There was a television in the communal room of the pensión and we went in there out of curiosity; it was too early to go to bed. There were five or six people, all in their twenties, sitting in the room, the television was on, but no one was looking at it. Jorge went out to the portero and got us a beer each. We sat down close to the television and watched some French comedy that had been dubbed into Spanish. We both noticed that the voices around us were South American. I thought at first that they were Peruvian, but then I realized that they were Chilean. Jorge asked them where they were from, and I was right, they were Chilean. We said that we were Argentinian and immediately they began to include us in the conversation. They were all staying in the pensión. Three of the girls were white-skinned and very pretty; another girl and one of the boys were darker, more Indian-looking; and one boy was very tall, his dress and his manner reminded me of a priest. There was one other boy with very dark eyes.

It struck me that there was something strange about them all, it was a while before I could work it out as they talked about Santiago and Barcelona and Buenos Aires. I realized that they lived here, they were not on vacation, and, when they talked about Sweden and the time they had spent there, I knew immediately that they were refugees of some sort.

There was something about their eyes and their manner which made them different, and there was also an intensity in the way they responded to us—they included us too quickly in their world—that made me feel they were homesick and had nothing to do here, except wait for something to happen. I was uneasy with them that night, and I must have half-understood how excited Jorge was at meeting these good-looking girls; I stood up when I had finished my beer and told Jorge that I would leave the key in the door.

I was glad to have our bedroom to myself for a while. It seemed like months since we had stood with Jorge’s parents at the airport. I left the light on and read the newspaper: there were articles about the possibility of the communist party being legalized, and I was surprised by this. I did not recognize the names of the main politicians in the article; I thought that we should try to find out more about what was going on in the country. Then I turned off the light and thought about the people we had just met. I believed it was possible that the dark-eyed boy, or the one who looked like a priest, could be homosexual. Then I fell asleep. I did not hear Jorge come in and I did not wake again until the morning.