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That metallic ringing sound. It drifts into my consciousness and I realize I´m awake. I turn my head towards the window. Through the half closed blinds and the opening in the window comes a fresh breeze. I associate that sound with the ships drifting in and out of the port. You see them a few miles out to sea, some of them mid-sized container ships, some of them perhaps fishing vessels. Is it their horns? I´m not sure. Yes, melatonin. I took two pills last night to help me sleep. It´s still fairly dark, barely dawn. I lift the covers and slide out of bed. With my bathrobe half on I shuffle into the hallway and bump straight into Diego. We both stare at each other, surprised to see the other and uncertain of what to say. Last night was interesting, even intimate at times, but uncomfortable as well. He´s wearing loose sweat pants and nothing else; his rangy wiry body displaying long hairy arms and a trim torso.

Perdon I say pointing to the bathroom.
Claro.

He tries to find something else to say. We both have to pee I guess. And Isadora did warn me that he was a morning person. I enter and close the sliding door behind me but it takes a moment for the urine to flow. The hallway is empty when I come out and I go check the woodstove. Diego is in the kitchen. I look over, after seeing that he´s filled the stove with some fresh pieces of wood and decide to talk, despite being groggy and wanting to go back to sleep.

So everything´s ok? Cagnazzo took care ... ?
Y ... yeah ... it was worked out ok.

He grins but it´s not an apologetic grin. His accent is a curious mix of south Florida drawl and latino. Last night it was mostly talk of Miami and the house and the cat and the dog and worries about their cuban neighbour who had taken in the pets. I had deliberately kept quiet and had only asked simple, dumb questions. He continues slowly, proudly, chewing his phrases.

Siii ... Cagnazzo me va ayudar armar unos proyectos ...
Por ejemplo?
Y ... algo ... una empresa eolica.

A firm specializing in wind power? Is he serious? How much fucking money did he inherit? I try to smile and look positive. He resumes after a brief pause.

Siii ... con los vientos aca en la costa ... seria ... interesante.

Is he finished? Isa had warned me about Diego´s languid, flowing style of conversation with those long pauses that may or may not signal an end. So he wants to set up a wind power venture here. The raw material is here, that´s as hell for sure. And Isa keeps telling me how inventive he is. But setting up a business that sells wind turbines? Or manufactures them? Or services them? Or what? There already is a firm here in Mardel and I wonder how much demand there really is.

Queres un mate?

Diego holds out the metal cup. I just want to go back to sleep but for some reason I say yes and he fills the cup and hands it to me and then disappears down the hall. What bladder control. The light is deep gray with light blue in the upper parts of the sky but over the water there´s a clear strip of blue-pink sky just above the horizon. We actually face east/southeast rather than south so the morning sun hits the kitchen first as it comes up over the Atlantic from just south of where Punta del Este should lie. Diego is back and to get to the cabinet he brushes past me placing a large warm hand on my shoulder. He pulls out some crackers and grabs some dulce de leche from the fridge. He offers me one of his crackers and I tiredly accept. We´re like two kids on a camping trip trying to make friends but unsure of how well it´s going to go. A gust of wind makes the sliding doors moan in that creepy anthropomorphic way they do. We both look at them as if the sound they made was worthy of a considered answer. Neither of us states something stupid and obvious like ... what a wind! Instead I say,

Rojas calls this building a cruiser.

Diego giggles a little. Good. The wind gusts again and the shutters rattle. I feel like we´re on a ship, drifting south. Arthur Pym ... how does it go? The Narrative of Arthur Pym ... ? Yes, that must be it. How delicious that chapter where Theroux reads it to Borges. It´s the best part of the book and somehow justifies his voyage south, unlike Poe´s story. Why does Argentina feel forgotten and lost? And so proud at the same time. Do you hear Aussies and Kiwis complaining that they live down under?? I don´t think Argentinos really feel that way anymore. It´s an immigrant´s echo from generations ago when the pampa really was empty space and Patagonia barely settled. Argentina isn´t adrift, it´s firmly anchored next to the rest of South America and seething with life and chaos. And the main problem is simple. No one, especially the rich, can agree on how to share the tax burden. So the solutions become improvised and corporations neatly become the target of almost everyone´s anger. Populists, anarchists, cynics, conmen, bankers ...
Diego is staring at me. I look away from the kitchen window that frames a portion of the coastline with the avenida and the apartment buildings and occasionally a cargo ship out at sea.

Es lindo el mar no?

He´s trying to connect.

La Historia ... te interesa?

He´s about to answer me when I feel Isadora´s hand on my shoulder. I try not to show that I´m startled but Diego grins a little sarcastically. Isa and her quiet little steps. Damn. She strokes my hair and then sits on my lap almost defiantly. I decide not to make a joke about weight ( she´s as thin as ever ) and clumsily put an arm around her waist. Diego looks hurt for just a sec but busies himself in the kitchen getting her a fresh mate.

De que demonio estan hablando a esta hora de la mañana? She asks.

I wonder if she´ll try to go back to sleep. I doubt it. So we three meet the morning slowly in the kitchen with the overhead light on and a shared mate between us. Is the wind warmer now? Might we have a real summer yet?