PACHECO, José Emilio

Las batallas en el desierto

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Two months without seeing her, six weeks since I received her last letter. Instead of forgetting her, I feel like I love her more than ever. And I don’t care if that sounds corny.

I wrote her a poem, but it was so bad I tore it up. What is she doing? Where is she and who is she with? I go by her house every night. It’s always locked up.

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Then there are some very short stories of racial hate, a sick cat, an old crypt, a sister’s boyfriend and an accident encounter…

The title story is a profound psychological tale about social contrasts and the schoolboy’s obsession with his friend’s mother…

I’m going to keep my memory of this moment intact because everything that now exists will never be the same again. One day it will all seem to have been part of the most remote prehistoric era. I’m going to preserve it because today I fell in love with Mariana. What will happen? Nothing will happen. Nothing could possibly happen.

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Fue el año de la poliomielitis: escuelas llenas de niños con aparatos ortopédicos; de la fiebre aftosa: en todo el país fusilaban por decenas de miles reses enfermas; de las inundaciones: el centro de la ciudad se convertía otra vez en laguna, la gente iba por las calles en lancha. Dicen que con la próxima tormenta estallará el Canal del Desagüe y anegará la capital. Qué importa, contestaba mi hermano, si bajo el régimen de Miguel Alemán ya vivimos hundidos en la mierda.

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