that I hadn’t heard of the abuses that went on in the departments, but I never would have suspected that my own brother was one of those poor unfortunates being leached off of by his superiors. Still, it was the manner and not the meaning of Ona’s words that shocked me.
Daniel, probably incited by the tone of our conversation, suddenly became violently agitated and began to tirelessly repeat the word which, that night, had obsessed him:
“
Lawt’ata, lawt’ata, lawt’ata
….”
“There’s still one more thing I don’t understand, Ona,” I mentioned thoughtfully. “If Quechua was the official language of the Incan Empire and the
quipu
of Naples also came with the key in Quechua, why did Daniel abandon the study of that language in order to devote himself completely to Aymara?”
My sister-in-law arched her eyebrows and looked at me with very wide, disconcerted eyes.
“I don’t know,” she declared at last, in a dispirited voice. “Daniel didn’t explain it to me. He only told me that he had to focus on Aymara because he was sure that’s where he would find the solution.”
“The solution to what?” I objected, “To the
quipus
in Quechua?”
“I don’t know, Arnau,” she repeated. “I just now realized.”
When I was writing the code for some application, as simple as it might be, I never made the mistake of supposing that among the thousands of lines I was leaving in my wake, there was no hidden fatal mistake that would impede the function of the program on the first try. After the effort of conceiving the project and developing it over a period of weeks or months, the hardest and most passionate work still remained: the desperate search for those imperceptible structural failures that ruined the
Similar Books
