The Complete Stories Read Online Free PDF

perceived in Daniel’s words a disregard for convention, for “things of life” . . . And it had never occurred to me, except as a slight whimsy, to wish that the world were different than it was. I recalled Jaime, always praised for “fulfilling his duties,” as he said, and felt, without knowing why, safer.
    Later, when I saw Daniel again, I stiffened into a cold and useless posture, since he barely noticed me, lumping me together with the rest of the boardinghouse, safeguarded. However, when I looked everyone over at dinner, I vaguely felt a certain shame in belonging to that amorphous group of men and women who had banded together in tacit agreement, stoking their indignation, united against the one who had come to disturb their comfort. I understood that Daniel scorned them and I was irritated because I too was implicated.
    I wasn’t used to lingering for very long over any one thought, and a subtle discontent, like an impatience, seized me. From then on, without thinking, I avoided Daniel. Whenever I saw him, I imperceptibly grew wary, eyes wide open, watchful. I think I feared he’d make one of those cutting remarks of his, because I was worried I’d agree . . . I mustered my dislike, defending myself from who knows what, defending Papa, Mama, Jaime and all my own people. But it was in vain. Daniel was the danger. And I was heading toward him.
    Another time, I was wandering aimlessly through the empty boardinghouse, at two o’clock on a rainy afternoon, until, hearing voices in the waiting room, I went in. He was talking to a thin fellow, dressed in black. Both were smoking, speaking unhurriedly, so absorbed in their thoughts that they didn’t even see me come in. I was about to retreat, but a sudden curiosity took hold of me and led me to an easy chair, at a distance from where they were sitting. After all, I justified to myself, the room belonged to the lodgers. I tried not to make a sound.
    In those first few moments, to my astonishment, I understood none of what they were saying . . . I gradually made out a few recognizable words, among others that I’d never heard spoken aloud: terms from books. “The universality of . . .” “the abstract meaning of . . .” It must be known that I never witnessed discussions in which the subject wasn’t “things” and “stories.” I myself, having little imagination and little intelligence, thought strictly along the lines of my narrow reality.
    His words slid over me, without penetrating. However, I sensed, singularly uncomfortable, how they hid a harmony of their own that I couldn’t quite grasp . . . I tried not to get distracted so as not to miss any part of the magical conversation.
    “Achievements kill desire,” said Daniel.
    “Achievements kill desire, achievements kill desire,” I repeated to myself, somewhat bewildered. I drifted off and when I started paying attention again yet another brilliant and mysterious phrase had been born, disturbing me.
    Now Daniel was talking about himself.
    “What interests me above all is feeling, accumulating desires, filling me up with myself. Achievements open me up, leave me empty and sated.”
    “There’s no such thing as satiety,” the other one said, between exhalations from his cigarette. “Dissatisfaction returns, creating yet another desire that a normal man would try to satisfy. You’re justifying its futility with some random theory. ‘What matters is feeling and not doing . . .’ Sorry. You’ve failed and all you can do is assert yourself through the imagination . . .”
    I listened to them, numb. Not only did the conversation surprise me but, the grounds on which it was based, something far from everyday truth, but mysteriously melodic, touching upon, I sensed, other truths unknown to me. And I was also surprised to see them attack each other with unfriendly words that would have offended any other person but that they accepted indifferently, as if . . . as if they didn’t