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celestial, fathomless, pure
water. That is to say, they were the colour of air, extraordinarily limpid, pale as the sky, endless. Her body appeared weightless. Then she smiled. And Arturo, in a state of bliss, noticed
that he too could not help smiling.
    Everything was whirling round. Round and round. And
not only because it was a waltz. He felt himself fixed, attached,
nailed to his companion's clear gaze. All he wanted was for
this to last for ever. He was smiling like an idiot. The girl
seemed happy. She danced divinely. Arturo let himself be
swept along. He realised, from afar, that he had never danced
so well, and he congratulated himself. It lasted an eternity. He
felt no tiredness. His feet came together, drew apart, whirled
round and round, in perfect time. The girl was the lightest,
fleetest dancer who had ever existed. He was unaware of
when it all ended. But clearly a time did come when they
found themselves sitting side by side on two seats, chatting.
There was hardly anyone left in the room. The lanterns and
paper chains, the streamers frivolously decorating the roof,
seemed tired. Strips of paper hung this way and that, all
unfurled. Coloured confetti spotted the floor, making it
like the sky in reverse, tired, motionless, possibly dead. The
musicians from the sorry band were drinking beer.
    As the girl refused to tell him her surname or her address -
her first name was Susana - Arturo decided to stick to her
side, come what may. Having made this decision, he felt better. They stayed till everyone else had gone. Suddenly the hall
was deserted, looking larger than it really was, the chairs all
higgledy-piggledy, the flickering light making the dirty white
walls recede, casting all kinds of blurred shadows on them. In the end the young man could not resist the impulse to
pronounce the `Shall we go?' which had been struggling to
emerge from his lips for some time. Susana gazed at him
expressionlessly and moved slowly towards the door. Arturo
fetched his raincoat and they went out into the street. It was
pouring, she had nothing to cover herself with. Her little
white dress looked very sad in the darkness. They stood there
for a moment. Susana had still not revealed where she lived.

    `Are you walking home?'
    `Yes.'
    `You'll get soaked.'
    `I'll wait for a bit.'
    Arturo adopted his most resolute air, thrusting his chin
forward:
    `Me too.'
    `No, don't.'
    `Yes, I'm going to.'
    Arturo was wracking his brains, anxious to say something
deep and meaningful, but he couldn't think of anything at all.
He felt empty, as though he had been turned inside out. Not a
word came into his head, his throat was dry, his mind a blank.
Empty. After a long pause, he stammered:
    `Can I see you again?F
    Susana looked at him in amazement, as though he had
suggested something utterly insane. Arturo did not insist. The
rain was still falling and showed no sign of abating. Puddles
had formed, and the one sound uniting the couple was woven
out of the drops of water.
    'Which direction are you going in?'
    As though forgetting her earlier refusals, Susana pointed
vaguely to the right, towards the upper part of town.
    `Shall we wait a bit longer?' the young man asked.
    She shook her head.
    `I can't.'
    `Is there somebody expecting you?'
    `Yes, always.'
    Her tone was so meek and resigned that Arturo felt suddenly clothed in valour, as though he knew, all at once, that Susana needed his help. His limited imagination produced, in
an instant, a huge, cruel guardian, a great fat aunt, with a
moustache and hands like pliers, given to dealing out dreadful
pinches, instigator of unimaginable acts of penitence. If he had
had to fight with someone at that moment, she would have
found none braver. A carriage passed. Arturo hailed it with an
imperious gesture. He had never in his life taken one on his
own initiative. The only time he could recall was when his
mother had been taken ill five years earlier, and he had