A General Theory of Oblivion Read Free

beneath it, and a pistol. She held the gun with both hands. She felt its weight. She stroked it. This was what men used to kill each other. A dense, dark instrument, almost alive. She turned the apartment upside down. She found nothing. Finally she stretched out on one of the living-room sofas and fell asleep. She awoke with a start. Phantom was tugging at her skirt. He was growling. A sea breeze gently lifted the fine lace curtains. There were stars floating in the void. The silence amplifiedthe darkness. A wave of voices was coming up the corridor. Ludo got up, and she walked, barefoot, to the front door and looked through the spy-hole. Outside, by the elevators, there were three men arguing in low voices. One of them pointed toward her – toward the door – with a crowbar:
    “A dog, I’m sure of it. I heard a dog barking.”
    “What are you talking about, Minguito?” he was challenged by a tiny, very thin man dressed in a military dolman that was too wide and too long: “There’s nobody here. The settlers have gone. Go on. Knock that piece of shit down.”
    Minguito walked up. Ludo stepped back. She heard the blow and, without stopping to think, she returned it, a violent blow against the wood that left her breathless. Silence. Then a shout:
    “Who’s there?”
    “Go away.”
    Laughter. The same voice:
    “There’s one left behind! What’s up, Ma, did they forget you?”
    “Please, go away.”
    “Open the door, Ma. We only want what belongs to us. You people have been stealing from us for five hundred years. We’ve come to take what is ours.”
    “I have a gun. Nobody’s coming in.”
    “Lady, just take it easy. You give us your jewels, a bit of money, and we’ll leave. We’ve got mothers too.”
    “No. I’m not opening up.”
    “OK, Minguito, knock it down.”
    Ludo ran to Orlando’s study. She grabbed the pistol, walked overand pointed it at the front door, and squeezed the trigger. She would remember the moment of the gunshot day after day for the next thirty-five years. The bang, the slight jump of the gun. The quick pain in her wrist.
    What would her life have been like without that one moment?
    “Argh, I’m bleeding. Ma, you’ve killed me.”
    “Trinitá! Pal, are you hurt?”
    “Get out of here, move it …”
    Gunshots out in the street, very close. Shots attract other shots. Fire a bullet in the air and it will soon be joined by dozens of others. In a country in a state of war any bang is enough. A faulty car exhaust. A rocket. Anything. Ludo went over to the door. She saw the hole made by the bullet. She put her ear to the wood. She heard the muted gasping of the wounded man:
    “Water, Ma. Help me …”
    “I can’t. I can’t.”
    “Please, lady. I’m dying.”
    The woman opened the door, shaking badly, never releasing her grip on the pistol. The burglar was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. Were it not for the thick, black beard, he might have been taken for a child. A childlike little face, covered in sweat, with big eyes that gazed at her without any bitterness:
    “Such bad luck, such bad luck, I’m not going to see Independence.”
    “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.”
    “Water, I’m so terribly thirsty.”
    Ludo threw a frightened glance down the corridor.
    “Come inside. I can’t leave you here.”
    The man dragged himself in, groaning. He moved across the floor, leaving behind a second shadow on the wall. One darkness unsticking itself from another. Ludo stepped in that shadow with her bare feet and slipped.
    “Oh, God!”
    “I’m sorry, Grandma. I’m making a mess of your house.”
    Ludo closed the door. She locked it. She headed for the kitchen, took some cold water from the fridge, filled a glass, and returned to the living room. The man drank greedily.
    “What I really need is just a little glass of fresh air.”
    “I have to call a doctor.”
    “It’s not worth it. They’d kill me anyway. Sing me a song,