figures to me while I recorded them using a typewriter. At eight p.m. my back started to hurt, near my left shoulder. At nine oâclock I didnât mind the
pain and kept typing the dull figures. No one spoke when we had finished. The three fellows in the Shipping Department had already left. The three of us who were left went to Plaza Independencia, and I bought them a cup of coffee at the counter of the Sorocabana, and then we said goodbye. I think they were holding a grudge against me because I had selected them to work late.
Thursday 28 March
I had a long talk with Esteban and expressed my doubts about the fairness of his appointment. For Godâs sake, I didnât expect him to quit; I know that is no longer fashionable. I simply would have liked to have heard him say he felt uncomfortable about his appointment. But he didnât. âItâs useless, Dad. You keep living in the past.â Thatâs what he said. âThese days nobody gets offended if some nobody appears and overtakes them on their way up the ladder. And do you know why nobody gets offended? Because they would do the same thing if they had the opportunity. Iâm sure they arenât going to look at me with anger, but with envy.â
Then I told him ⦠Well, what does it matter what I told him?
Friday 29 March
What a disgusting wind. It was a battle to travel via Ciudadela from Colonia to the Plaza. The wind lifted a girlâs skirt and a priestâs cassock. Jesus, such diverse spectacles. Sometimes I think about what would have happened to me if I had become a priest. Probably nothing. I have a saying that I repeat four or five times a year: âThere are two professions for which I am sure
I do not have the least calling: the military and the priesthood.â But I think I repeat the phrase out of habit, without the least conviction.
I arrived home with my hair dishevelled, my throat burning and my eyes full of dirt. I washed up, changed and sat down by the window to drink maté. I felt safe. And also profoundly egotistical. Sitting there, I watched men, women, old people and children, all struggling against the wind, and now also against the rain. Still, I didnât get the urge to open the door and offer them refuge in my house and a hot maté. And itâs not that it didnât occur to me to do it. The idea did cross my mind, but I felt profoundly ridiculous about it and began to think about the confused look on peopleâs faces, even in the middle of the wind and rain.
What would I be like, today, if twenty or thirty years ago I had decided to become a priest? Yes, I already know, the wind would lift my cassock and expose the trousers of a rustic and ordinary man. But, what about the rest? Would I have won or lost? I wouldnât have children (I think I would have been an honest priest, one hundred per cent chaste), an office, a work schedule, or retirement. Yes, I would have God and I would have religion. But, is it that perhaps I donât have them now? Frankly, I donât know if I believe in God. Sometimes I think that, in case He does exist, He wouldnât be upset by my doubts. In reality, the resources that he (or He?) Himself has given us (reasoning, sensibility, intuition) arenât absolutely sufficient to guarantee us of His existence or non-existence. Thanks to a hunch, I can believe in God and guess right, or not believe in God and also guess right. And then? Perhaps God has the face of a croupier and Iâm just a poor fool that bets on red when black comes up, and vice versa.
Saturday 30 March
Robledo is still angry with me because he had to work late this past Wednesday. Poor guy. From what Muñoz told me this morning, Robledoâs girlfriend is frightfully jealous. On Wednesday he was supposed to meet her at eight, but because I had chosen him to work late, he couldnât go. He called her and explained, but it was no use. She didnât believe him and told
pain and kept typing the dull figures. No one spoke when we had finished. The three fellows in the Shipping Department had already left. The three of us who were left went to Plaza Independencia, and I bought them a cup of coffee at the counter of the Sorocabana, and then we said goodbye. I think they were holding a grudge against me because I had selected them to work late.
Thursday 28 March
I had a long talk with Esteban and expressed my doubts about the fairness of his appointment. For Godâs sake, I didnât expect him to quit; I know that is no longer fashionable. I simply would have liked to have heard him say he felt uncomfortable about his appointment. But he didnât. âItâs useless, Dad. You keep living in the past.â Thatâs what he said. âThese days nobody gets offended if some nobody appears and overtakes them on their way up the ladder. And do you know why nobody gets offended? Because they would do the same thing if they had the opportunity. Iâm sure they arenât going to look at me with anger, but with envy.â
Then I told him ⦠Well, what does it matter what I told him?
Friday 29 March
What a disgusting wind. It was a battle to travel via Ciudadela from Colonia to the Plaza. The wind lifted a girlâs skirt and a priestâs cassock. Jesus, such diverse spectacles. Sometimes I think about what would have happened to me if I had become a priest. Probably nothing. I have a saying that I repeat four or five times a year: âThere are two professions for which I am sure
I do not have the least calling: the military and the priesthood.â But I think I repeat the phrase out of habit, without the least conviction.
I arrived home with my hair dishevelled, my throat burning and my eyes full of dirt. I washed up, changed and sat down by the window to drink maté. I felt safe. And also profoundly egotistical. Sitting there, I watched men, women, old people and children, all struggling against the wind, and now also against the rain. Still, I didnât get the urge to open the door and offer them refuge in my house and a hot maté. And itâs not that it didnât occur to me to do it. The idea did cross my mind, but I felt profoundly ridiculous about it and began to think about the confused look on peopleâs faces, even in the middle of the wind and rain.
What would I be like, today, if twenty or thirty years ago I had decided to become a priest? Yes, I already know, the wind would lift my cassock and expose the trousers of a rustic and ordinary man. But, what about the rest? Would I have won or lost? I wouldnât have children (I think I would have been an honest priest, one hundred per cent chaste), an office, a work schedule, or retirement. Yes, I would have God and I would have religion. But, is it that perhaps I donât have them now? Frankly, I donât know if I believe in God. Sometimes I think that, in case He does exist, He wouldnât be upset by my doubts. In reality, the resources that he (or He?) Himself has given us (reasoning, sensibility, intuition) arenât absolutely sufficient to guarantee us of His existence or non-existence. Thanks to a hunch, I can believe in God and guess right, or not believe in God and also guess right. And then? Perhaps God has the face of a croupier and Iâm just a poor fool that bets on red when black comes up, and vice versa.
Saturday 30 March
Robledo is still angry with me because he had to work late this past Wednesday. Poor guy. From what Muñoz told me this morning, Robledoâs girlfriend is frightfully jealous. On Wednesday he was supposed to meet her at eight, but because I had chosen him to work late, he couldnât go. He called her and explained, but it was no use. She didnât believe him and told
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