Interview with the Nameless Gaucho
He was standing as still as a statue in the doorway, as if completely aghast at something happening outside. Frankly, I was frightened. My courage was scant, yet I realized that I would not have another opportunity. If I failed, there would be no excuses.So I took a deep breath, approached him gingerly, almost on tip toes, not wanting to end up on the pointed end of the dagger he maintained tightly nudged against his hip. Yet I was ill prepared. How could I strike up a conversation with a fellow with such a savage look on his face? Was there actually a warm human being behind that veneer? True. We all wear masks, don’t we? Why did I find his so terrifying? Might he not find mine of even more dreadful potentiality? I tried to console my thumping heart.
"Good morning, Sir, I wonder if..." the words seemed glued to my upper lip.
"NO!"
"No?" My confusion was augmented by the ambiguity of his response. Besides, he was still as motionless as the doorway whose threshold surrounded him.
"No. I don't give interviews."
"Oh. It's just, well, I thought you might be able to clear up a few things..."
"No! There is nothing to clear up!"
"Maybe not for you but..."
"If you've got your head full of doubts, that's your problem, Sir."
"True, very true."
At this point I had begun to regain my sense of importance and realized that the fellow was bluffing. So why not call his bluff?
"Don't you get tired of always saying no and using the same pose?"
With the word pose still dangling from my dry lips, I suddenly witnessed something beyond belief. I am not a crusader, not even a very faithful believer, don't believe in miracles. Yet...there seemed to have been something magical about the word pose. It sent his body into quivers. His voice became deeper. His eyes rolled around excitedly in their sockets. And without uttering a word he stepped from the doorway and kissed me on the cheek, saying:
"Care for a mate?"
(To be continued)
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