The Hare

13: Happy Families

Clarke was awakened by Gauna’s hand tugging at his shoulder. It was some unearthly hour in the middle of the night. His body clock told him he had slept several hours. He needed several more, no doubt, but even so he was sufficiently lucid to think that Gauna must have had a good reason for waking him. He sat up and looked around. Although it was nighttime, it was very bright: there was a full moon. The gaucho did not seem to want to speak. Everything was still and quiet, and the moonlight produced a strange effect on the contours of this mountain landscape. . one that was perhaps too strange, he realized a few seconds later. He wondered what could be causing it. The light was not uniform: some areas were very bright, others were in darkness, then further on there were bright patches again. As he transferred his gaze from the distant peaks to the spot were they were camped, he noted that they were in the center of an irregular circle of whiteness. This was the “reflection effect” that a heavenly body like the moon was not supposed to produce. Clarke looked again at the light, and what he saw was so inexplicable that he sat for over half a minute in complete stupefaction. The moon was shining through the far side of a tall conical mountain less than half a mile away. But that was impossible. He glanced at Gauna, who was standing beside him (he was still sitting on his bedroll, twisting round) and staring at the same spot. An association of ideas helped Clarke clear his mind. When he looked up again at the yellow face of the moon, he had already understood what was happening: by a great stroke of luck, they were seeing it through the Ventana peak. Even while he was staring thus at the moon in astonishment, it moved on, and the circle of light on the ground moved with it, leaving them at its dark rim. The Ventana, had found them, rather than them finding it.

“I’m going up there now,” Gauna said, still staring at the mountain.

“You mean you’re going to climb it?”

“I want to be at the top at dawn.”

“Won’t it be dangerous in the dark?”

“That face over there,” Gauna said, pointing to the left, “looks possible, and in a few minutes the moon should be shining directly onto it.”

“All right,” said Clarke, making up his mind. “Let’s wake

Carlos.”

“You mean you’re coming too?”

Clarke had considered this understood from the beginning. “If we’ve come this far. .” was all he said. He put his boots on and went to wake Carlos. He explained the discovery they had made. The moon was no longer shining through the pierced mountain but to one side of it, so the youngster could not verify for himself what he was being told. He expressed his doubts. Couldn’t it have been a hallucination, what the English called “wishful thinking”? They assured him it wasn’t.

They set off at once, pausing only for Clarke to grab his shotgun and Gauna to pick up a folded piece of paper that was proof of his identity. There was something frankly pathetic in his gesture. To climb a mountain in the middle of the night just to claim a fortune was taking greed a little too far. They left the horses where they were: they had no reason to stray, unless attacked by a puma, and there was nothing they could do about that. Their excitement, the time of night, and the lack of baggage lent wings to their feet. Before they were aware of it they were climbing the mountain, something their lungs soon became aware of. The animal life on the slopes was incredible: tiny owls, gophers, foxes, bats, armadillos started up in front of them at nearly every step. It was a paradise for small game; Clarke’s shotgun was scorching his hands, because he had decided to respect Gauna’s suggestion that they make as little noise as possible, not so much because he shared the gaucho’s belief that the Widow’s men were nearby, but more to humor him. The obliging moon lit up every clump of grass. When they glanced up, the mountainside looked daunting. It seemed it would take them a lifetime or more to reach the top. But when they looked down, they were surprised at how far they had already climbed. They could feel the mountain beneath their feet, the incomparable sensation of bulk that contrasted so sharply with their abstract progress across the flat plains. They said nothing, because breathing itself was difficult enough.

The moon moved further off and appeared to climb in the sky. It picked them out. They saw themselves as almost infinitely tiny, but at the same time gigantic as they scaled the hidden microlandscapes of the mountain. The moonlight bounced off the solid objects, which remained in darkness. Everything was duality. Even the high and low. Then all of a sudden they were very high up. They had been climbing without respite for three or four hours. The moon was still in the sky, a little smaller perhaps, and with a different shape, as though they were seeing it from the side; the same was true of the Milky Way. As for the shape of the mountain itself, by now it was all the same to them whatever it was. Clarke remembered that from down below it had seemed to him to be almost perfectly conical, with a broad base — like an Egyptian pyramid. From the heights, it was nothing more than a monstrously uneven piece of ground. Possibly when they reached the summit they would be able to appreciate its geometrical perspective more, though he doubted it. And anyway, night transformed everything. Being younger and lighter, Carlos was slightly ahead of the other two, whose legs were already heavy as lead. Gauna brought up the rear, panting as he climbed. All at once, they were surprised by a change in the surrounding darkness. This was because the moon had disappeared behind a mountain in the middle distance; which was further proof of how distorted their appreciation of everything was, as only a moment before it had seemed to be overhead, and probably had been. Now its light shone round the sides of the mountain, which gave off a bright clarity like a candle. Still, they found it harder to see where they were treading.

They were not able to worry about this for long, because several human shadows suddenly leapt out at them and in a flash had pinioned them to the ground. Gauna maintained his proud silence, but the other two let out shouts of rage. All three tried to resist, but in vain. The Indians tied their hands behind their backs, with sturdy leather thongs, bound their feet, then sheathed the daggers they had been waving menacingly at their throats. When their assailants had finished tying the three men up, they sat down to get their breath back, passed round a bottle of some kind of firewater whose smell filled the air, and began to talk. Their victims listened closely.

“Now,” one of them said, “we’re going to have to carry them.”

“Why’s that?” another one asked, as if it was not obvious.

“Because we tied their feet, that’s why.”

“You’re right,” a third or fourth person said, apparently suddenly catching onto something he could never have worked out for himself.

Another Indian, most probably the one whose idea it had been in the first place, came to the defense of tying their feet up: “First, it stops them running off. We wouldn’t be sitting here so relaxed now, passing round the bottle, if their feet were free and we had to keep an eye on them all the time. Second, they could kick you. . ”

“Once, a fellow I’d tied the feet of kneed me, so it’s no great guarantee.”

“That’s really weird, it could only happen to you. . ”

“No, hang on a minute. . ”

The argument became more personal. But it did not offer any clues as to who these Indians might be. They spoke a mishmash of the region’s languages; Clarke had taken it for granted they were the Widow’s men. Until the moon emerged from the side of the mountain in the distance, they were nothing more than confused silhouettes. They were ordinary-looking savages, wearing a thick coating of grease. As soon as the moonlight returned, the Indians stood up, removed the thongs from their captives’ feet (so in fact they had simply hobbled them like troublesome horses while they had a rest) and motioned them to climb in front of them. There were only four Indians, which would have been a cause for shame, had the three white men not had the excuse of being caught unaware. Their fears had proved correct: they had been ambushed. But there was one good thing about this mishap: their assailants would take them where they wanted to go, to see the Widow, and she might even be kind enough to have their hands untied, in which case the whole experience would have cost them nothing. They continued to climb for some time, following a diagonal path they would never have discovered for themselves, at least at night. They said nothing to each other, although they had the opportunity. The situation did not seem particularly threatening. Their captors seemed quite fierce, but they could hardly be otherwise; their role demanded it. At one especially steep point, the Indians came to a halt. Two of them stayed to look after the prisoners, while the other two loped off, triumphantly returning a few minutes later with a third individual. He peered at the faces of the three new arrivals, particularly Clarke’s, and eventually said:

“The lady will come to see you in a few minutes, if she can.”

Raising a doubt in this way was typical of the Indians. Before he withdrew, the messenger asked the others to untie their prisoners:

“They were being overcautious. All they were asked to do was bring you here.”

“We come in peace,” Clarke said.

“I would never have doubted it,” the Indian said as he left.

The three white men were untied. The four Indians who had brought them did not comment on the situation beyond giving a few nervous laughs, then offering them a drink. Clarke refused, but when Gauna took one, he changed his mind. He felt relaxed, and even slightly amused at how nervous the gaucho was. He wondered what it would be like to meet a half-sister for the first time, and decided it must be even odder than meeting a full sister. In the latter case, the encounter would completely fill the gap, whereas if it were only half a relationship, the missing half would continue to cast its shadow. . Clarke’s mind drifted off into these somewhat irrelevant speculations. The three of them were seated comfortably with their backs against a rock; Clarke in the middle, Gauna sweaty and agitated on his right, Carlos on his left. Clarke realized Carlos was nodding off.

“If you’re sleepy,” he said, “go ahead and sleep.”

“Not on your life. I wouldn’t miss Gauna’s meeting with his sister for anything in the world.”

Clarke felt himself obliged to turn to his companion on the right and say: “If you prefer to see her on your own. .”

“No.”

The Indians had moved some distance away and were talking in whispers. The moon had passed through various changes, and was now high above the mountain, not because it had risen in the sky but because in the last stretch of their walk, when they had been tied up, they had traveled along the rim of an imaginary conical section, so they had almost gone right round the mountain. A vast landscape lay before them: a huge chamber of dark air, whose sides were mountain slopes gleaming brightly like silver, while above and below all was pitch black. But what was down below was in a kind of corridor which led the gaze back to the foreground, with moonlit slopes on both sides — none other than those they had seen in the first place. This nocturnal alternation of planes produced a pleasant sense of confusion.

The individual who had spoken to them earlier returned, together with a female figure; they realized it was not the Widow, although the half-light did not allow them to see her clearly. She was too tall, too formidable. The three men stood up respectfully. After exchanging a few words with the woman, the Indian hung back, and she came on toward them. When she was close to him, with the moon illuminating her fine, proud features, Clarke recognized her with the same leap of emotion as he had felt the first time he had caught sight of her. It was Juana Pitiley, Cafulcurá’s legendary wife. Their adventure was taking yet another unexpected turn. The three men thought she was going to come to a halt, but she kept advancing until she was only a few inches from Clarke, whom she was staring at intently. The Englishman was nervous, unable to move. He wondered if the woman was shortsighted. He thought that all her life she had been a queen, and so he should not be surprised that she behaved like one; he was an unusual object, and she saw no reason not to examine him closely. She was so near, he could not avoid studying her as well. There was something strangely familiar about her; she was too intense and beautiful, and he was compelled to lower his gaze. She gave a faint smile, and stepped back. Then she asked them to sit down again, and did the same herself. She sat opposite Clarke, whom she had not taken her eyes off. When she spoke, her voice was deep and soft:

“Mister Clarke, I believe?” Clarke nodded. “The son of Nehemias Clarke?” This was quite incredible, and presaged some fresh revelation. “I knew your father,” the woman said, “many years ago, in a place west of here. Is he still alive?”

“He died almost twenty years ago,” said Clarke.

“I’m sorry to hear it. We knew each other only for a few days, and in very special circumstances. But we were united by a gift I made him, and which I sincerely thought I would never regain. I suppose he never mentioned it.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“That was what he promised.”

His father had told him a lot about his adventures in the Americas, but Clarke had always had the impression that there was a blind spot in them, and this was what was being revealed now. Juana Pitiley sat in silence for a while, recalling those distant events. Then she raised her eyes and stared up at a point near the mountain summit. The Englishman kept his lips sealed; he knew it was not the moment to ask questions.

“It was many years ago, and right here.” She lowered her gaze, and stared once again at Clarke. “There’s even a legend, the legend of the Legibrerian Hare, which arose from what happened here thirty-five years ago. A month ago when I heard in Salinas Grandes that someone had come in search of the Hare, an Englishman who bore a supernatural resemblance to my eldest son, I could see it all, as if I had always been expecting it. The paths of fable are usually the most real ones.”

“And you,” Clarke said, with tremulous voice, “you conceived a child on the summit of this mountain. . ”

“Ah, I see you’ve heard the old story. Yes, this is where my wedding night took place. It was here I rescued my husband from his captors, it was these mountain sides we scoured in search of a place of refuge, which we found in the gap pierced at the top. When we came down the next day I was already bearing my offspring in my womb. You will also have heard of the lengthy flight that followed, and of the gap that there is in the story, when I became separated from my husband before I gave birth. He arrived alone at Salinas Grandes, thinking me dead, and I appeared a couple of months later with a child in my arms: Namuncurá. And I suppose they couldn’t resist insinuating what has by now become a common belief: that Namuncurá is not in fact my child, and so on. Since I had no more children, the logical thing has been to assume that I was sterile, but that since I needed to be the mother of a legal heir to strengthen my political position, I dreamt up this hare-brained scheme so as to pass a foundling off as my own son. I preferred to let this inept lie circulate rather than have anyone suspect the truth, which nobody has guessed at. . not even now.”

She fell silent for a long time. So long in fact, that it seemed as if her tale was over. Clarke did not dare move, speak, think, hardly even breathe. He held his breath for so long he almost passed out. A remote part of his brain, the most English part, was aware of the effect that Juana Pitiley’s words were having on the other two. Gauna seemed thunderstruck; Carlos Alzaga Prior was beside himself with excitement, and in anticipation of the great revelation was glancing first at Juana and then at Clarke, eyes shining.

“It was during that interval,” she said, “that I met the person who from that moment on became your father, Nehemias Clarke. I had just given birth, not entirely on my own as legend has it, but in quite primitive conditions. When I met him, I had already decided to give up one of the twins, and the possibility that he would be going somewhere far from me and all the Mapuches finally convinced me to give him the boy. He was a silent, modest, crazily romantic man. There was never anything between us of course (the fact that I was so recently a mother prevented all thought of that) but I could tell he had fallen in love with me, and without the slightest cynicism on my part (or at least so I believe), I understood that this love was a guarantee for my plans. I made him promise he would never tell the boy of his true identity, that he would bring him up in England, where his childless wife was waiting for him, and that he would never return to America. He left at once, and I can see he was as good as his word.”

The moonlight took on a fresh meaning for Clarke. He knew deep down that it was no longer a question of seeming ridiculous or not. He felt calm and collected again, in a way that left all confusion behind.

“So then,” he said, “ you are. . my mother.”

“That’s right,” Juana Pitiley replied, “are you surprised?”

“Well, I had my suspicions,” Clarke lied.

“Son of a gun!” said Carlos, who had begun to weep for no reason except generosity of spirit.

“Son of the Piedra,” Gauna corrected him, also clearly affected by the scene. He was referring to Cafulcurá, the father, whom nobody had mentioned until now.

Clarke was trying to order his racing thoughts.

“So Namuncurá is my twin brother. He was the lookalike I met a few days ago.”

“You did?” Juana asked. “The poor man has been pursuing Rondeau’s Widow for years, but I think he’s finally accepted it’s hopeless.”

“Just a minute,” Clarke said. “In Salinas Grandes, when Cafulcurá, and Mallén, and all of them saw me. . and Namuncurá’s wives, whose tent I stayed in. . they must all have seen the likeness.”

“Of course!” said Juana.

“So why did they say nothing?”

“They were waiting for Cafulcurá to speak first. There are certain codes of honor which determine how things are done in these matters. . ”

“Why didn’t he say anything then?”

“He had his reasons. He preferred to disappear.”

“You mean he decided to disappear? He wasn’t kidnapped?”

“Of course not.”

Clarke was beginning to glimpse the thread linking the complicated events his arrival had set in motion. But he understood that nothing could be explained without returning to the start of it all, to his life and its secret.

“What I don’t understand is why. . why hide me, why send me to England?”

His mother paused for thought, and before she could reply, a man emerged from the shadows and whispered into her ear. She listened, nodded, and told them:

“You’ll have to forgive me, but little Yñuy’s time seems to have arrived. . ”

“Yñuy!” exclaimed Carlos.

“Do you know her?”

“My friend here,” Clarke said, “ has been searching for her ever since we left Salinas Grandes.”

“Well, he’s found her, although perhaps at a rather inopportune moment for any great show of affection. I’m acting as her midwife, and the time has come to offer her my services. Excuse me, please. .”

She left, leaving them so shocked they did not even think to stand up.

“We’ve found Yñuy!” Carlos purred. “I can’t believe it. But Clarke, your story is even harder to believe. You’re Cafulcurá’s first-born! You’ve found your mother and your father! I can imagine how you must be feeling.”

“I can’t think clearly about it yet. This kind of thing only happens in novels. . but then, novels only happen in reality.”

“What do you make of it, Gauna?”

“I’m astounded. I congratulate you both.”

“And there we were thinking you were the one who’d be having a remarkable encounter!”

“I think he will,” Clarke said. “It’s very likely that the Widow is here as well. Do you remember we heard she was looking for a young girl, and that she had finally found one?”

“That’s true. Do you mean Yñuy?”

“That would explain her presence here.”

“Why don’t we go and find those Indians and ask them?” the boy proposed.

“Where can they have got to?” Gauna asked, peering into the shadows.

“Just a moment. Someone’s coming.”

It was Juana Pitiley. She sat down in the same spot as before.

“It was a false alarm,” she said, “she’s still got at least half an hour to go. She’s a very brave girl,” she added, then, glancing at Carlos, “I told her you were here, and she was overjoyed. Would you like to see her?”

“Can I?”

“I think it might be a good way to take her mind off things.” Don’t talk too much.

She signaled to one of the invisible men in the shadows. He got up and led Carlos away.

“One other small thing,” Clarke said. “My friend Gauna Alvear here is brother on his mother’s side of the woman known as Rondeau’s Widow, whom you spoke of earlier. In fact, it was her we came to the Sierra de la Ventana in search of, and just a moment ago we were wondering whether she might not be here as well.”

“She is indeed,” Juana Pitiley said, looking across at Gauna. “This is like a family reunion. Would you like to see her?”

“Yes, I would,” said Gauna.

Another gesture, another Indian stood up, and Gauna followed after him, stiff and ill at ease. Mother and son were left alone together.

“There was something I still had to explain to you,” she said. “We have a little while before those babies decide to come out into the world, so I’ll try to satisfy your curiosity. But don’t expect to understand.”

“A few difficult arguments have managed to penetrate my thick skull.”

“None of them as difficult as this one, I can assure you. In fact, it’s not that it’s so difficult, more that it is such a broad issue. It’s one of those things that the whole of life, with its infinite variety, is insufficient to contain, precisely because that is what it is all about: the variety of life in its entirety.” She fell silent, then after a while began again on what seemed to be a completely different subject: “The Widow is a good friend of mine; and if she is here it’s because I asked her to come. It so happens that this girl Yñuy had a brief romance with one of my husband’s sons, Alvarito Reymacurá, and she became pregnant. After a few months I began to suspect she might be having twins. Although I said nothing, and advised her to do the same, Alvarito must have got wind of something, and he put her under the strictest surveillance. So we planned her escape, just at the moment when you were arriving at Salinas Grandes. Alerted by me, the Widow set out to look for Yñuy, and after a string of adventures finally caught up with her. Alvarito had also set off after her, and we learned you three were on her trail, for reasons we could not possibly imagine. . ”

“It was simply because Carlos thought he was in love with her. But what were your motives?”

“The Piedra royal line is said to be based on twins, twins nobody has ever seen, although my husband encourages the belief that he is the twin of a dead brother. This could be seen as simply another of those harmless fantasies our menfolk are so addicted to, if it were not for the fact that it seriously affects us women. If we really did show them the twins, we would be finished.”

“Why’s that?” asked Clarke. Juana had pronounced her last sentence with such finality he was afraid she would not give any further explanation.

“We can put up with polygyny, war, word games, hallucinogens, shamans. . no one can say we aren’t broad-minded. But there comes a point where we have to draw the line, otherwise we would no longer be women, which would mean the disappearance of a function that is all-important for the Mapuche: the continuation of the species. And that line is the one that separates fiction from reality. On this point, and only this one, we are completely inflexible, and we are not afraid of taking things to their ultimate conclusions, as recent events will have shown you. For the real world to continue to exist, the multiplication of the identical, of repeated images, must remain part of the imaginary world.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t expect you to. You yourself are part of the system of separation. And yet our mechanism, which keeps this real world turning, must have had its effect on you too. Because the dividing line is the sum of all our lives, it offers the possibility of love, adventure, knowledge. It is reproduction. One day you will understand.”

She had pronounced these last words, so typical of a mother, in great haste when she saw another Indian approaching. He bent down and whispered something to her. She looked up at the position of the moon, and stood up.

“This time I’ll wager it’s for real,” she said. “I’m going to Yñuy.”

She went off, and Carlos appeared almost immediately afterward.

“She’s about to give birth,” he said, both excitement and fear in his voice. “She’s having contractions all the time. Poor thing! She’s more beautiful than ever. Do you know she’s going to have twins?”

“Yes, my mother told me.”

“Your mother! Isn’t that incredible? Aren’t you all shaken up? Do something, say something, Clarke, forget your English stiffness for once in your life. You know it could do you harm, it could cause heart failure. If I were you. .”

“What?”

“I don’t know. . I would have thrown myself in her arms, I would have called her ‘mother! mother!’ ” Carlos’s face was streaming with tears again. He jumped about like a man possessed.

“Don’t be crazy. Let me be as I am.”

“All right. Don’t get me wrong. Of course you’re fine as you are. It’s not for nothing that you’re my best friend, Clarke.” He embraced him, fighting back another flood of tears. “It’s just that so many things have happened. . ”

“Did Yñuy recognize you?”

Carlos stared at him, surprised and somewhat offended.

“Of course she recognized me! She told me she had spent the whole time thinking of me. She’s entranced by me.”

Clarke thought better of reminding the boy that it was he who had not seemed so faithful. At that point, Gauna arrived.

“Well, was it her?”

“Yes. She is my sister. She told me she had brought the girl here because your mother, Clarke, had asked her to, in order to conceal the twins she was about to give birth to. .”

“Yes, we’ve already heard that,” Clarke butted in, not wanting to go into detail in front of Carlos. “What about the diamond?”

“She told me it didn’t exist.”

“And you believed her?”

“I’m afraid I had no choice.”

This sounded odd to the Englishman, coming as it did from someone normally so suspicious as Gauna. But he could see something had made a great impression on the gaucho, which was probably the reason for his strange meekness. Carlos must have dimly felt the same, to judge by the question he asked:

“Is she pretty?”

Gauna took time before he replied, in the hushed voice of a threatened conspirator:

“I think she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life.”

“So what does it matter that the stone doesn’t exist!” Carlos exclaimed. “Look at all we’ve discovered anyway! Clarke’s found his mother, which is the most important thing; I’ve found Yñuy; you, your sister. It’s more than we could ever have hoped for, always supposing we were hoping for something.”

“That’s true.”

“But we have to meet this great beauty,” the boy gushed. “You’ll introduce us to her, won’t you, Gauna?”

“Oh, I was forgetting,” the gaucho said, giving himself the classic slap on the forehead. “She asked to meet you. Come on.”

As they got up, they were surprised to find that the darkness was lifting. The faintest of glimmers had spread through the night, and at this first instant of what soon afterward became nothing more than the sad gray of dawn, all the shadows had taken on a transparent quality. It was still night, but it was also day, and at the same time was neither one nor the other.

“Here she comes,” Gauna remarked before they had gone more than a few steps. They looked up. The path rose in a steep track that must have been made by deer. A lone woman was coming down toward them. They waited for her. In this half-light that did not dispel the darkness but still allowed them to see, the Widow seemed to them almost painfully beautiful. They stood there with their mouths wide open. She looked up and also stopped, searching out Clarke’s face. There was a moment of mystery, and then one of those “serious smiles,” such as a man sees only a few times in his life spread across her face. Her gaze showed a confidence, an acceptance that were totally absent from Clarke’s features, which were a picture of horror and misery. His heart had finally failed him. He felt that the whole of his past life was rushing uncontrollably to this moment, to this instant which because it was too close and too enormous, risked escaping, risked crushing him.

“Rossanna. .”

“Tom. .”

“Am I dreaming?”

“No.”

“But. . weren’t you dead? In the glacier?”

“No. I escaped. There was a flash of lightning — I don’t know if you saw it — the ice I was imprisoned in shattered and melted. . the next day, some Indians rescued me. .”

“I can’t believe it! It’s not possible!”

“Tom. . it’s me.”

“Rossanna. . How?. . How are you?” A stupid question, but he found it hard to think.

“You’re exactly the same.”

“So are you. You’re more, much more. .”

“More the same?”

“More beautiful.”

“I’m not young anymore.”

“Yes you are!” Clarke said, raising his voice from the level of a stuttering mumble for the first time. But then at once he returned to a whisper: “Did you. . did you remember me?”

“What about you?”

“The whole time.”

“Still?”

“Yes, yes, always!”

He was sincere, there could be no doubting that. They came toward each other and linked hands, still staring into each other’s eyes. They were in their own little bubble; the world had ceased to exist for them. Carlos, who had been watching the scene with the most passionate attention, exchanged radiant glances with Gauna, and was beside himself with the desire to join in.

“Clarke, Clarke. .” he hissed. “Señora. .”

She turned to him with a gentle smile:

“You’re the one who’s in love with the girl, aren’t you?”

“I can vouch for the fact that Clarke, who’s my best friend, is still in love with you. . There’s no other woman for him. . ”

Clarke did not bother to shut him up because he did not even hear him. Rossanna turned to look at him again:

“When you looked at me just now I saw in your eyes exactly the same gaze as on that fateful day when I was trapped in the glacier. . ”

“You mean you saw me then?”

“Of course I did.”

“You saw me?”

The horror came flooding back. Clarke had survived all these years absolutely convinced that he had seen her dead, and now it turned out that not only was this untrue, but that she had seen him looking at her. It seemed to him that the whole of his life (and this was the real revelation) had been impregnated with a diffuse, usually repressed terror. It was then, and only then, that love — an overpowering, immense love — was rekindled in him; love for this woman who was more beautiful than anything, the love of his life. Clarke thought that this was the first time he had ever truly loved; what had come before was fantasy, youth, nostalgia; what he felt now was genuine and lasting. Relieved, he turned toward Carlos, who was gazing transfixed at the transformation of his friend’s features. He was about to say something, anything, to him when they heard the sound of laughter.

It was Juana Pitiley, surrounded by several people who were staring at something with great curiosity. She came over to them, and they could see she was carrying two babies, one in each arm.

“Two girls,” she said.

The babies, wrapped in clean white cloths, were tiny and perfectly formed, like two little dolls. They all stared at them enchanted for a few moments.

“What a remarkable proliferation of twins,” said Clarke.

“I’m delighted they’re girls,” Juana Pitiley said. “It’s as though a curse were finally being lifted.”

Rossanna, her arm linked through Clarke’s, said to him:

“There’s something you should know, Tom, and now seems to be the right moment. When we two were separated fifteen years ago, I was pregnant. At the time I hadn’t told you because I was waiting for the right opportunity, which never came. And I also had twins, a boy and a girl.”

“No!”

“It’s as though we all belonged to the same family.”

“But we do! This lady has just told me I’m her son.”

Perplexed, Rossanna looked toward Juana Pitiley, and saw the confirmation of Clarke’s words on her face. She murmured:

“That explains how similar you look to Namuncurá, my constant suitor.”

“Yes, we’re twins too. But why did you never say yes to him?”

A “serious smile” was her only reply.

“And those children?” Clarke was anxious to know. “Our children? What became of them?”

“You may find it hard to forgive me, but I gave them up for adoption almost as soon as they were born. I gave the girl to some Mapuches from Saliqueló, and the boy to a cousin of mine in Buenos Aires, Susana Prior.”

At first, Clarke did not make the connection, but the shout of joy from Carlos soon forced him to do so:

“Susana Prior is my adoptive mother! It’s me! It had to be me, Clarke!”

Rossanna, whose aristocratic reserve stood in such stark contrast to the hysterical enthusiasm of this alleged son of hers, asked him:

“Are you sure? I know Susana adopted other children. . ”

“No, it’s me! My heart tells me so!”

He was laughing and crying at the same time. Clarke felt a wave of laughter welling up inside his own chest.

“Well, anyway,” Rossanna said, “it would be easy enough to prove it, because my twins had a birthmark, in the shape of a tiny hare, on their butt. .”

“Here it is! Here it is! What did I tell you, Clarke, I mean

father!”

Without the slightest regard for convention, Carlos turned round and pulled his trousers down. He was so nervous and fumbled so much he snapped his belt. But it was true, in the center of his right buttock he had a long birthmark that looked like a hare in flight. When he turned round to them again, his face was red and wet from tears. He could not speak. Clarke took him into his arms to console him.

“I saw a birthmark just like that,” said Juana Pitiley, “on Yñuy when she was giving birth.”

“Yñuy?” everyone said. Carlos raised his head from his father’s shoulder.

“Where did you say you had your baby girl adopted?” Juana Pitiley asked Rossanna.

“In Saliqueló.”

“Well, Yñuy and her family arrived in Salinas Grandes from Saliqueló a few years ago!”

“So there’s no doubt it’s her.”

“So then. . Yñuy is my sister!”

“Yes, your sister. .” Clarke said. “Tell me, you didn’t. . did you?”

“No, don’t worry,” Carlos replied, smiling through his tears. “You’re always the same, aren’t you? You can relax, there was no incest.”

Rossanna was smiling at him.

“I’m going to tell her!” Carlos exclaimed.

“Not now,” Juana Pitiley said, holding him back. “She’s asleep. We’ll tell her when she wakes up.”

“These little girls are our grandchildren,” Clarke said to

Rossanna.

“I told you I wasn’t so young.”

“And they’re my great-grandchildren,” said Juana Pitiley.

“Clarke, father, I think I’ll die, I’m so happy!” Carlos roared. “I knew it all the time: you had to be my father. .”

“Don’t forget that this is your mother.”

“It’s true! So I was in the glacier as well!”

“That wasn’t what I meant. Didn’t you say that if you ever met your mother, you’d throw yourself in her arms, and all that kind of thing?”

Carlos shyly evaded Rossanna’s smiling face.

“Now that I know I’m your son, a certain British reserve. .”

“In fact, you’re more English than I am, thanks to the blood of poor Professor Haussmann.” Clarke saw the moment had arrived to say something which would not only delight the boy, but was also true: “I have to admit that if I had been asked how I would like my son to be, I would have said like you.”

“That goes without saying,” Carlos responded at once, sincerely convinced of it.

They were all sitting round in a circle. The light had grown stronger. Suddenly Carlos thought of something:

“So that means Gauna is my uncle! Come and give me a hug, uncle. Gauna, you’re going to have to be nice to me from now on.”

“Whatever will he think of next?” said his father.

“How about having some breakfast?” Rossanna asked.

“Wait a moment,” Juana Pitiley said. “I think the sun is about to rise, and perhaps my son, my delightful grandson and Mister Gauna would like to see it through the Ventana, just as I did when all this began.”

They agreed and everyone set off, leaving the babies in the care of an old Indian woman. They were already only a short distance from the summit. It took them no time at all to reach the Ventana itself, which was a fairly large window-like hole in the topmost rock. They climbed up, picking their way through huge boulders. There was no wind, which could have made the spot unpleasant. As Clarke reached the top, a huge orange sun was rising, exactly opposite him on the eastern horizon, which seemed not nearly so far away as when they were out on the plain. Gauna pointed downward: among the shadows on the prairie at the foot of the mountain, their horses had scattered far and wide. Clarke looked for Repetido. When he found him, the horse was standing with its head lifted nervously. Then he saw it dart off in an unlikely gallop toward the rising sun.

“Where’s he going?” Clarke asked in alarm. The others also gazed after the horse, half-closing their eyes against the bright glow the animal was running toward. And they were all equally shocked when they saw the silhouette of a rider appear on the horizon line.

“The Wanderer! Repetido’s got tired of only seeing him in the distance as well!”

But it was not mere curiosity on the horse’s part. The Wanderer’s horse was another Repetido, and suddenly the two of them reared on to their hind legs with exactly the same movement, standing poised for an instant like two chess knights. And then it was as if the page of the world were finally turned, and the Wanderer was on this side, and they saw him coming to meet them. They all recognized him at the same instant: it was Cafulcurá.

Juana Pitiley roared with laughter.

PRINGLES, 6 SEPTEMBER 1996