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Back Loop Save as PDF
Chapters (33)
  1. Loop
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. 8
  10. 9
  11. 10
  12. 11
  13. 12
  14. 13
  15. 14
  16. 15
  17. 16
  18. 17
  19. 18
  20. 19
  21. 20
  22. 21
  23. 22
  24. 23
  25. 24
  26. 25
  27. 26
  28. 27
  29. 28
  30. 29
  31. 30
  32. A note on the text
  33. Copyright

Not long ago I heard a writer discussing death in an interview. He was smoking and laughing sarcastically, with a glass of red wine in his hand. Positively beaming, he said to the interviewer through purplish lips: ‘This novel is about death in every respect, and my God, writing it is killing me!’ I didn’t believe him. You can just tell that the worst thing to happen to this writer in his thirty-something years – aside from a split condom one of the times he’s probably cheated on his wife – is missing a flight.

And what if we put up a monument to the writer with a grant?

Holy Child of Grants, look at this glorious procession of grant-holding Young Creators carrying you in a shrine above their heads. So many young people, so many flowers, so many colours. The town orchestra playing the first notes based on one of their projects.

I miss you, Jonás. I know I’ve told you so many times, but I love your smell, I love your taste. I miss you so much.

I forgot to say that I gave Jonás a notebook like this one so it has a twin. One notebook in Mexico City, another in Madrid. Like the twins of Syracuse. An Ideal notebook I bought for Jonás, identical like a second drop of water, a twin who knows nothing of the other twin’s adventures. Perhaps if mine falls over, the other will suddenly get a bruise.

I’m falling asleep. I’ve gone to bed. I’m more there than here. This isn’t very comfortable, let me rearrange the pillow. You know what? If I fold it, it’s better. Why am I writing this down? Because this, folding a pillow to make myself more comfortable, is part of the waiting.

3

3

So is this the story of waiting? Waiting for Godot, waiting for Jonás? The difference between Godot and Jonás is that my love really is coming back. Let the music play on!

A family meal. My aunt Eva was visiting from Lisbon. If Jonás were here we’d talk about it in the kitchen, I’d tell him how I planted a lemon tree in Lisbon as a girl. ‘Now you have the book and you have the tree, you just need the child,’ said my aunt, who never misses a chance to say that by my age she already had two alfacinhas. Why are people from Mexico City called chilangos and why are people from Lisbon called alfacinhas, little lettuces? What do lettuces have to do with Lisbon?