Читать книгу Fate - Jorge Consiglio - Страница 10

A mistake. Her mind was elsewhere as she walked down Sarmiento Street. All of a sudden, there she was, tripping over the wares a street vendor was flogging from a square of tarp. The guy had been waiting his entire life for this opportunity. He screamed blue murder. Marina Kezelman prepared her defence – bulldog face and counter-attack – but when she saw that things were turning nasty and noted the indifference of the passers-by, she lowered her gaze, shrinking back as if she were at fault. She walked on for another two blocks under the sun, the collar of her shirt turned slightly upwards.

She stopped at a lottery booth on Corrientes. She looked at the tickets on display and burst into tears. A bespectacled hipster guy asked her if she was ok. Marina couldn’t catch her breath to reply. She washed her face in the toilets of La Ópera café and rushed to her chiropractic session. She’d had a pain in her neck for two months now and a friend had suggested this practice. She was seen by a very tall woman who had hair just like an aunt of hers who’d died a decade earlier. Marina Kezelman didn’t believe in coincidences, and so she was stunned when the therapist said her first name was Julia: her dead aunt’s name. She didn’t say a word. She lay down on the bed, closed her eyes and let the woman work on her back. She left with a sensation of relief and mild lumbar pain. Julia had warned her that some temporary side effects were to be expected. Marina Kezelman clung to those words. She stopped thinking about her body and carried on towards Rivadavia Avenue.

Twenty minutes later, she was in a café. A macchiato with toast and jam. She’d taken a table next to a mirror. Marina’s movements were deft, assured. It was her style, a bearing that, deep down, she considered aristocratic: she refused to associate time with productivity. Serene, she ate. Every now and then, she turned her head to the left, unable to resist her own reflection. She fixed her hair – a lock at her temple – and checked her face for marks of time. Her chin had receded, her cheeks had gained in volume. Her eyes were still the same almond shape, but they had gradually sunk into their orbits. Marina Kezelman was an attractive woman and this fact, evident to the world and no secret to her, had planted in her psyche – as far back as her early teenage years – a confidence that had allowed her to get whatever she wanted. She would choose a direction and move forward, with a certain degree of bewilderment, but always forward.

Taking her last sip of coffee, she noticed that a guy at the counter was looking at her. He was young and wearing a pair of beige trousers. At first it bothered her, his stare, but she soon joined in the game. Kezelman understood that she was the main character in a story. The light shone on her directly, brought out her nose, made her look pale. As soon as she realised this, she shifted. She sat with her back as straight as possible and touched a finger softly to her lips. She pretended to be distracted by the movement of the afternoon, the passing cars and people. Once in position, she checked the man’s reaction. He was talking with the bartender but still paying attention to her. Standing at the counter, he was like a fish in water. He fulfilled his allotted role without objection. Marina Kezelman reminded herself that you should never give everything away. She swallowed a morsel and mentally reviewed all her son’s activities. She toyed with the idea of infidelity. This guy was uncharted territory. She checked her phone. Not long ago she’d downloaded an I Ching app that she consulted from time to time. She wanted to face the future in the best possible conditions. She took her time to formulate the question, but the reply threw her. She wasn’t familiar with the set of symbolic codes, the visuals, the ideas. She ordered another coffee, black this time, and re-read the text three times. She was still stuck with a couple of images she struggled to interpret as the moment of truth approached.

What shall I do? she wondered. She went for the stable option. She paid with her Visa card and left a banknote as a tip. She tore outside like a whirlwind. The chances of the guy following her were negligible, but just in case, she donned her grimmest expression. She hurried for two blocks, her heels clicking, and went into a hardware store. She asked for ant poison. Give me the strongest one you’ve got, she said. She was shown a gel bait and an ivory-coloured powder. The shop assistant claimed that this combination was foolproof. Persuaded, she purchased both. She felt certain that, over the afternoon, things – as if of their own volition – had lined up in her favour.