there is a chance that Franciscoâs wife will cheat on him.
Sunday 14 April
This morning I took the bus and got off at Agraciada and 19 de Abril. Itâs been years since Iâd been around there and I pretended that I was visiting an unfamiliar city. Only now do I realize that Iâve become accustomed to living on streets without trees and how irremediably cold these streets can be.
One of the most pleasant things in life is seeing how the sun filters through the leaves.
It was a pleasant morning. But this afternoon I took a nap for four hours and woke up in a bad mood.
Tuesday 16 April
I still havenât figured out why Iâm attracted to Avellaneda. I was observing her today. She moves well, arranges her hair nicely, and has a light, peach-like fuzz on her cheeks. I wonder what she does with her boyfriend? Or, better yet, what does her boyfriend do with her? Do they play the decent couple or do they become sexually aroused just like anyone else? A key question for me: envious?
Wednesday 17 April
Esteban says if I want to retire by the end of the year we have to begin the process right away. He says heâs going to help me expedite the process, but, even so, itâs going to take time. This might mean greasing someoneâs palm, and I wouldnât like that. I know that the person accepting the bribe would be more contemptible than me, but I wouldnât be innocent either. Estebanâs
theory is that itâs necessary to behave in the manner which the environment demands. That which is simply honourable in one environment could be simply idiotic in another. There is some truth to this, but Iâm dismayed that he is right.
Thursday 18 April
The auditor came today: amiable, moustached. No one would have thought he could be so annoying. He started by asking for some data from the last balance sheet and ended by requesting an itemized list which appears in the initial inventory. I spent the day, from morning until afternoon, carting old and shabby books. The auditor was a charming man; he smiled, begged your pardon and said: âMany thanks.â He was a real delight. Why doesnât he just die? In the beginning, I was seething with anger, mumbling and mentally cursing. Later, my anger turned into a different emotion. I started to feel old. It was I who had entered that data back in 1929; the entries and counter-entries that appeared in the rough draft of the daybook, and the transport figures written in pencil in the cash-book. Back then I was just an errand boy, but I was already being given important things to do, even though the moderate glory only went to the boss; in the same way I now attain my glory for the important things that Muñoz and Robledo do. I feel a little bit like the Herodotus of the company, its registrar and scribe, and the surviving witness to its history. Twenty-five years, five periods of five years, or a quarter of a century. But no, itâs much more startling to say, plainly and simply, twenty-five years. And how my handwriting has changed over these twenty-five years! In 1929, I had uneven penmanship: the lower-case âtâ did not slant in the same direction as the âdâ, âbâ, or âhâ, as if the same wind had not blown for all of them. In 1939, the lower half of the
letters âfâ, âgâ and âjâ, looked like types of faint fringes, without character or willpower. In 1945, the era of capital letters began and so did my great pleasure in embellishing them with ample curves, spectacular and useless. My âMâsâ and âHâsâ were big spiders, with cobwebs and all. Now my handwriting has become synthetic, level, disciplined and pure. Which only proves that Iâm a pretender, since I myself have become complicated, odd, chaotic and impure. When the auditor suddenly asked me for data corresponding to 1930, I recognized my penmanship; that penmanship from a special period.
Sunday 14 April
This morning I took the bus and got off at Agraciada and 19 de Abril. Itâs been years since Iâd been around there and I pretended that I was visiting an unfamiliar city. Only now do I realize that Iâve become accustomed to living on streets without trees and how irremediably cold these streets can be.
One of the most pleasant things in life is seeing how the sun filters through the leaves.
It was a pleasant morning. But this afternoon I took a nap for four hours and woke up in a bad mood.
Tuesday 16 April
I still havenât figured out why Iâm attracted to Avellaneda. I was observing her today. She moves well, arranges her hair nicely, and has a light, peach-like fuzz on her cheeks. I wonder what she does with her boyfriend? Or, better yet, what does her boyfriend do with her? Do they play the decent couple or do they become sexually aroused just like anyone else? A key question for me: envious?
Wednesday 17 April
Esteban says if I want to retire by the end of the year we have to begin the process right away. He says heâs going to help me expedite the process, but, even so, itâs going to take time. This might mean greasing someoneâs palm, and I wouldnât like that. I know that the person accepting the bribe would be more contemptible than me, but I wouldnât be innocent either. Estebanâs
theory is that itâs necessary to behave in the manner which the environment demands. That which is simply honourable in one environment could be simply idiotic in another. There is some truth to this, but Iâm dismayed that he is right.
Thursday 18 April
The auditor came today: amiable, moustached. No one would have thought he could be so annoying. He started by asking for some data from the last balance sheet and ended by requesting an itemized list which appears in the initial inventory. I spent the day, from morning until afternoon, carting old and shabby books. The auditor was a charming man; he smiled, begged your pardon and said: âMany thanks.â He was a real delight. Why doesnât he just die? In the beginning, I was seething with anger, mumbling and mentally cursing. Later, my anger turned into a different emotion. I started to feel old. It was I who had entered that data back in 1929; the entries and counter-entries that appeared in the rough draft of the daybook, and the transport figures written in pencil in the cash-book. Back then I was just an errand boy, but I was already being given important things to do, even though the moderate glory only went to the boss; in the same way I now attain my glory for the important things that Muñoz and Robledo do. I feel a little bit like the Herodotus of the company, its registrar and scribe, and the surviving witness to its history. Twenty-five years, five periods of five years, or a quarter of a century. But no, itâs much more startling to say, plainly and simply, twenty-five years. And how my handwriting has changed over these twenty-five years! In 1929, I had uneven penmanship: the lower-case âtâ did not slant in the same direction as the âdâ, âbâ, or âhâ, as if the same wind had not blown for all of them. In 1939, the lower half of the
letters âfâ, âgâ and âjâ, looked like types of faint fringes, without character or willpower. In 1945, the era of capital letters began and so did my great pleasure in embellishing them with ample curves, spectacular and useless. My âMâsâ and âHâsâ were big spiders, with cobwebs and all. Now my handwriting has become synthetic, level, disciplined and pure. Which only proves that Iâm a pretender, since I myself have become complicated, odd, chaotic and impure. When the auditor suddenly asked me for data corresponding to 1930, I recognized my penmanship; that penmanship from a special period.
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