Читать книгу Navidad & Matanza - Carlos Labbe - Страница 8

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MY NAME IS DOMINGO. Actually, Domingo is my password here in the laboratory. Just by uttering this name—which I chose—I can enter bedrooms and bathrooms, I can make phone calls, obtain food and drink, access the temperature, hygiene, and communication systems, send and receive email, carry out Internet transactions to purchase any supplies we need. Without it, I’d be trapped in my room. If I were to suffer a psycholinguistic disruption, or if the effect of some microorganism rendered me voiceless, I’d just die of starvation. It’s not that my life doesn’t matter to anyone; it has to do with the nature of the project. It’s not even top secret, as we used to joke, rather, to the world, it doesn’t exist. So if for some reason I was to forget my name, I wouldn’t just die of thirst and hunger, I’d die empirically: the possibility of anyone remembering me would die as well. If the project culminates in success, I’ll be able to return to Santiago, get married, have children, maybe make a career as a gastroenterologist. If the project fails, or if I fail, as occurred with Lunes, Miercoles, Jueves, and Viernes—I fear it may be occurring with Sabado—the organization will be sure to eliminate me. You see, my choice of this allegory wasn’t made on a whim. The project really does resemble a board game, with dice and squares and all of that. Because there is only one way to stay alive: make it to the end.