Ghosts by César Aira

naked men before, of course (although not many); she
didn’t find that especially frightening. But there was something implausible
about it, since you wouldn’t normally see men without clothes except in
particular situations. The way they were floating in the air accentuated the
ambivalent impression. She had occasionally heard them speak, and wondered
about it afterward, for a while. It seemed easy enough to take them by
surprise, to slip past behind them. But perhaps it wasn’t so
easy.
    She leant out over the front balcony and looked down at the empty
street. A car whizzed past. She went through the apartment, searching for the
children, until she reached the back, and looked down from there as well. The
sun was beating in; it was an oven. She thought she saw a body falling, even
faster than they normally do, the naked body of a ghost, covered with fine,
white dust. It might have been an optical illusion, but she knew it wasn’t when
she heard another volley of guffaws, a great choral outburst of laughter so loud
it was almost desperate. When she turned back toward the stairs, they were there
again, or had just appeared, some swinging back and forth stupidly, like
garlands, others perfectly balanced—they all were, in fact, it was
just that they were using different methods. A quick movement behind her and a
touch that felt particularly real made her swing around suddenly. It was Blanca
Isabel, looking at her with a fading surprise. She was a pretty girl, an
exception in the family, lively, and very intelligent according to her parents.
Although she was startled and must have guessed why her sister had come
downstairs, a smile was hovering around her lips: she thought she had caught
Patri peeking at a forbidden sight. She looked as if she were about to start
humming. Patri didn’t feel that she had been “peeking” at the ghost’s genitalia,
not at all. Their laughter proved her innocence. “Now we’re going to take a
nap,” Patri said energetically, although she too was disconcerted. It was a bad
tactic, because Blanca Isabel didn’t feel like a nap, and ran away. She reached
the stairs before Patri, and started going down, whispering something to the
others, who must have been nearby. Patri knew she had to hurry if she wanted to
catch them, but she was half-hearted about it. It was too hot, and she
was tired. So she listened, helplessly, as they scattered. Nevertheless her
momentum carried her to the stairwell. Juan Sebastián was looking up at her from
the next landing, ready to go down to the third floor. “Let’s go,” she said, “or
Mom will come and get you.” “Why?” he replied. Children always ask why. “Because
you have to take a nap.” “I don’t know how. How do you do it?” “Where are the
others?” “How should I know?” Patri started going down and the boy took off. He
was already down on the next floor. She’d be able to corner him eventually, if
he went all the way down. But the rascal knew hiding places with two escape
routes, so the chase could go on forever. It was no good. She raised her voice
again hoping to scare him into submission. She was irritated and couldn’t
understand why he had to run away. She wasn’t going any further. What a stupid,
childish thing to be doing, chasing kids around at siesta time! If they didn’t
want to sleep, why should they? It made no difference to her, or to their
health, why would it? But since she had come down to the fourth floor, she could
fetch the baby girl, at least.
    Luckily for her, little Ernesto was there, looking at her with his
beautiful big, dark eyes. Hi, he said, as if hiding something. There was a wet
patch on the wall, at a height that indicated clearly what had happened. The
children were forbidden to urinate anywhere inside the building, but they did it
anyway. She shook her head disapprovingly. I took out my weenie and did it, said
the boy. I know how it works, but your dad’s going to tell you off. My dad did
it