HouseTakenOver(CasaTomada)byJulioCortzar

TranslatedbyPaulBlackburn

We liked the house because, apart from its being old and spacious (in a day when old houses go down for a
profitable auction of their construction materials), it kept the memories of greatgrandparents, our paternal
grandfather,ourparentsandthewholeofchildhood.

IreneandIgotusedtostayinginthehousebyourselves,whichwascrazy,eightpeoplecouldhavelivedinthat
placeandnothavegottenineachother'sway.Weroseatseveninthemorningandgotthecleaningdone,and
about eleven I left Irene to finish off whatever rooms and went to the kitchen. We lunched at noon precisely;
then therewasnothing left to do but afewdirty plates. Itwaspleasant to takelunch and commune with the
greathollow,silenthouse,anditwasenoughforusjusttokeepitclean.Weendedupthinking,attimes,that
that was what had kept us from marrying. Irene turned down two suitors for no particular reason, and Maria
Estherwentanddiedonmebeforewecouldmanagetogetengaged.Wewereeasingintoourfortieswiththe
unvoiced concept that the quiet, simple marriage of sister and brother was the indispensable end to a line
establishedinthishousebyourgrandparents.Wewoulddieheresomeday,obscureanddistantcousinswould
inherittheplace,haveittorndown,sellthebricksandgetrichonthebuildingplot;ormorejustlyandbetteryet,
wewouldtoppleitourselvesbeforeitwastoolate.

Ireneneverbotheredanyone.Oncethemorninghouseworkwasfinished,shespenttherestofthedayonthe
sofainherbedroom,knitting.Icouldn'ttellyouwhysheknittedsomuch;Ithinkwomenknitwhentheydiscover
thatit'safatexcusetodonothingatall.ButIrenewasnotlikethat,shealwaysknittednecessities,sweatersfor
winter,socksforme,handymorningrobesandbedjacketsforherself.Sometimesshewoulddoajacket,then
unravelitthenextmomentbecausetherewassomethingthatdidn'tpleaseher;itwaspleasanttoseeapileof
tangledwoolinherknittingbasketfightingalosingbattleforafewhourstoretainitsshape.SaturdaysIwent
downtowntobuywool;Irenehadfaithinmygoodtaste,waspleasedwiththecolorsandneveraskeinhadtobe
returned.Itookadvantageofthesetripstomaketheroundsofthebookstores,uselesslyaskingiftheyhad
anythingnewinFrenchliterature.NothingworthwhilehadarrivedinArgentinasince1939.

Butit'sthehouseIwanttotalkabout,thehouseandIrene,I'mnotveryimportant.IwonderwhatIrenewould
havedonewithoutherknitting.Onecanrereadabook,butonceapulloverisfinishedyoucan'tdoitoveragain,
it's some kind of disgrace. One day I found that the drawer at the bottom of the chiffonier, replete with
mothballs,wasfilledwithshawls,white,green,lilac.Stackedamidagreatsmellofcamphoritwaslikeashop;I
didnthavethenervetoaskherwhatsheplannedtodowiththem.Wedidnthavetoearnourliving,therewas
plentycominginfromthefarmseachmonth,evenpilingup.ButIrenewasonlyinterestedintheknittingand
showedawonderfuldexterity,andformethehoursslippedawaywatchingher,herhandslikesilverseaurchins,
needlesflashing,andoneortwoknittingbasketsonthefloor,theballsofyarnjumpingabout.Itwaslovely.

Hownottorememberthelayoutofthathouse.Thedinningroom,alivingroomwithtapestries,thelibrary,and
threelargebedroomsinthesectionmostrecessed,theonethatfacedtowardRodriguezPena.Onlyacorridor
withitsmassiveoakdoorseparatedthatpartfromthefrontwing,wheretherewasabath,thekitchen,our
bedroomsandthehall.Oneenteredthehousethroughavestibulewithenameledtiles,andawroughtiron
gateddooropenedontothelivingroom.Youhadtocomeinthroughthevestibuleandopenthegatetogointo
thelivingroom;thedoorstoourbedroomswereoneithersideofthis,andoppositewasthecorridorleadingto
thebacksection;goingdownthepassage,oneswungopentheoakdoorbeyondwhichwastheotherpartofthe
house;orjustbeforethedoor,onecouldturntotheleftandgodownanarrowerpassagewaywhichledtothe
kitchenandthebath.Whenthedoorwasopen,youbecameawareofthesizeofthehouse;whenitwasclosed,
youhadtheimpressionofanapartment,liketheonestheybuildtoday,withbarelyenoughroomtomove
aroundin.IreneandIalwayslivedinthispartofthehouseandhardlyeverwentbeyondtheoakdoorexceptto

dothecleaning.Incrediblehowmuchdustcollectedonthefurniture.ItmaybeBuenosAiresisacleancity,but
sheowesittoherpopulationandnothingelse.There'stoomuchdustintheair,theslightestbreezeandit'sback
onthemarbleconsoletopsandinthediamondpatternsofthetooledleatherdeskset.It'salotofworktogetit
offwithafeatherduster;themotesriseandhangintheair,andsettleagainaminutelateronthepianosandthe
furniture.

I'llalwayshaveaclearmemoryofitbecauseithappenedsosimplyandwithoutfuss.Irenewasknittinginher
bedroom,itwaseightatnight,andIsuddenlydecidedtoputthewaterupformate.Iwentdownthecorridoras
farastheoakdoor,whichwasajar,thenturnedintothehalltowardthekitchen,whenIheardsomethinginthe
libraryorthediningroom.Thesoundcamethroughmutedandindistinct,achairbeingknockedoverontothe
carpetorthemuffledbuzzingofaconversation.Atthesametime,orasecondlater,Ihearditattheendofthe
passagewhichledfromthosetworoomstowardthedoor.Ihurledmyselfagainstthedoorbeforeitwastoolate
andshutit,leanedonitwiththeweightofmybody;luckily,thekeywasonourside;moreover,Iranthegreat
boltintoplace,justtobesafe.

Iwentdowntothekitchen,heatedthekettle,andwhenIgotbackwiththetrayofmate,ItoldIrene:"Ihadto
shutthedoortothepassage.Theyvetakenoverthebackpart."

Sheletherknittingfallandlookedatmewithhertired,seriouseyes."You'resure?"

Inodded.

"Inthatcase,"shesaid,pickingupherknittingagain,"we'llhavetoliveonthisside."

Isippedatthemateverycarefully,butshetookhertimestartingherworkagain.Irememberitwasagrayvest
shewasknitting.Ilikedthatvest.

The first few days were painful, since we'd both left so many things in the part that had been taken over. My
collectionofFrenchliterature,forexample,wasstillinthelibrary.Irenehadleftseveralfoliosofstationeryanda
pairofslippersthatsheusedalotinthewinter.Imissedmybriarpipe,andIrene,Ithink,regrettedthelossofan
ancientbottleofHesperidinsIthappenedrepeatedly(butonlyinthefirstfewdays)thatwewouldclosesome
drawerorcabinetandlookatoneanothersadly.

"It'snothere."

Onethingmoreamongthemanylostontheothersideofthehouse.

Buttherewereadvantages,too.Thecleaningwassomuchsimplifiedthat,evenwhenwegotuplate,ninethirty
forinstance,byelevenweweresittingaroundwithourarmsfolded.Irenegotintothehabitofcomingtothe
kitchenwithmetohelpgetlunch.Wethoughtaboutitanddecidedonthis:whileIpreparedthelunch,Irene
wouldcookupdishesthatcouldbeeatencoldintheevening.Wewerehappywiththearrangementbecauseit
wasalwayssuchabothertohavetoleaveourbedroomsintheeveningandstarttocook.Nowwemadedowith
thetableinIrene'sroomandplattersofcoldsupper.

Sinceitlefthermoretimeforknitting,Irenewascontent.Iwasalittlelostwithoutmybooks,butsoasnotto
inflictmyselfonmysister,Isetaboutreorderingpapa'sstampcollection;thatkilledsometime.Weamused
ourselvessufficiently,eachwithhisownthing,almostalwaysgettingtogetherinIrene'sbedroom,whichwasthe
morecomfortable.Everyonceinawhile,Irenemightsay:"LookatthispatternIjustfiguredout,doesn'titlook
likeclover?"


AfterabititwasI,pushingasmallsquareofpaperinfrontofhersothatshecouldseetheexcellenceofsome
stamporanotherfromEupenetMalmedy.Wewerefine,andlittlebylittlewestoppedthinking.Youcanlive
withoutthinking.

(Whenever Irene talked in her sleep, I woke up immediately and stayed awake. I never could get used to this
voicefromastatueoraparrot,avoicethatcameoutofthedreams,notfromathroat.Irenesaidthatinmy
sleepIflailedabouterroneouslyandshooktheblanketsoff.Wehadthelivingroombetweenus,butatnightyou
could hear everything in the house. We heard each other breathing, coughing, could even feel each other
reachingforthelightswitchwhen,ashappenedfrequently,neitherofuscouldfallasleep.

Asidefromournocturnalrumblings,everythingwasquietinthehouse.Duringthedaytherewerethehousehold
sounds,themetallicclickofknittingneedles,therustleofstampalbumpagesturning.Theoakdoorwasmassive,
IthinkIsaidthat.Inthekitchenorthebath,whichadjoinedthepartthatwastakenover,wemanagedtotalk
loudly,orIrenesanglullabies.Inakitchenthere'salwaystoomuchnoise,theplatesandglasses,fortheretobe
interruptions from other sounds. We seldom allowed ourselves silence there, but when we went back to our
roomsortothelivingroom,thenthehousegrewquiet,halflit,weendedbysteppingaroundmoreslowlysoas
nottodisturboneanother.IthinkitwasbecauseofthisthatIwokeupirremediablyandatoncewhenIrenebe
gantotalkinhersleep.)

Exceptfortheconsequences,it'snearlyamatterofrepeatingthesamesceneoveragain.Iwasthirstythatnight,
andbeforewewenttosleep,ItoldIrenethatIwasgoingtothekitchenforaglassofwater.Fromthedoorofthe
bedroom(shewasknitting)Iheardthenoiseinthekitchen;ifnotthekitchen,thenthebath,thepassageoffat
thatangledulledthesound.IrenenoticedhowbrusquelyIhadpaused,andcameupbesidemewithoutaword.
Westoodlisteningtothenoises,growingmoreandmoresurethattheywereonoursideoftheoakdoor,ifnot
thekitchenthenthebath,orinthehallitselfattheturn,almostnexttous.

Wedidn'twaittolookatoneanother.ItookIrene'sarmandforcedhertorunwithmetothewroughtirondoor,
notwaitingtolookback.Youcouldhearthenoises,stillmuffledbutlouder,justbehindus.Islammedthegrating
andwestoppedinthevestibule.Nowtherewasnothingtobeheard.

"They'vetakenoveroursection,"Irenesaid.Theknittinghadreeledofffromherhandsandtheyarnranback
toward the door and disappeared under it. When she saw that the balls of yarn were on the other side, she
droppedtheknittingwithoutlookingatit.

"Didyouhavetimetobringanything?"Iaskedhopelessly.

"No,Nothing.

Wehadwhatwehadon.Irememberedfifteenthousandpesosinthewardrobeinmybedroom.

Toolatenow.

Istillhadmywristwatchonandsawthatitwas11P.M..ItookIrenearoundthewaist(Ithinkshewascrying)
and that was how we went into the street. Before we left, I felt terrible; I locked the front door up tight and
tossedthekeydownthesewer.Itwouldn'tdotohavesomepoordevildecidetogoinandrobthehouse,atthat
hourandthedifferencewiththehousetakenover.