The Unknown University (16 page)

THE INSPECTOR

The inspector appeared in the darkness .
.
.
Face lightly flushed in the
smoke-filled office .
.
.
I looked at the ceiling, there were these tiny stars
painted a silver color .
.
.
“Who’s the girl?”
.
.
.
The words emerged from his
silent lips .
.
.
A dark mouth where yellow teeth glistened .
.
.
“I’d like to
understand,” he said, “the roll of the girl, how the fuck does she fit into all
this” .
.
.
I remember the room was silent and it was hard to blink .
.
.
A
gratifying pain in my eyes .
.
.
And the empty words came out of the inspector’s
mouth like teletype tape .
.
.
Blank pages on which one could dream up reports,
reports of caves and shadows lighting fires .
.
.
The river-man .
.
.
“I suppose she
exists” .
.
.
I saw her in a theatre, I said; she worked at a riding school .
.
.
There are no clues leading to her .
.
.
I don’t think she has anything to do with
the matter at the campground .
.
.
The shadow put out the fire and slid toward the
cave .
.
.
stealthy as a tiger .
.
.
“There are no pictures of her and no one who
claims to have known her” .
.
.
Motionless police facing the sea .
.
.
Dusk falls
slowly and the mediterranean wind ripples the pine forest .
.
.
Next to the forest a
parked car, covered in sand and needles .
.
.
The cop tosses his cigarette to the
ground .
.
.
Lost images, like poems, where the city is empty and wind gently
smashes the windows .
.
.
Passports blow away like newspaper .
.
.
Old yellow pages
.
.
.
Meaningless photos .
.
.
questionnaires and immigration forms .
.
.
Suddenly
the image found our faces .
.
.
The cop retrieves his cigarette from the air .
.
.
A
car covered in sand and bird shit .
.
.
It’s strange, the girl was looking at her
body as if she knew I’d never find her .
.
.
Policeman and poet, at the hour when
police stations are empty forever and archives rot in sand-covered streets .
.
.
“Step away from the girl” .
.
.
“Be on your way” .
.
.
The expert spread a map over
the table .
.
.
Words fixed in the center of the room .
.
.
“The sentences stop
halfway there, between the inspector’s mouth and your mouth” .
.
.
“Blinking faces
clues autumn forests from three years ago” .
.
.
“Look at this line: here you are,
somewhere in Barcelona that we’ll mark with the letter A, and here’s the little
hunchback — fucking son of a bitch — in that damn forest in Castelldefels.”
“I have
no idea how many years there are between A and B” .
.
.
“If you could check on that
we’d appreciate it” .
.
.
“I’m hoping this way we’ll get everything cleared up and
find out what the hell we’re after” .
.
.
“There’s a path to follow” .
.
.
“A lump
that smells like shit, a very upsetting lump” .
.
.
“The words become concentrated
in a chalk-colored tumor, like a flying pain equidistant between the inspector and
his favorite cop” .
.
.
Desolate glances following me across the sleeping city .
.
.
pig-headed lout, I thought .
.
.
Even if he’s not a bad guy .
.
.
The lights swept
hundreds of bodies in the night .
.
.
There were too many people on the list, I was
the only one missing .
.
.
“Let me in,” I said to one .
.
.
A fine young boy .
.
.
I
walked down a long hall without passing a single living being .
.
.
“Let me in,” I
said looking at the ground .
.
.
The hallway got longer in a kind of metallic blue
infinity .
.
.
“Let me in” .
.
.
Room with sleepy cops .
.
.
I sat down and someone
offered me a smoke .
.
.
There was nothing to report .
.
.
“Take the only route,
from point A to point B, and try not to get lost in the void” .
.
.

EL TESTIGO

Le dije que podíamos quedarnos allí, al menos mientras recobrábamos el
aliento .
.
.
No había sonidos a nuestras espaldas calma chicha para cubrirnos las
cabezas con sombreros de paja y recostarnos contra una pared .
.
.
El bosque nos
devolvió el sentido de la gracia; escuchábamos voces de adolescentes donde
terminaban las arboledas .
.
.
Eran niños .
.
.
Ocupaban las pistas de tenis de la
mañana a la noche y algunos apenas sabían jugar .
.
.
En la terraza paseaban hombres
con trajebaños y vasos vacíos .
.
.
Nosotros descansábamos .
.
.
Montamos la tienda
en un claro, a medio camino de las pistas de tenis y del camping .
.
.
A veces él
desaparecía .
.
.
Nunca le pregunté qué demonios hacía supongo que iba al bar del
camping .
.
.
A decir verdad era tan insociable como yo así que si tuviera que
arriesgar una respuesta acerca de los motivos que lo llevaban al camping no sabría
qué decir .
.
.
Tal vez curiosidad .
.
.
Yo prefería merodear por las pistas .
.
.
Voces de niñas tocadas por el sol voces que salían de casamatas de hormigón en donde
se duchaban .
.
.
En realidad me pasaba horas y horas mirando a través del ramaje .
.
.
Las pistas de tierra, las dos hileras de asientos, una más elevada que la otra,
las escaleras verdes que conducían a la terraza y al bar .
.
.
Un bar exclusivo .
.
.
En ocasiones encontramos gente en el bosque pero nunca se fijaron en nosotros .
.
.
Nos tapábamos el rostro con sombreros y el chirrido de los grillos nos adormecía .
.
.
La tienda estaba en un claro .
.
.
Allí guardábamos nuestras pertenencias:
harapos revistas latas .
.
.
Las latas las metía el jorobadito .
.
.
Ahora sé por
qué motivo .
.
.
Yo quería largarme y se lo dije .
.
.
Le dije que me iría al sur y
que si quería podía venir conmigo .
.
.
El bosque era pequeño y sin embargo él lo
veía como algo impenetrable .
.
.
A la semana de estar allí dije que me iba .
.
.
Tengo parientes en el sur además no me gustan los catalanes .
.
.
Por las tardes me
quedaba inmóvil junto a la cerca del club de tenis .
.
.
A veces lloraba supongo que
estaba llegando al límite .
.
.
Sí, hacía mucho calor .
.
.
No recuerdo qué año fue
pero la gente que encontramos en el bosque no parecía asustada cuando nos veía .
.
.
Obreros de vacaciones .
.
.
En cierta ocasión vi a un tipo que lloraba en los
linderos .
.
.
En la parte quemada del bosque .
.
.
Un tipo joven bien vestido que
seguramente sabía hablar con educación .
.
.
No me dejé ver .
.
.
En general era
cauteloso todo el tiempo .
.
.
Le dije ya está bien ahora vámonos y él dijo «Nel,
majo» .
.
.
Una mañana me fui sin despertarlo ni dejarle una nota de despedida .
.
.
Olvidé algunas cosas un abrelatas no recuerdo qué más .
.
.
De alguna manera sabía
que tenía que irme y que él no podía hacerlo .
.
.
Sentí el hueco y preferí largarme
.
.
.
El jorobadito sólo dijo «nel, majo» .
.
.
Recuerdo el dolor de las pistas de
tenis .
.
.
Los atardeceres calurosos en medio del bosque en blanco y negro .
.
.
El
hombre se aleja .
.
.
Nuestro único testigo no quiere testigos .
.
.

THE WITNESS

I told him we could stay here, at least until we caught our breath .
.
.
There were no sounds behind us calm dead enough to cover our heads with sombreros
and recline against a wall .
.
.
The forest restored the feeling of grace; we heard
teenage voices at the edge of the groves .
.
.They were children .
.
.
They took
over the tennis courts from morning to night and some hardly knew how to play .
.
.
On the deck men passed by in swimsuits with empty glasses .
.
.
We rested .
.
.
We
pitched a tent in a clearing, halfway between the tennis courts and the campground .
.
.
Sometimes he disappeared .
.
.
I never asked what the hell he was doing I guess
he went to the campground bar .
.
.
In truth he was just as unsociable as I, so if I
had to hazard a guess at his motives for going to the campground I wouldn’t know
what to say .
.
.
Maybe curiosity .
.
.
I preferred to skulk around the courts .
.
.
Voices of sun-kissed girls voices that came from inside the concrete casemates where
they showered .
.
.
I actually spent hours and hours watching from behind the
branches .
.
.
The clay courts, the two rows of seats, one higher than the other,
the green stairs going up to the deck of the bar .
.
.
An exclusive bar .
.
.
Sometimes we came upon people in the woods but they never noticed us .
.
.
We
covered our faces with sombreros and the crickets’ chirping lulled us to sleep .
.
.
The tent was in a clearing .
.
.
That’s where we kept our things: rags magazines
cans .
.
.
The little hunchback put the cans there .
.
.
Now I know why .
.
.
I
wanted to take off and I told him .
.
.
I told him I was going south and if he
wanted he could come with me .
.
.
The forest was small and still he saw it as
something impenetrable .
.
.
After being there a week I said I was going .
.
.
I
have relatives in the South, plus I don’t like the Catalans .
.
.
In the afternoons
I stood motionless beside the tennis club fence .
.
.
Sometimes I would cry I guess
I was reaching my limit .
.
.
Yeah, it was really hot .
.
.
I don’t remember what
year it was but the people we crossed in the woods didn’t seem frightened when they
saw us .
.
.
Workers on vacation .
.
.
One time I saw a guy crying at the edge .
.
.
In the burnt part of the forest .
.
.
A young guy, well dressed, who surely knew how
to speak politely .
.
.
I didn’t let myself watch .
.
.
I was usually cautious all
the time .
.
.
I told him it’s okay now, let’s go and he said “Fat chance, hon” .
.
.
One morning I left without waking him or leaving a note goodbye .
.
.
I forgot a
few things a can opener I don’t remember what else .
.
.
Somehow I knew that I had
to go and that he couldn’t do it .
.
.
I felt the hole and preferred to get out of
there .
.
.
The little hunchback just said “fat chance, hon” .
.
.
I remember the
pain of the tennis courts .
.
.
The sweltering dusks in the middle of the black and
white forest .
.
.
The man walks away .
.
.
Our only witness does not want witnesses
.
.
.