Jorge Luis Borges
On January 14, 1922, Emma Zunz, returning from the textile mill Tarbuch and Loewenthal, found at the bottom of the porch a letter dated in Brazil, which he learned that his father had died. Was deceived at first glance, the seal and the envelope, then the troubled unknown letter. Nine or ten lines scribbled wanted to fill the sheet; Emma read that Mr. Maier had accidentally ingested a large dose of veronal and died the third of current hospital Bage. A pension partner of his father signed the notice, such a Fein or Fain, Rio Grande, which could not know that was going to the daughter of the deceased. Emma
dropped the paper. His first impression was of discomfort in the abdomen and knees, after blind guilt, of unreality, cold, fear, then tried already the next day. Continuous act that will realized that was futile because the death of his father was all that had happened in the world, and continue going on without end. Picked up the paper and went to his room. Stealthily put it in a drawer, as if somehow already knew the facts later. He had already begun to see, perhaps, it was the it would be.
In the growing darkness, Emma cried until that day to the suicide of Manuel Maier, who in former days was Emanuel Zunz happy. Recalled summers on a farm near Gualeguay recalled (tried to remember) to his mother, he recalled the house of Lanús topped them recalled the yellow lozenge of a window, he recalled the arrest warrant, the reproach, recalled the anonymous with the loose on "the embezzlement of cash," he recalled (but that never forgot) that his father, the last night, had sworn that Loewenthal was the thief. Loewenthal, Aaron Loewenthal, before the factory manager and now one of the owners. Emma, \u200b\u200bsince 1916, kept the secret. No one had revealed, not even his best friend, Elsa Urstein. Perhaps shunned profane incredulity, and perhaps believed that the secret was a link between it and the absent. Loewenthal did not know she knew, Emma Zunz tiny derived from that fact a feeling of power.
did not sleep that night, and when the first light defined the rectangle of the window, and his plan was perfect. He tried that day, what seemed, was like the others. There were rumors at the factory to strike said Emma, \u200b\u200bas always, against all violence. At six, finished work, went with Elsa to a women's club, which has a gym and pool. Registered, had to repeat and spell your name and surname, had to celebrate the vulgar jokes discuss the checkup. With Elsa and the smallest of the Kronfuss discussed what would cinema on Sunday afternoon. Then he talked about boyfriends and nobody expected that Emma spoke. Meet in April nineteen years, but men inspired him, still, an almost pathological fear ... In turn, prepared a soup of tapioca and some vegetables, ate early, went to bed and forced to sleep. Thus, laborious and trivial, spent Friday Fifteen yesterday.
Saturday's eagerly awoke. Impatience, no anxiety, and relief of being unique in that day, finally. Did not have to plot and to imagine, within a few hours reached the simplicity of the facts. Read in La Prensa that the Nordstjärnan, Malmö, would sail that night the dam 3; phoned Loewenthal, suggested she wanted to, unbeknownst to the other, something about the strike and promised to pass on the desktop, at dusk. Her voice was trembling, the trembling suited to an informer. No other memorable event happened that morning. Emma worked until midnight and set with Elsa and Pearl Kronfuss the details of the walk on Sunday. He lay down after lunch and summarized, eyes closed, the plan was hatched. He thought the final stage would be less horrible than the first and that would bring, without doubt, the taste of victory and justice. Suddenly alarmed, got up and ran to the dresser drawer. He opened it, below the portrait of Milton Sills, where he had left the night before, was the letter from Fain. Nobody could have seen, began to read it and broke it. Referring
with some reality the events of that evening would be difficult and perhaps inappropriate. An attribute of the infernal is unreality, an attribute that seems to mitigate its terrors and perhaps aggravates. How to make plausible an action in which almost did not believe he's running, how to recover the brief chaos that today the memory of Emma Zunz repudiates and confused? Almagro Emma lived on the street Liniers, we know that the evening was the port. Perhaps in the infamous July Paseo was multiplied in mirrors, lights and stripped published by hungry eyes, but it is more reasonable to conjecture that the principle was wrong, inadvertently by the indifferent arcade ... He entered two or three bars, saw the routine or the machinations of other women. He at last Nordstjärnan men. From a very young, he feared that inspire some tenderness and opted for another, perhaps more than she and rude, for the purity of horror not be mitigated. The man led her to a door and then a shady porch and then to a winding staircase and then to a hall (which was a window with lozenge identical to those of the house in Lanús) and then a hallway and then a door closed. Serious matters are out of time, and because in them is the immediate past and the future cut short, and because consecutive seem that the parties are.
"At that time outside of time, in that perplexing disorder of feeling disconnected and atrocious, Emma Zunz thought once the dead man who motivated the sacrifice? I have for myself than once thought and that at that moment she endangered her desperate purpose. Thought (he could not not think) that her father had done to her mother the horrible thing that made her now. He thought with a weak shock and took refuge at once in the dizziness. The man, Swedish or Finnish, did not speak English, was a tool to Emma as she was for him, but she served for the enjoyment and for justice. When he was
one, Emma's eyes opened immediately. In the light table was the money he had left the man, Emma stood up and broke as he had broken the letter. Breaking money is an impiety, like throwing bread Emma repented, just did. An act of pride and on that day ... The fear was lost in the sadness of her body in disgust. The disgust and sadness the back, but Emma slowly got up and proceeded to dress. In the room there were no bright colors, the last sunset was getting worse. Emma was able to leave without being warned, in the corner rose to Lacroze, who went west. Elected under its plan, the seat more forward, so you will not see his face. Perhaps check comforted him in the dreary grind of the streets, that what happened had not contaminated things. Declining neighborhoods traveled and opaque, seeing and forgetting in the act, and got off at one of the intersections of Warnes. Paradoxically, her fatigue was to be a force, as required to focus on details of the adventure and covered her bottom and the end.
Aaron Loewenthal was, for all, a serious man, to his few intimates, a miser. He lived in the highlands of the factory alone. Established in the suburb dismantled, he feared the robbers in the yard of the factory had a big dog and the drawer of his desk, everyone knew, a revolver. She had cried with decorum, the previous year, the unexpected death of his wife - a Gauss, who brought a good dowry - but the money was his true passion. With deep embarrassment was known less able to win it to keep it. He was very religious, he believed he had with the Lord a secret pact, which exempted him from doing good, in exchange for prayers and devotions. Bald, portly, somber, smoky Quevedo beard, was standing next to the window, the confidential report of the working Zunz.
saw her push the fence (which he had narrowed the way) and cross the shady patio. He saw her make a little detour when the dog tied barked. Emma's lips were busy as those who pray quietly, exhausted, repeated the statement that Mr. Loewenthal hear before dying.
Things did not happen as planned Emma Zunz. From the previous night, she had often dreamed, the firm revolver, forcing him to confess the miserable miserable guilt and exposing the bold gambit that would allow the justice of God to triumph over human justice. (No fear, but by being an instrument of justice, she would not be punished.) Then, a single bullet in the middle of the chest would seal the fate of Loewenthal. But things do not happen that way. Aaron Loewenthal
view more the urge to avenge his father, Emma felt the need to punish the outrage she had suffered. I could not not kill him after that thorough disgrace. Did not have time to waste on theatrics. Sitting, shy, apologized to Loewenthal, invoked (by dint of informer) the obligations of loyalty, he gave some names, he suggested other and cut as if overcome fear. Loewenthal got out to get a glass of water. When man, incredulous of such a fuss, but indulgent, returned from the dining room, Emma had already removed the heavy gun from the drawer. Pulled the trigger twice. The considerable body collapsed as if the explosions and smoke had shattered the glass of water broke, his face looked at her with astonishment and anger, the mouth of the face and insulted in English ídisch. The bad words did not slacken, Emma had to fire again. In the courtyard, the chained dog began to bark, and a sudden effusion of blood flowed from the obscene lips and stained his beard and clothing. Emma began the accusation that he had prepared ("I have avenged my father and I will punish ..."), but not over, because Mr. Loewenthal was already dead. Never knew nor comprehend. Barking straps
reminded him that he could not even get some rest. She messed up the couch, unbuttoned his jacket the corpse, took off his eyeglasses and left splattered on the file. Then he took the phone and repeated so many times repeated, with these and other words: There was one thing that is amazing ... Mr Loewenthal made me come on the pretext of the strike ... He abused me, I killed him ...
The story was incredible, in fact, but it impressed everyone because substantially it was true. True was Emma Zunz tone, true was her shame, true hate. True also was the outrage she had suffered: only the circumstances were false, the time and one or two names.
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