Maybe it was better inside,
Kabede wonders as we pass a police checkpoint on our way back from Chapadmalal, or more accurately, some woods near the seaside village with its large union hotels. But the police ignore us. They´re busy with some truckers and we drive past in Kabe´s Beetle with our plundered little pine tree lashed to the roof rack. They couldn´t care less more likely. Christmas is a week away and I´ve decided we will have our Tree, come what may. Isa recoils at the tradition but as far as I´m concerned she´s never had a proper Christmas, that´s all. The sun is bright and I squint at the glare but the breeze off the sea refreshes. Is this what the coast looks like in Australia or New Zealand I ask myself. But the brightness makes me dizzy and the thought dissipates in a splash of vertigo. I focus on the tree to settle myself. To justify my self interest I´ve decided to wrap up my need for the ritual as a gift for Isadora. Our little tree. A metre tall at best. Kabe laughed at the size when I emerged from behind some willows with my prey in hand. He thinks a real tree should look like the one in Home Alone. I feel a wave of light nausea and lean halfway out the window. Kabe glances at me with a dry smile. It´s hard to tell when he´s laughing at me. But the breeze soothes me and I keep my head stuck out for a moment longer.
I´m back in a sec,
Kabe says leaving me in the car while he heads into the hotel. The exterior structure is mostly finished and they´ve even started laying the concrete foundation for the new sidwalk outside - a sure sign that work is progressing. I stare at the rough concrete base and wonder absently what sort of tiles will be used to finish if off. Its too late to get a degree in architecture but I´m always fascinated by construction sites. I´ve seen Kabe´s diplomas on the wall; David Azrieli School of Architecture, Tel Aviv University, and the Robert H. Smith Faculty of Agriculture Food and Environment at Hebrew University of Jerusalem ... but I couldn´t tell if the second one made him a winemaker. He was on the phone and I was snooping and didn´t have much time. Impressive nonetheless. So here I sit with a stolen pine on the car´s roof, although it didn´t seem to be anyone´s property so was it really stolen? Had I commited an ecological crime, contravening some little known municipal bylaw? My apologetic, guilty side drives Isa crazy but then again she has her own very particular code of ethics - never slam a cab door as it damages the cabbie´s property for example - so I´m never sure if I´ve transgressed somehow. Radio Rock y Pop Beach is playing something by Mana, the ubiquitous Mexican pop rock trio. At least they could play some Calamaro for christ´s sake. I feel claustrophobic and am about to open the door and get out when I see Kabe pop through the opening in the chain link fence and stroll back to the car, looking neither worried nor relieved. Has he collected his pay? What the hell does he do there??
So Kabe ... how´s the work going?
Good. We open New Years I think.
You´re kidding. I´ll bet you the new sidewalk isn´t ready till mid January.
You´ll see.
Once again I´m unable to get any real information out of him. Who knows? Maybe the hotel will be ready by year´s end. There´s no pont probing any further; he´s doing me a favor as it is. Might as well change the topic.
Tell me somthing ... did you pick up your Spanish from Argentinos in Israel?
Obvio.
That strange grin. And with his stubble head look there´s a monkish arrogance about him. He has his home on Storni in Caisamar and seeing he never complains about rent I suspect he owns it. He has his wine-colored Beetle that I covet so and he knows Addis Abba, Jerusalem and Buenos Aires and a lot of Europe too from what I can gather. I admire and envy him in equal measure even as I realize full well the envy is a little miserable and very useless. I keep trying to share my impressions of starting over in Argentina but I get precious little in return for my elaborate confessions and musings. He is my confessor in a way, forgiving my past transgressions by continuing our friendship, by meeting me the next time for a drink or under the eucalyptus trees in Parque Camet. I can´t tell if his stoicism is pride or discretion or if he tolerates my company but derives less pleasure from it than I do. Toby was hurrying away towards Parilla La Entrerriana and I had pointed him out to Kabe but had added that I wasn´t quite sure if it indeed was Toby as I had heard a few fluent phrases of Spanish. That was nearly a month ago and Kabe´s eyes had burned through me. I find even a direct glance a little intimidating and respond with an aggressive look but a deep penetrating look leaves me a little lost. The anger usually comes later but I forgave Kabe´s look, he hadn´t laughed or thought me strange and I feel now that it was a shared moment we had. He somehow understood me even if the reverse was not at all true.
We pass El Farol and the suburbs thicken and the sun is warm making Mar del Plata feel like the holiday resort it has been for over a century. I think about a small bucket for the tree and how to improvise something - Isadora will not have me spending our meagre cash on decorations or tree stands. Dire Straits is now playing on the radio. The casino and the provincial hotel are up the coast a little. We drive by endless apartment buildings on the bluffs that rise and fall on top of small promontories and must provide a wonderful view to the shuffling retired and absent porteños who mostly own them. The port is behind us and we´ll be downtown in a few minutes now. Maybe I´ll call Isadora at the salon and with some luck convince her to eat out this evening. We slow down. The traffic has backed up and is at a dead stop. What is going on?
Kabede wonders as we pass a police checkpoint on our way back from Chapadmalal, or more accurately, some woods near the seaside village with its large union hotels. But the police ignore us. They´re busy with some truckers and we drive past in Kabe´s Beetle with our plundered little pine tree lashed to the roof rack. They couldn´t care less more likely. Christmas is a week away and I´ve decided we will have our Tree, come what may. Isa recoils at the tradition but as far as I´m concerned she´s never had a proper Christmas, that´s all. The sun is bright and I squint at the glare but the breeze off the sea refreshes. Is this what the coast looks like in Australia or New Zealand I ask myself. But the brightness makes me dizzy and the thought dissipates in a splash of vertigo. I focus on the tree to settle myself. To justify my self interest I´ve decided to wrap up my need for the ritual as a gift for Isadora. Our little tree. A metre tall at best. Kabe laughed at the size when I emerged from behind some willows with my prey in hand. He thinks a real tree should look like the one in Home Alone. I feel a wave of light nausea and lean halfway out the window. Kabe glances at me with a dry smile. It´s hard to tell when he´s laughing at me. But the breeze soothes me and I keep my head stuck out for a moment longer.
I´m back in a sec,
Kabe says leaving me in the car while he heads into the hotel. The exterior structure is mostly finished and they´ve even started laying the concrete foundation for the new sidwalk outside - a sure sign that work is progressing. I stare at the rough concrete base and wonder absently what sort of tiles will be used to finish if off. Its too late to get a degree in architecture but I´m always fascinated by construction sites. I´ve seen Kabe´s diplomas on the wall; David Azrieli School of Architecture, Tel Aviv University, and the Robert H. Smith Faculty of Agriculture Food and Environment at Hebrew University of Jerusalem ... but I couldn´t tell if the second one made him a winemaker. He was on the phone and I was snooping and didn´t have much time. Impressive nonetheless. So here I sit with a stolen pine on the car´s roof, although it didn´t seem to be anyone´s property so was it really stolen? Had I commited an ecological crime, contravening some little known municipal bylaw? My apologetic, guilty side drives Isa crazy but then again she has her own very particular code of ethics - never slam a cab door as it damages the cabbie´s property for example - so I´m never sure if I´ve transgressed somehow. Radio Rock y Pop Beach is playing something by Mana, the ubiquitous Mexican pop rock trio. At least they could play some Calamaro for christ´s sake. I feel claustrophobic and am about to open the door and get out when I see Kabe pop through the opening in the chain link fence and stroll back to the car, looking neither worried nor relieved. Has he collected his pay? What the hell does he do there??
So Kabe ... how´s the work going?
Good. We open New Years I think.
You´re kidding. I´ll bet you the new sidewalk isn´t ready till mid January.
You´ll see.
Once again I´m unable to get any real information out of him. Who knows? Maybe the hotel will be ready by year´s end. There´s no pont probing any further; he´s doing me a favor as it is. Might as well change the topic.
Tell me somthing ... did you pick up your Spanish from Argentinos in Israel?
Obvio.
That strange grin. And with his stubble head look there´s a monkish arrogance about him. He has his home on Storni in Caisamar and seeing he never complains about rent I suspect he owns it. He has his wine-colored Beetle that I covet so and he knows Addis Abba, Jerusalem and Buenos Aires and a lot of Europe too from what I can gather. I admire and envy him in equal measure even as I realize full well the envy is a little miserable and very useless. I keep trying to share my impressions of starting over in Argentina but I get precious little in return for my elaborate confessions and musings. He is my confessor in a way, forgiving my past transgressions by continuing our friendship, by meeting me the next time for a drink or under the eucalyptus trees in Parque Camet. I can´t tell if his stoicism is pride or discretion or if he tolerates my company but derives less pleasure from it than I do. Toby was hurrying away towards Parilla La Entrerriana and I had pointed him out to Kabe but had added that I wasn´t quite sure if it indeed was Toby as I had heard a few fluent phrases of Spanish. That was nearly a month ago and Kabe´s eyes had burned through me. I find even a direct glance a little intimidating and respond with an aggressive look but a deep penetrating look leaves me a little lost. The anger usually comes later but I forgave Kabe´s look, he hadn´t laughed or thought me strange and I feel now that it was a shared moment we had. He somehow understood me even if the reverse was not at all true.
We pass El Farol and the suburbs thicken and the sun is warm making Mar del Plata feel like the holiday resort it has been for over a century. I think about a small bucket for the tree and how to improvise something - Isadora will not have me spending our meagre cash on decorations or tree stands. Dire Straits is now playing on the radio. The casino and the provincial hotel are up the coast a little. We drive by endless apartment buildings on the bluffs that rise and fall on top of small promontories and must provide a wonderful view to the shuffling retired and absent porteños who mostly own them. The port is behind us and we´ll be downtown in a few minutes now. Maybe I´ll call Isadora at the salon and with some luck convince her to eat out this evening. We slow down. The traffic has backed up and is at a dead stop. What is going on?
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