In Posadas he spent an hour looking for a place to rent a car. The heat was going to give him a headache, though he was wearing dark glasses and he’d wet his hair several times. He started to down pills: they would work better on his empty stomach. He found a relatively cheap Clio, rented it for a week, and, after concentrating for a kilometer to be sure it handled easily, he opened the map from the Auto Club. Puerto Libertad, the town closest to the house, was near Iguazú, just meters from the Paraná River: across the river was Paraguay. Three hundred kilometers. How was he going to manage not to think for three hundred kilometers? He turned the map and lit a cigarette, trying not to burn the map or himself. The car had air conditioning, but when he turned it on it stank of gasoline, so he kept it off. He was no expert in cars. In theory, his epilepsy meant he shouldn’t drive, but Luis had taught him anyway, because he believed a person needed to know how to drive, otherwise they weren’t fully free. Luis wasn’t an expert either. All the cars he’d bought turned out to be clunkers. Gaspar remembered him standing in front of every ruined car and saying what bad luck, his hands on his hips as he stared at a raised hood billowing smoke. It’s not the car that’s the problem, Negro had shouted at him once, you forgot to put water in, what kind of asshole doesn’t put water in a car, I ask you? They’d been on their way to Punta Lara. For a picnic or to go fishing? It was before the babies, before the pregnancy. Why did he never name the twins? Salvador and Juan. Gaspar had thought Juan was named after his father, but Luis, a little ashamed, admitted the name was for Perón. He hadn’t been able to negotiate the full name, Juan Domingo, with Julieta. He turned on the radio. Brazilian stations came in clearly, but he didn’t want to hear that language, obviously. Would someone tell Mónica and the girls? They hadn’t been to visit in a long time, but New Year’s cards still came, and phone calls at birthdays and sometimes presents. Luis had gone to visit them twice, alone, just a week each time. Gaspar had stayed with Julieta both times. Luis came back with Garotos and records and some books, saying that book design was much better in Brazil than Argentina. He had promised to take Gaspar to see Río, a promise that was delayed by the babies. Gaspar didn’t much care for the beach, but Río was more than just Copacabana, it was also dark streets and staircases and twilight at bars in inner neighborhoods. They were going to miss out on that, too—him, the twins, everyone.

“They’re not going to let you in.”

The restaurant at the service station had a name, Los Lapachos.