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I´m up on the terrace, staring at the moon over the sea. It feels fake somehow. Too perfect - a scattered, glittering glow spreading out over the dark waters. Like a digitally enhanced scene in a movie. It cleared up today; I slept in later than usual after my collapse yesterday and the weather is a touch milder. There´s a story that circulates amongst some of the taxi drivers here that there are two cities in the world with absolutely indeciferable climates: one somewhere in Africa ( South Africa? Tunisia? Nigeria? Mozambique? - they have no clue ) and Mar del Plata. You´re cold when the sun is higher and you should be warm. You sweat early in the morning when you should be shivering, you never know how to dress. Well ... it´s true to an extent. I´m still not used to this strange climate. Perhaps it´s merely a matter of getting used to a temperate maritime climate. But is it really temperate? It´s colder than Buenos Aires, much colder at times. But I don´t see how it compares with what the climate must be like in Brighton or Cork let´s say. Not to mention Vancouver.

I look down to my left despite my vertigo. It´s a clinic specializing in transfusions. It´s painted a modest yellow with glazed windows and shutters hiding the patients most of the time. Apparently they raised the shutters so the people sitting in wheelchairs with IV´s in their arms could stare at the sea and the neighbours complained. It´s such a small town sometimes.

It´s not rage, this evil that creeps up in me. I have rage lodged in me, but I suspect less than I fear. But this is different. When I´m paralized in the grip of that strange power it´s more like a disease, a crazed fever, a trance. I only know that I have to fight it and try to struggle through each episode without acting because acting means hurting someone, mosty myself it seems. And it helps not at all my ability to be a con man. Maybe a violent criminal, but I´ll be damned ( unavoidable pun ) if I take that route. It would be a disaster anyway at my age and with someone like me. The breeze is soft while it´s cold edge insiduously works its way into my bones. I´m bundled up with scarf, coat and sweater underneath and I´m still cold and sweating all at the same time. I´ve been up here for a while, maybe an hour, but I doubt Isa will come looking for me. I think I mentioned the roof to her but I´ve been walking by myself a lot in the last few weeks. I soak up the lovely, haunting image of the moon and the dark southern sea for a few moments more before heading back downstairs. As I pass Pranav´s apartment I hear music. When did he get back? He comes and goes a fair bit and I sometimes lose track of him. Not a good thing - I need to know where he is or might be at all times but I can´t help it lately. Do I hear a woman´s voice as well? I stop on the stairs for a moment and lean back and try to listen. I can´t really make out the voices clearly so I head back down the steps. His door opens and I hear Isadora´s voice thanking him in her sweet, broken English. Just before the door closes I hear more voices from inside Pranav´s apartment. Sounds like a party. I´m about to quickly resume my descent but it´s a bit too late. Isa comes round the corner and stops with one foot on the steps as she sees me. Her coat open to let her swelling belly breath. I look up at her with what must be an angry puzzled look. She takes a few quick steps down and joins me and says,

Vamos, donde estabas?
En la terraza. Y vos??
Ya te digo. ( her look says please let´s not argue here )

We head silently down the steps and enter our apartment. I turn into our tiny kitchen and put the kettle on. What else can I do? Then I turn and face her. She´s still hanging her coat up on the hook in the entrance hall. She then hangs up her scarf with steady deliberation and finally steps into the kitchen.

Aca.

A wad of hundred Peso bills. What the hell?

Y esto?? ( I blink at the money as I speak )

She looks at me angrily and then the penny drops. She was playing cards with Pranav ... and some friends. She went upstairs to make friendly, to try to make sure that Pranav was on her side and therefore on our side. And thus lessening the risk I face just a little. I gather Pranav and his friends don´t play penny ante. And maybe he had a lot of Pesos from goodness knows where. So she won herself some of that cash.

Mira. Pense que vos lo pediste un prestamo y ...
Lo gane nene! Jugando poquer!! Po-quer!!
Me di cuenta.
Aja ...
Y ... bien! Cuanto hay?

Two thousand pesos. So my hunch was right. Isa is good at Poker. We´ve played a little with Diego and Oriana and despite her denials and hesistancy she´s good at bluffing, good at sniffing out a bluff. The statistics confuse her a little if she tries to be explicitly rational but she´s got a precise memory and her instincts regarding the odds are good. She´s won her first real game and no doubt charmed Pranav and his crew. Are they from Dallas as well? I pour the near boiling water from the kettle into the glass coffee pot we use as a tea pot and suddenly feel very tired. Isa slips down the hall into the bathroom - likely to have that pee that she would be too embarassed to have in Pranav´s apartment. I feel worn out and listless; Isa´s success seems small and fragile and I can´t find the strength to protect her. I stare at the plump little bundle of bills wrapped in a rubber band lying coquetishly on the kitchen table. Raising my head, I see the 555 stop and take on two passengers. The avenue is fairly empty and the traffic flows in a stop start fashion. It´s the lights of course, but shouldn´t there be more vehicles? It´s not that late. I don´t understand the rythyms of this city, or this country. I pretend I do, but I don´t. I lower my head into my hands and close my eyes, even as I think it´s a silly bit of dramatism. I got to stare at a moon over the sea and my wife just won two grand - if in Pesos - in a poker game. Is our life that bad?

Nene??

Isa is behind me. She sounds nervous. When did she flush? I don´t turn my head to look up at her. At all I have in this country. Her love. I deal with Pranav and Cagnazzo and company to make money so we can live. Here. And it overwhelms me. Her love I mean. I don´t know what to do with it. It´s easier to worry about our next job than to digest what it means to be truly loved by this woman. And my trances ... that strange oxygen that feeds my motion ( forward? down? frozen in ice at the dead center of Dante´s Inferno like the those who betray their intimates? ) through this world of fraud and meager profit. Here you must do your dance in secret and pilfer -- can you? -- in the dark. Do these trances condemn me even as they move me in ways I can´t understand? I say,

I´m fighting it as best as I can.
I know baby ...

I pretend that her answer surprises me. How can it? When she loves me so? I lower my head onto the kitchen table and maybe even cry as I push the money gently to one side so that my tears don´t damage the notes. Isa waits a long moment before approaching me and hugging me.

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Oriana´s laughing with Isa, recalling a fish she kept hidden in a little tank under her bed, seeing that Isa had forbidden her to have the pet. And there in Oriana´s bedroom the fish had existed for a short while. Until Isa found it while cleaning out the mess in Oriana´s room. It´s a sweet moment but I wonder how angry Isadora had been at the time. She could have let her keep the fish ... no? Outside gray waves roll in menancingly. Not even the local surfers are out there today. It´s five months now since mid January and Isa still looks surprisingly slender. A few more weeks and she´ll really start to swell based on her experience with Ori. I can only nod my head and try to look in control every time Isa shares some experience about pregnancies with me. It´s raining and the drops spit and swirl in ways I don´t see in Renfrew; perhaps it´s the wind off the sea ... or the lamposts or the angle I turn my head while looking out our apartment´s kitchen window.

We have almost 5 thousand US at the moment and hopefully Pranav will continue to deliver. It´s Vanni that worries me. At some point I feel he´s going to press Cagnazzo to exclude us. And if Pranav keeps his cut, he won´t give a damn one way or the other. Yesterday I passed him as I headed up the stairs and he nodded but didn´t bother stopping. He seemed in a hurry and it would be easy for me to get paranoid. I feel balanced uneasily between curiosity and denial but in the end my mind circles around the possibilites without coming to any definite conclusion. I secretly wish that Cagnazzo would exclude us from this business after say, a major score by Pranav where we reap a nice mid five figures. More likely that I´ll end up begging him for a few thousand more as he tells me that I´m no longer needed in this matter. We managed to sell another apartment to a Mr. Ling however, who has a grocery store on Independencia. 55 thousand and we kept 2 thousand of that. So again, I need work.

Too small. Our apartment really is too small. Two bedrooms and one bathroom and with a baby coming ... I shift to one side so that I´m facing towards the wall. Where there once were cushions we now actually have a sofa and I can curl up fairly comfortably and read a book or stare at the ceiling. Behind me Isa and Ori are chatting in the kitchen. I fade in and out of their conversation. With the renovations above there was some problems with the plumbing and several large stains have crept across the ceiling leaving dark patches with ragged brown edges. At some point we´ll have to have someone strip the blisters off and plaster and repaint but after helping with the renovations upstairs neither of us feels like having workmen in here. A dark cream color ... the walls. Crudo is what they call that tone of paint here. A house on Stuart Street in Kingston. Parties where I was horribly uncomfortable in the late seventies. Well ... I was horribly uncomfortable for most of my three years at Queen´s. Should have stayed at U of T. That´s Toronto for anyone more familiar with Austin, Texas. I think it may have been a little easier in hindsight. But that khaki yellow color brings me back to Kingston. And those houses and the parties I´d desperately head to, hoping that somehow it might be different this time. Butter knives stuck in the elements on the stoves. What a disgusting habit. Hot knives. Smoking hash off of red hot butter knives. And now they help run companies or investment banks ... Well, maybe I exagerate a little. But most of those Queen´s graduates surely are doing better than me. House(s). Cars. Wive(s) / Husband(s). Children. I have no idea how that world works. I´ve been marginal and isolated for so long and yet I can´t help think of what some of their lives might be like. I wish Isa wouldn´t smoke. That smell brings back memories; most of them not very comforting.

My neck is getting sore. I roll onto my back so I can stare directly at the ceiling without twisting my head and neck. With a lazy, false ambition I imagine myself prepping and painting the ceiling. I´ll need dropsheets, some plastic ones as well to cover the computer, paint, rollers, brushes handles, putty knives ... It´s just mind play, however. I won´t be painting that ceiling and I drift towards other thoughts, imagining myself in an Eastern European country in the late eighties - the former Yugoslavia perhaps? The kitchen window is behind me and I´d have to sit up and turn around to see it but I can visualize its heavy frame ( cast iron? ) and rusted hinges and the balcony/patio it overlooks and the angled view one has of the sea to the right of our neighbour´s apartment. There´s a small hotel at the southern end of Plaza España - Hosteria Split on Yrigoyen just before the street ends at Libertad. A shabby, unassuming little structure tucked between apartment buildings. What would the windows be like in an aparment in Split, Croatia facing the Adriatic? Or is it just luxury condominiums nowadays? Do the apartment buildings there even face the sea??

I need to imagine something more exotic. Once you enter the world of fraud - can I use that word instead of crime please? - the only thing that keeps the routine of looking for a target and trying to exectute your plan interesting is the fear. At least for me. And I don´t enjoy the fear. It takes a toll on me even if I am more alert; by neccesity if nothing else. So I need to be somewhere else for a while to ease the constant worries of revenge ( Pranav, Vanni, Cagnazzo, Scarmiglione ... take your pick ) and money. Maybe Toby went to live in Croatia. Maybe he´s there now in Split, cashing in his krugerands and swimming in the Adriatic. Perhaps he´s sitting on a terrace or at a sidewalk cafe and look who´s coming to join him. Walking slowly in the summer heat. Kabe. They embrace and Kabe sits down and Toby orders him a beer ... or wine? Sangria mabye? Let´s pretend you can order a sangria in Split. Or something similar if not exactly the same. And speaking quietly and efficiently they hatch an elegant conspiracy. Lovable rogues. Why not? Why can´t I imagine them there? This building is nothing but a vessel full of fraud anyway. Like Fra Gomita, the jovial friar taking his bribes and letting his prisoners escape before meeting the end of a hangman´s rope for his uncovered corruption. And if Toby is whatever I need him to be ... so what? Kabe is real. And he´s somewhere, alive. I´m sure they came to some sort of rough deal with him. Why bother killing him? And he might be with someone like Toby, working up some sort of con. But it´s no longer an escape, this wandering path in my mind. I remember my fear and rage and Kabe´s precise cruelty. The memory assaults me like a slap, stinging my consciousness. An open hand against my cheek, repeating the blows. That sound. Yes ... the shutters. Like they were being slapped. Rattling and creaking their anguish in the chaotic wind. Shaking everything. Shaking me. A force up from the abyss, from the deep. Later, Isadora wipes the sweat off my face as I lay in our bed. I think Oriana did most of the lifting to get me there. She´s incredibly strong like her father. Although it may have been Isa that tried to hold me down as I shook as those highs winds worse within possesed me. I have to believe I´m learning how to fight it. But it´s incredibly frightening. For us all.

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The wood panelling is dark and the customers rather pale in Kerry Keel, Mar del Plata´s ¨ Real Irish Pub ¨. Isa had agreed to join us immediately - ´a donde van?´ read her message and I knew she´d want to join us. So, despite Pranav´s impatience, we had waited in front on the sidewalk on Alvarado and when Isa had arrived in her own taxi, headed upstairs. The prices are surprisingly reasonable but it´s clearly a watering hole for people with money and they tend to be paler in Mar del Plata. Families at the tables, not too many younger customers. Large windows looking out on the plane trees on Alvarado. I feel suffocated but the cream ale I order for me and Isa is lovely. It gets better with every sip like a true beer. Pranav has worked his way through a couple of Guiness already but at least he´s had a sandwich to absorb some of the booze. We had wanted to share a pizza between the three of us but he had ordered without even asking us - Isa was clearly offended but she wanted to get along so she hid her displeasure behind a sarcastic smile. I don´t think Pranav even noticed, or perhaps didn´t care. He seems to find Kerry Keel interesting but it´s hard to tell. His glances are quick and indifferent and I´m not sure what he´s looking for. I suppose he notices the women in the place. I don´t even bother looking; there´s no point starting another argument with Isa. It´s taken some work to get past that stage, but I think we´re managing it. Most of the time. A blond waitress brings another Guiness to our table. I look at Isa while the blond leans over Pranav and sets down the pint. Pranav glances at her and then looks at the two of us with a wry smile I don´t like. I decide to try some conversation.

So, your family is Gupta? ( I recall from the contract signing )
Uh ... no. It´s Patel.

Did I offend? Anyway, he lied. But it doesn´t matter if the contract is strictly legal or not. The apartment is his and he´s our partner. Maybe I shouldn´t dig for information. I try changing tack.

So, where´d you go to school? ( Did he go to university? )

Baylor.
Oh ... must be a good school, huh? I went to Queen´s ... in Ontario.
Yeah, you´re Canadian. Pizza looks good ...

He directs the comment at Isa and she cuts him a piece, glad to have the conversation turn to food rather than far off universities she couldn´t care less about. Why do I bother trying to uncover details about Pranav? The hypocrisy of it is self evident. I set him up. My every word was a lie to him and all concerned and now all that matters is whether all of us can work together. Does my hypocrisy weigh on me like the lead cloaks the hypocrites are forced to wear in Canto XXIII? No, but it does slow me down by introducing unecessary worries. The only truth that matters ... damn I wish I could reduce it to a cold calculation but I can´t.

Thankfully we don´t have to sit in smoking. It´s been fairly easy for Isa so far but I keep waiting for a nicotine fit. We talk about the game for a while and what he thinks of Piceno, the hothead. I joke that I keep trying to convince Isa to learn how to play poker and it´s true. I just have this feeling that she´d be quite good at it. Pranav gives her a long steady look and I try not to feel annoyed.

I´ll teach you anytime Isa.
Oh, thank you but I think no - she answers in her heart breakingly sweet accent with a shy little laugh mixed in. She desperately wants to ensure Pranav won´t hurt me or her. His eyes glisten.

No problem. But anytime you change your mind ...

I glare at Pranav and then stand up to go the bathroom. Of course, I lean over and kiss Isa tenderly on the lips before going off to pee. Like most public bathrooms in Mardel, the washroom at Kerry Keel is divided into three spaces; washbasin, single urinal and toilet - each in it´s own little cubicle. I´m at the urinal and just finishing up peeing when the door swings open and Pranav brushes past me towards the toilet.

Sorry man - his voice sounds relaxed rather than apologetic.
No problems man - I answer a little sullenly.

Strange. Are we talking about his invading my peeing or are we talking about Isa? Maybe both. He calls out from behind the partially closed door,

I think I´m gonna go clubbing later. The bartender says the´re some cool places around Aylum ... ?
Yes, it´s pronounced Alem. That´s the zone yes ... ( when the fuck did he talk to the bartender? Has he been to Kerry Keel before tonight? )
Should be fun ... but I think we´ll be heading back soon.
Yeah, I would too ... ( a final dig but I don´t respond )

Later, after Oriana arrives to collect some things and head off to Diego´s ( plan b she calls it; we´re plan a ), I slip inside Isa as she lays on her side, her stomach slightly swollen and her breasts just a touch larger. She reaches back and strokes my hair but I¨m not sure if she comes. I squeeze her as hard as I dare until she falls asleep. It takes me a while longer.

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La ciega grande queda en mil.

The dealer is speaking at Pranav who understands perfectly as we have seen. How much time has he spent in Mexico? Panama? Elsewhere? A 1,000 pesos for the big blind and the pot is 25,000 pesos. He´s just moved into the chip lead. At least I think so. I´m back behind the rope about twenty feet from the table. For some reason I balked at paying the registration fee so I have to watch from here. I think it´s the cost of insurance on our used Corolla that was the final straw. Within short order Pranav had found another 10 kilos of cocaine. We had had to drive to Buenos Aires to collect it and Sergio, with I suspect Sargento Vanni´s help, had found us a 2006 Corolla in good shape for 10,000 US$. So after the drugs were ¨colocado¨ on a ship they had grossed close to US$ 300,000. But Isa and I recieved only another 10 grand on top of our 15 grand. We have less than 10 thousand left now. So, I hope to hell Pranav continues to deliver.

I try to count his stack of chips but I´m confused by the colors and not exactly sure which chips are worth what. His stack does look slightly bigger than the guy two places to his left.The game is really between the two of them. The kid is younger than Pranav with several days worth of stubble and a long sleeved cream tshirt. I think he´s a pro, and I recall his storming out of a game at the Pokerstars tourney a year or so back. Pranav suckered him early and seems to be rolling over everyone else. And when the bald man at the far end called, Pranav had a flush. At least that´s what someone standng next to me murmured. So Pranav´s getting dealt good cards and he´s good at bluffing. He´s got the table terrified of him. Save for the hothead.

I turn and look longingly at the bar, an elegant but unassuming projection that divides the poker and roulette tables from the slot machines. The ceilings are high and coffered and the carpets a respectable green. It´s a large room, NeoClassical style, and was once impressively elegant and now feels comfortable and barely expansive. I´d love a fernet and coke but I´m curious to see how Pranav does. How good a player he is. It was a tense ride to Baires and back but I had to do it. Beyond the opportunity to let Pranav bring down more of his merchandise, I had to see how angry he was with me and how dangerous he might be. And to show Cagnazzo, Sergio and Vanni that I was up to the task. I let him drive part of the way back and we had stopped at a YPF at General Guido. A small town in the middle of the pampa and on the highway to Mar del Plata. The train also goes through here. If you care to ride it. It´s dark with a cold wind and the traffic rushes past in occasional bursts. I fill the tank and Pranav stretches his legs. He goes into the station to buy something. I don´t think he smokes. Might be candy. And he returns. I had to let him go in Buenos Aires and trust that he´d return. And he did. I pull out the nozzle and head inside and pay. The keys are in the car. When I return Pranav asks me,

How much will they let you keep?
20 grand, maybe a little more.
Who the fuck is Cagnazzo?
You´ll meet him.
He runs things?
Yes, he does.
What does he do?
Everything. He´s a lawyer. And a Peronista.
Oh ...

So our working relationship was basically sketched out on that ride. Good. The hothead calls and Pranav lays down two aces against his pocket kings. Deadly. Is he out? He slumps in his chair for a moment and then springs angrily to his feet. A little operatic in his anguish. He leaves the table without shaking Pranav´s hand. But Pranav collects his chips and counts them without a smile, looking bored and alert at the same time? Does that make sense? Must be a gamer´s thing. I catch his eye and grin. He returns my glance with a neutral look, betraying little. I turn and head to the bar. Isa let me have a couple of hundred pesos for my outing. This whole operation has her terrified. Her voice still trembles with a sweet fear dripping from her lips. It breaks my heart, if I let it. So I had to appeal to her tougher, pragmatic side. I think she´s getting used to the idea that we may be making up to 10 thousand US a month and now have a car. But she´s worried and Vanni scares her more than Pranav.

An elderly couple occupy two stools but I have three to choose from. I take the one furthest from the entrance. It´s not cheap to drink fernet here but I suspect I´ll soon be celebrating with Pranav so why not start now? By the time the drink comes I hear scattered applause and see him up and stretching and shaking hands. It must be over. He heads to the window and then drifts over towards the bar and slides onto a stool next to me.

What you want?
Quilmes - he says to the bartender and he means the 3/4 litre bottle.

Thankfully, he´s not a smoker. I decide not to clink glasses. Too cozy.

So what do you think of the casino?
A bit stale. It´s ok ...
Yeah ...
You don´t play.
Uh, no. I´m no good at cards.
Too bad.

The hothead approaches. He´s now got on a black sweatop with a hood and I feel a touch aprehensive. But he shakes Pranav´s hand and congratulates him.

Che, vos si jugas bien. Fucking awesome it was.
Thanks man. The cards were sweet tonight.
Seeeep ... you play again?
I think so, yeah.

He kisses Pranav on the cheek and leaves. Someone calls out ´Piceno´ and he waves back as he heads for the exit.

You´ll have to get used to the kissing.
I noticed. Lots of Italians huh?
Careful, they´re proud Argentinos.
Whatever, let´s grab some food and party.

We finish our drinks and I pay. Did they pay him in dollars? Or pesos? As we head down the marble steps towards the front entrance doors I call Isa. Maybe she´ll join us. Although she shouldn´t drink ... I just want to head back home and make some soup and read a little but I´m curious about who Pranav exactly is. Outside we hail a cab and head towards Guemes and the tony part of town. In the cab my cellphone beeps. A message from Isa.

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Let´s imagine the Aerolineas Argentinas 737 circling over the water and heading through its final descent towards the runway with Pranav staring out the window at Parque Camet and Caisamar and the pasture and then the runway. As I fall back through Dante´s Inferno, unable to move on to Purgatory, his flight touches down. It´s a mild late May day - a near heat wave for this time of year - the warm temperatures clashing with the autumn leaves. He descends the steps noting the airport is quite small and out of date. His luggage arrives after a delay and he heads outside to hail a taxi. But first he makes a phone call on his Movistar Nokia ´ liberado ´ - which means it´s second hand and better not ask too many questions about where it came from.

Yeah, I´m at the airport.
Which one Pravnav??
This one ... here ... Mar del Plata.

I close my hand over the phone and whisper frantically at Isa and Diego,

Esta aca ya! En el aeropuerto!!
Como? Ezeiza?

Isa answers looking surprised.

Nooo!! Aca! Mardel!

I uncover the phone. Pranav is saying something about the wind or the weather. Not sure which.

Sorry bout that Pranav. Tell the taxi driver to take you to Strobel y la costa.
Huh? You said Felix Camet ...
Yes, but that´s how you say it, ¨Strobel y la costa¨.

I hear him talking to the driver.

Ok. We´re on our way. Damn it´s nice weather!
Yeah, it´s a mild spell. Enjoy it while it lasts Pranav, see you soon.

He´s already hung up. Without a word I turn and help Diego move the dresser into place against the bedroom wall. It´s a dark green and still gives off the odour of fresh paint. Isa is arranging a print on one wall and Multicanal installed the internet and cable connections yesterday afternoon. Pranav has been phoning us almost daily, driving us nuts. I´ve warned him that it´s best to bring cash or a certified cheque at least. Thing is, a cheque would likely go through Rojas´s or Cagnazzo´s account and who knows what would be left for us? With the payment in cash, we should at least get a few grand. He seemed flippant about it. ¨ Don´t worry man ¨ was all he said. I move to the kitchen but see Isa is busy arranging things and I feel I´d be in the way. So me and Diego decide to shift the living/dining room table slightly; Diego scavenged it from behind an upscale building near Guemes. Isa bustles in from the kitchen and moves it back to where it was. Me and Diego stand helplessly and watch her. I wait till Isa pauses for a moment and then say,

Bueno, lo espero en la vereda.

A knock on the door as Isa is about to answer me. It´s Sergio, who is either Rojas lawyer or more likely, Cagnazzo´s contact/colleague in Mardel who has taken over the handling of Rojas´s affairs. Rojas voice echoes behind him in the hallway. He´s chatting with some of the workmen who are finishing up the bachelor apartment. He glides into view, all smiles. Good. I kiss cheeks and use the moment to escape downstairs to be there when Pranav arrives. Step by step I descend, my senses buzzing. This next move is dangerous, and I hope it works. But I´m in deep already as it is. I take two steps at a time just before the entrance hallway and move briskly towards the front door.

The sea is dark gray and the waves are brittle and collapse crispy in splashes of foam. I turn and look north up Camet and see a taxi approaching slowly. Must be him. It pulls to a stop and after a short pause the passenger door opens and Pranav steps out. He´s buff and young. That might be a problem. No, don´t worry about that. If he was a little taller I´d peg him as a club bouncer. Spends time in bars, definitely a party boy. I approach the cab, nod at the driver who´s getting a duffel bag out of the trunk and shake Pranav´s hand.

You made it.

He´s laconic in that Texas way ( hey ... is his answer ) and he takes his bag up easily and after surveying the front of the building ( it looks like Mexico he says ) we head up the stairs to the front door. I look behind me quickly and carefully and yes, they´re there. Like I said, this is going to be dangerous. I open the front door and we head upstairs to the apartment, me chatting affably as I can about the weather and the city. They say that in poker when you´re in the zone, you anticipate what´s going to happen without even being sure how or why. And I´ve placed a really big bet.

Si puedes firmar aqui ... y aqui ... y tambien aqui - Sergio intonces officiously. He´s counted the money already. I´ve never seen thousand dollar bills before. All cash, all real it seems. Did he just bring the cash with him? Or take a day trip to Montevideo? Where is that cash from? Pranav looks alert despite his slumped posture at the kitchen table. He´s definitely a gamer. The tension in the kitchen has dissipated a little by now, with the cash crisply filling an envelope that sits on the table and the contract signed and sealed. The sudden knock on the door is loud and intense. Isa jumps slightly and Rojas and Sergio look at each other and then at me. And then at the door.

Policia!! Abren por favor!!

Sergio is very fast. He´s already staring angrily right at me. I return his look as steadily as I can and lift my eyebrows in what I hope is an ironic gesture that confirms to him that yes, it was me. I walk to the door and let in Sargento Vanni and two other policemen. He´s squat and ugly and direct, although at first he was officious and puzzled at my approach. It was outside the comisaría on Independencia just past San Martin. Two days ago, I had decided to follow my hunch. A little research on the money laundering laws and what that might mean to a real estate contract - not to mention a large amount of undeclared cash - and I rolled the dice. But that´s not my bet. To make it all work, Pranav has to be more than a gamer from Dallas. He has to have a much bigger reason for moving to Argentina. I let the three in and they nod at Sergio and Rojas ( especially Sergio ... their instinct tells them he´s the capo here ) and then Vanni turns his eyes on Pranav, like a wild boar cornering a prey.

Vos sos Pranav? Si? ... le pido que abres tu valija, por favor.

Silence in the room. Pranav feigns ignorance but I know he understands perfectly the question. Does he speak a little spanish? I´ll bet he does. And I´ve bet he has something in that bag. Vanni nods at one of the officers who grabs the bag quickly and opens the zipper. It doesn´t take long. Inside some pants and wrapped inside several shopping bags are several packets. White powder. How many kilos? Rage and terror in Pranav´s eyes which are now focused on me. He´s like a cornered wolf, but he knows he´s helpless. Isa is stunned and Diego stares uncomfortably at the packets. We all stare. Sargento Vanni taps the table quietly. I turn and look at Sergio and now my eyebrows do lift in a very sarcastic gesture. It´s your move Sergio ... and he takes the lead.

Señores. Sentamonos todo. Y hablamos un toque.

Sergio speaks easily and casually and smiles at the seargent. The two other policemen finish going through Pranav´s bag and find one more packet. They then move into the living room. I guide Isa towards the stove and help her put the new kettle on and we fill up a mate ( not quite the welcome ceremony Isa had planned ). I let Sergio talk. He surprises me by turning to Pranav and asking in accented English,

How much more cash you have?

Pranav glares a moment but then sullenly replies,

30 thousand.

So we begin to negotiate. Between sips of mate, although Vanni looks a little impatient and wants to get this done and be on his way. Like any job. Listening, I gather a kilo of cocaine is worth tens of thousands of dollars at street level. I hear cinco tossed about so it seems there´s at least five kilos of coke. Placed on a ship headed to Europe, maybe worth a hundred grand?

Where you get this from?

Pranav shrugs at Sergio´s question and answers,

Up north.

A curious silence follows with Sergio beaming at Pranav maliciously until he finally breaks and snorting disgustedly admits he has a pipeline to and/or from Mexico and that he flew in through Mexico City and Panama. Pranav wants in on the European trade through Argentina it seems. It seems a very roundabout way when you have so much cocaine coming into Argentina from Bolivia and Peru. How does he get it in? Pranav only gives vague details and Sergio suddenly decides not to push anymore and offers the following,

No se como haces entrar esta merca, ni me importa. Solo quiero saber si podes garantizar por lo menos cinco, mejor diez, kilos por mes. Podes??

Pranav nods inmediately. Ok, his spanish is actually pretty good. Five to ten kilos a month. 100 to 200 grand. A month. Vanni taps his fingers menacingly on the table but Sergio fondles the seargent´s arm and purrs,

Treinta para vos. Trienta para nosotros y el pibe este se queda con el cuarenta porciento. Si le apretamos bien aca mismo ... no habra mas guita ... no??

Vanni glares uglily but nods satisfied. The policemen stand quickly and bundle the merchandise into a small dark bag. Sergio shakes Vanni´s hand and they kiss but I´m not done. I want to accompany Vanni downstairs. I stand up quickly and open the door and wait for the Vanni and his two subordinates. As they pass into the hallway I look at Sergio and then Rojas and say,

Lo nuestro ahora Sergio. Veinte mil.

Sergio grins fiercely at me. Rojas has been quite but looks reasonably relaxed, given the circumstances. Sergio says,

Te doy quince ahora. Lo resto cuando nos juntamos todos.

I nod and close the door behind me and Vanni and his boys walk quickly ahead of me down towards the front door. When we reach the ground floor I open the door but remain inside the entrance hall and say,

Yo me encargo de Pranav. Acá, tomá mi numero.

It´s my cell phone written on a small piece of paper. Vanni snatches the paper from my hand without even looking at me and grunts something I don´t quite catch. I wait a long moment and breath slowly before heading upstairs again. Sergio opens the door and I see the bottle of Reginatto on the table. Isa´s idea for when we signed the contract. Pranav´s glare is a little more sardonic and a little less hateful than eariler but he´s still furious. And he´ ll be living upstairs from us. I open the bottle and we all drink, sipping cautiously and quietly from the glasses Isa bought on Rivadavia just a few days ago.

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I turn the large stubborn knob yet again. A loud click sounds again and the pilot light flares on, a lonely blue flame seen through the grill. I hold the knob in for a minute and then turn the other knob to light the gas heater. It finally takes and I hear the metal creaking and crackling as the wall unit heats up. The smaller one in the hallway should be easier to light. Isa has been shivering dramatically the last few days and I couldn´t delay lighting it anymore. It warms up to over 10 Celsius during the day but nights are getting quite cold. May day came and went last week ( an anarchist group placed a small bomb in front of a Citibank branch in Buenos Aires. Or was it HSBC? ) along with Diego´s birthday. I squat down and make sure the pilot light is still going even though I can easily feel the heat coming out the grill now. Behind it more flames, some yellowish. Each one is wrapped in that in which he burns. They say by that line ( 48, XXVI ) that Dante is referring to the burning need of advisors to capture the minds of those they counsel falsely. Taken to puritanical extreems, all creation not strictly inspired by some official divinity is fradulent counsel. A burning need to put down words so someone can read them. No poetry thanks, all I need is the Good Book. Or a bonfire. May 10, 1933 for example. Was The Divine Comedy among the thousands of books burned? I pull my face away from the heat and stand up. Diego´s got an electric heater. He managed to put together a small wind turbine on the roof of his home and hook up a water heater and a wall unit. Let´s see how he survives the winter.

We´re down to less than two thousand dollars and Cagnazzo hasn´t called for two weeks now. A few emails from a German lit prof in Stuggart and a phone call from someone in Dallas is all the interest so far. I´m not sure who called from Dallas. Oriana took the call and was vague about the details. The smaller unit lights up easily and we now have both units going. Isa stares sadly from the bed. She has on a nightshirt and a scarf and seems skeptical that we´ll ever have enough heat. It was that way last fall as well. It´s not an easy apartment to keep warm with the sliding doors leading out to the balcony letting in a lot of draft. But with gas heaters that´s not such a bad thing. You need a flow of fresh air coming in. I take Isa´s tray from the bed and return it to the kitchen. She´s been eating constantly and has yet to really suffer morning sickness. She says she feels incredibly fat but I barely notice the slight bulge in her belly and trust me, I´m always staring at her belly wondering what the hell will happen next. In general Isa enjoys the attention but last night she was irritable and I knew I had to light the heaters today. The cordless phone rings. I leave the dishes in the sink and hurry over to answer.

Hola.
... Hello?? ... is this Mar del Plata?

The accent is full on Texan. The guy from Dallas maybe? I switch to English.

Hello! Yes it is! You calling about the condos?
Oh good. Yeah ... I called Sunday.
Ah yes. Sorry I couldn´t get back to you ... you left a number?
Yeah ...

He sounds skeptical. Better just keep talking.

Well you´ve seen the website clearly. What we have is a one bedroom and a bachelor for sale. 75 square metres and 65.
Oh. How much is that in feet??

I try my best to convert quickly and hope I get it right. His name turns out to be Pranav and he sounds fairly young. I have to explain that we´re southern hemishpere ( ¨like Australia Pranav¨ ) and not tropical but when I lay it on thick about Mar del Plata being Argentina´s playground and mention the casino he suddenly gets very interested.

Oh! A casino??
They had a Pokerstars tourney a year or so ago Pranav, part of the South American tour; right at the casino.
Does it run all year?
Yes it does. Built in the twenties ( was it actually the forties? damn! ). Old fashioned, elegant style. Gotta check it out Pranav.
How do I get there?

He means Mar del Plata so I give him the details and he tells me he´ll be flying down in a ¨week or two¨. He´s young and he has money I´d say.

I hang up and turn and see Isa staring at me. She still has her scarf on but at least the apartment is starting to warm up. I grin at her and say,

Tenemos un tipo de Dallas. Creo que va comprar el de dos ambientes.
Ah, seria bueno ...

She sounds skeptical but maybe there´s a commision for us after all. It´s a little late but now we can have our lunch. I head back into the kitchen and poke around in the cabinets and the fridge. There´s no meat but maybe a pasta with an instant sauce. It´ll do for now.

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A faded concrete wall some thirty feet tall holds in the bluffs that rise above the sand. I have sat on the parapet that tops off the wall and borders the sidewalk running along the coastal avenue. Haze off the sea. Approaching walls of clouds. Or dead calm - a metallic turquoise lake. And heading straight out to sea you should be able to round the tip of Uruguay at Punta del Este and sail towards South Africa. Some 200 million years ago you would be at the edge of a fissure running through Gondwanaland - so geology tells us. Somewhere near Namibia? And then breaking away and drifting west and south, down at the tip still attached to Antartica for a few million years more. This shore. This concrete wall - ramparts of a crusader castle defending this quasi-european city. It´s ribbed backside ( to quote Iggy Pop entirely out of context ).

So where are we? Ulysses sails for five moons after passing through the Pillars of Hercules and heading south according to Dante in Canto XXVI. There his ship flounders off the Isle of Purgatory in a punishing whirlwind sent by God. How far could a ship from ancient Greece sail or row in five months? Headwinds, storms; adrift perhaps. But inexorably heading south, like Arthur Gordon Pym. They would easily reach this far south. Perhaps further. I walk into the wind, the Asilo Unzue staring blindly out to sea, half-renovated, some ten blocks ahead. Oriana´s birthday was yesterday and so we´re into the second half of April. The sun is warm but the wind cuts. I walk staring to my right at the waves breaking. It really should be Canto XXVII in this entry, but XXVI deals with the same subject, fradulent advisors encased in flames. And it´s an excuse to think of Ulysses rowing through the South Atlantic in tragic defiance of the gods.

So where are we? Cagnazzo sent his sweetest birthday greetings and Pipo Scarmiglione drove down and celebrated the asado we had at Diego´s place. The weather turned cold early in the evening and we roasted marshmallows ( bought in Buenos Aires ), after devouring all the meat. Oriana´s feigned indifference could hardly cover her pleasure at the gifts and the party. I drank my share of wine and stared at Isadora when she wasn´t looking. I had meant to corner Pipo and ask when they might have another job for us but I also knew that generating jobs was mostly my problem. So that´s were we are. Between jobs again although with Matts help we now have a nice website up advertising ¨ A retreat by the South Atlantic for those who need the Ocean´s comfort ¨. Cagnazzo insisted on us using a translator from Cordoba ( I think she teaches at St Patricks - the Cordoba school not the one in Bariloche ). I didn´t change too much of what she proposed and the final result was a little silly but not too embarrasing. Let´s see who bites. The rewiring is done but the plumbing is proving a little trickier to bring up to scratch in a few units. It should be taken care of in the next week or two. I laugh to myself as I pass the Havanna plant on Brandsen. From filching euros and fencing stolen passports to selling condominiums by the sea. But it´s a brief release. The worry underneath is constant. We need money. More than ever now. As I scurry across the lanes of traffic at the light that borders the northern edge of the Asilo, I imagine myself encased in a flame but the image doesn´t fit and I let it dissolve. Thievery, avarice and fraud. I´ve even betrayed Isa with a fictional liason with wandering Liz. But how could I be a fradulent advisor? No expertise, no influence, no power. And yet I need to imagine a pattern to my descent - if I indeed am descending rather than just floating through the post- industrial collage of this decade, this new century. I walk quickly past the carwash and towards our building, like a sentinel seeking refuge behind the parapets of the Krak de Montreal in the plains of Edom. But there are no besieging forces sent by Saladin in defence of Mecca. Only something inside me that spills me in a spinning, dizzy spiral onto the cool tiles of the hallway. I awake alone and pick myself up and walk upstairs to our apartment where I hide in the bedroom and even pray a short while.

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Dia de las Malvinas. April 2. A cooler breeze off a dark green sea and the usual sombre ceremonies at various locations around the city. The building´s front door, tucked to the right of the pharmacy, is ajar. Likely the men working on the apartments on the fourth and fifth floors. Yes. Dust in the hallway. It must be them. I shut the door behind me and wonder how long I´ve been out walking for. From the sun I´d say it´s near six in the evening. It´s also Good Friday and Easter falls on the same date for the Orthodox Church as well this year. I recall a simple passion play in primary school - Southern Baptist Oil Workers in Venezuela - but have I attended an Easter Mass? At my then-anglican boarding school? I can´t even recall. It´s Good Friday. It´s Dia de Las Malvinas. It´s El Bicentenario ( in May ), and they´re painting and plastering. Like anywhere. Like any other day.

I climb the steps quickly. My right knee hasn´t been creaking lately the way it normally does. The key slips into the latch and the door opens and the smell of incense hits me. I close the door behind me and see the kitchen light is off. Only the entrance hall light is on. It´s early dusk. Moving through the kitchen I see candle light in the living/dining room. Isa is seated at the table with her back towards me. I remain silent. I take a few steps forward and see three rows of Tarot cards snaking across the table´s surface away from Isa. Each row has three cards face up. She´s doing a reading, her body hunched over the table, her hair in a loose ponytail. She´s wearing that cotton nightshirt I brought from Canada, just for her. I take a few more steps so that I´m nearly level with her. The middle card of the middle row is facing upside down. I take one more step forward and bend my upper body to get a better view. Wings. A strange golden headgear with horns. Blue tights. Genitals bulging. Breasts adorn a naked chest. Two smaller demon-like figures with leashes around their necks gaze at the central figure. Le Diable. Upside down.

It´s not that I shift suddenly from one location to another like the lost souls in Ghost Whisperer; it´s more that time bends and I lose consciousness of my movements for a short while. My head spins. Now I´m sitting next to Isa, still silent and watching her concentrate on the reading. Her fingers tap the dark wood for a moment and she nods her head as if affirming something to herself.

Allard ... ( she rarely calls me Allard ) vos te has hecho esclavo.
Esclavo?? Yo?

I shift in my chair angrily.

Allard ... ( again ) you have denied your shadow. I keep tell you.
Telling you Isa. The present participle. Tell - ing.
Until you recognize? ( I nod ) this, your shadow ...
I´ll be a slave to the devil?

I try to laugh but it doesn´t work. I feel nauseous. Isa´s eyes are nearly black, rather than the sweet almond color they normally display. But they´re shining, sparkling with a dark intensity. My skin prickles and now I´m standing nearer. My voice is lower and hoarse.

Who the fuck do you think you are?

I´ve never spoken to Isadora like that before. My arms shake and I ´m sweating despite the cool breeze washing in through the open window. Isa looks right at me, her eyes shining with a strange light. A wave of nausea makes me lose my balance for a moment and I grab the corner of the table to steady myself. Over twenty years ago in a borrowed apartment I discovered I was angrier or sicker, or both, than I had realized. We´ll keep the details vague but the next few years nearly sank me. I imploded but kept moving forward and didn´t drown. Then therapy. Then the retreat from Toronto and a long slow healing. My shadow. Still here and now speaking up it seems.

I´m sweating a little less now, but my breathing is still slightly forced. Isa ignores my agression and continues gazing at the Tarot cards. The top card on the final right hand row shows a jester-like figure. Le Mat. The Fool. The Void, movement. It´s facing upright, unlike the Devil. But which way am I moving? This moral vertigo that nauseates me keeps me spinning in circles, repeating patterns. If indeed I am travelling back through the Inferno then I suppose I´m at Canto XXVIII where the sowers of discord are hacked open by devils. They circle round as their wounds heal and then are hacked open again. Does Dante have a place for those who sow discord within themsleves? Has that snapping wind merely exposed the wounds well within me? Isa´s eyes change a little I notice. What is she seeing in me? She´s called me a wounded animal more than once - the way I sometimes push away her embraces in bed in the middle of the night. And I´ve taken her blows, verbal and literal, because I know she´s right. She decides it´s time to speak.

Ayer por la tarde pase por Hominis. Vi la ginecologa.

She was at the clinic and ...

Estoy embarazada. Y una cosa mas.

I straighten up in my chair.

No agotas mi clemencia. Te queda poco.

My vertigo eases. As does my sweating. I feel the cool breeze on my skin. The hum of the refrigerator is in my ears. I slowly move my hand towards her belly, still trim. I accept her gaze and she lets me place my palm against her skin. I leave it there for a long moment.

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Nothing about any theft of equipment. Only a cursory review of what appears to have been a well recieved show by Killswitch Engage at Luna Park. I slide the cursor over an article about Lauredo, Coderre´s ex-CEO. He won´t have to testify after all it seems. And interestingly enough Obama´s administration seems to be softening their stance towards Argentina lately. Well, at least that´s what I read in between the lines if you will. I need to imagine a quid pro quo, a slender possibility of conspiracy. A coherent geometry of corruption and even salvation. The Inferno is so carefully constructed I can only tour it in fits and starts - an occasional reader unlike the near monastic dedication it draws forth from that legion of dantistas - and puzzle at it´s allegories and moral physics. Conspiracy is evil shaped into a logical construction. And less horrifying than evil as absence, as chaos. The gangsta-idiot who shot his friend and then his friend´s girlfriend - an Ashbury College graduate from Ottawa - because ¨she was screaming¨. Better an evil pope or a Da Vinci Code than that sickening moment with no gravity or center. Only simian violence. It´s still warm by midday and outside the usual packs of joggers and strollers move along the sidewalk with the parapet facing the sea. I take a final sip of my mate and leave the cup on the zinc counter that surrounds the kitchen sink. I´ve slept less than normal lately but feel rested. Odd, I´m not that efficient a sleeper. And that restless, buzzing energy is still there. Along with occasional fits of nausea. As if that snapping wind filled my sails and pushed me out to sea and even left me a little seasick. Rojas and Cagnazzo have organized a modest refurbishing of the building - some plaster and paint oustside and inside - and it looks like Rojas is going to convert it all into condominiums and take the cash. Diego bought the monitor board off me for US$ 2,000 and I hope we can help sell some of the apartments - sorry, units - and earn a commision. Oriana hasn´t helped enough yet with the website. Let´s see if Matts can lend a hand and along with Isa we can get it up and running soon enough. Will Rojas let us buy a unit bit by bit? Damn ... I can´t look that far ahead. We need, I need, a job. I notice it´s nearly 11 before I turn off the pc. Time to wake Isa up.

The bedroom is dark and stuffy and her scent reaches me a few steps past the door. Instead of kissing her head I squeeze between the bed and the window and pull on the canvas strap liting the shutters slightly to let in more light and air. I then gently push open the windows so the opening is larger. Isa shakes her head, half covered in pillows. It´s an affirmation she´s awake but also a refusal to speak just yet - all in one small motion. She needs to cross that twilight zone and arrange her semiconscious thoughts into some sort of order before confronting the day and it´s annoying details. I return with a fresh mate and a thermos and leave them on her side table. But rather than return to the kitchen or the computer, I stand and watch her. Stand with me here. What do you see? I see she´s taken some sun the last few days and her skin glows. But she´s fairly heliophobic and not a sun worshipper at all. Her face? I see a mediterranean nose that I love. She always fussing about how it´s too large. Her hair? Dark chestnut I suppose but she´s always dyeing it some other shade of red. Her neck and shoulders worthy of a Grecian Urn. But they´re covered by the sheets and she´s curled up in a fetal position with her head under the pillows.

Let´s say you´re at the foot of the bed while I´m here between the bed and the window. The light is dusky with only slender shoots of light sprouting through the persianas. That smell ... is it her? No ... it´s me. And I showered twice today already! This pulsing, this energy. I feel a wave of dizziness. She buries her head more in the pillows and I have to spread my knees out so as not to crush her legs. When did I climb onto the bed? My arms are trembling, my palms face down on either side of her head. I have her under me trapped. I breath deep and slow to steady myself and catch some of the smell of her skin. I´m sweating and that smell is stronger. I must reek if I can smell myself. I lower myself over her body until my chest is almost touching her right shoulder. I slowly pull back one of the pillows with cruel deliberation and expose her head, so lovely and vulnerable. That bird-like slender neck. Whether Isa then hits me first or my arms give way and I collapse first on top of her I can´t really say. Motion and clumsiness and slaps or is she just freeing herself from my sweaty skin? And then ... ?

Dante´s sinners have no awareness of the present, only past and future. An eternal damnation if there ever was one. When you wake up from a faint you have to reconstruct the world and bridge that gap where your consciousness shut itself down. Where the present continued without you. So. Isa´s hair is soft and damp between my fingers. She has one hand on my collarbone as if to keep me at bay and support me at the same time. And her other hand is squeezing my left hand hard. We´re facing each other on the bed and I have to reconstruct things ... It was sunny and calm a short while ago. Then I was on top. Then I fell ... Isa speaks softly,

Amor, falta ver un medico.
Que carajo paso?
No se ... estas raro amor.

But I don´t want to see a doctor. I need this energy. I need it to sustain the next job. And we need jobs. One after the other. We lay silently on the bed, as if in a stale mate in that dusky light while outside Mar del Plata enjoys a late March sun-filled day.

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Las mandibulas del viento. Like a wild dog, the wind rattled the shutters and a devil burst into the bedroom. Not The Devil. A devil. Let´s say Graffiacane; one of the Malebranche ( Evil Claws ). Scratchdog in English. I imagined it so because the snapping wind emptied the room of all comfort and safety and I then saw myself being pulled from the room by the scruff of my neck out to the hallway and raised like a mystic or possesed soul against the wall. Facing Oriana´s bedroom I could see Isadora watching TV and relaxing in Oriana´s bed. Ori was at Diego´s PH for a few days and Isa had wanted to watch televsion without my cynical comments. A tarry smell ... but that must be the roof they´re working on in that house behind us ... no? Graffiacane keeps me pinned to the wall even if I can´t see him. I know it´s him. He´s from Bolgia 5 in The Inferno and he tortures corrupt politicans. Cagnazzo Vukovitch ... my paymaster. I lash out at my imagination trying to silence it, but I can´t.

I want to call out to Isa. The door to our bedroom is ajar and shakes slightly with each gust of wind. Now it creaks open halfway. I want to call out. The door swings almost closed, but doesn´t shut completely. I feel my skin prickle. Now the door swings open again, nearly completely. It´s the wind. It must be. The hall light is on ... at least the bulb nearer the bathroom. The walls ... cream colored. I´m on the bed aren´t I? My feet dangle helplessly and my head hangs from my neck like a puppy. I try to reach out and touch the sky blue sheets of our bed with my fngertips but find nothing. I see from the bed, but I see Oriana´s bedroom door open. Impossible. There´s Isa with her white slippers poking out from under the black bedcover. It must be cooler this evening. I want to tell her I´m here. I want to tell her to help me. Not to leave me alone hanging from the wall. The back of my neck hurts and I can´t turn and bend to protect myself. Graffiacane could snap my spine or choke the breath from my lungs if he chose. Why doesn´t she see me? Why doesn´t she turn and look at me? I try to open my mouth and scream but neither my facial muscles nor my vocal chords seem to respond. Did Isa slip me something? Does she in fact know that I´m hanging here? Is she part of this? The Devil, or this devil, makes me doubt her. I can´t believe. But I can´t ignore Graffiacane who has me by the neck. Is that weight on my chest him? Even as I float? Isa, you´re so far away. I still can´t scream.

Isa has me by the hair and her knees are on my chest. I realize I´m screaming and oddly I have an erection. And yes, I´m covered in sweat and we´re on the bed in our bedroom and the table lamp is on and Isa looks terrified and angry and is nearly shouting,

Nene! Nene! Por Dios!! ... Shhhhhhh!! Shhhhhh! Por Dios ...
Donde ...? ( it´s all I can say for the moment )
Shhhh Nene. Estabas gritando como un loco!
Un Diablo me tenia ... por el cuello.

Isa looks even more startled. She used to fall on her knees and pray whenever she passed by a church in Buenos Aires. Right there on the sidewalk. That was years ago while she was still in primary school. But the devil, any devil, still scares her. And now me too. I push at her knees and she slides off me to one side still holding my face between her hands. I feel dizzy and disoriented and any anger she may have felt over my ruining what was to be a quiet evening alone in our apartment has washed away. She hurries to the kitchen and returns with a glass of water and then gets a facecloth from the bathroom and cleans off my brow. The dizziness ebbs away and I´m fully awake now but I don´t think it was a dream. I straighten my left leg which feels like it´s about to cramp up. And my neck is sore. I breath deeply but still feel out of breath. Why this vision? The wind is still gusting, screaming up from Patagonia and the South Atlantic and hurling itself in fits and starts against the windows. Fall is here and I feel a strange glow underneath my exhaustion. A gleeful current pulsing under my skin. I turn and smile at Isa,

It was just a nightmare. Todo bien amor.

But her look shows she can´t belive my reassurances.