Exercise 5

“Casa tomada” Julio Cortázar.

We liked the house because, apart for being spacious and old fashioned (old houses succumb
to the most advantageous sale of their construction materials nowadays), It kept the memories
of our great-grandparents, our paternal grandfathers and the whole childhood. Irene and I got
used to remaining in it, alone, which was crazy, since eight persons could live in that house
without hindering themselves. We used to do the cleaning in the morning by getting up at 7
AM and, about 11 PM, I let Irene the last rooms to clean and then, I went to the kitchen. We
used to have lunch at noon, always being punctual. Despite from some few dirty dishes, there
was nothing left to do. It was pleasant for us having lunch thinking in the silent hollow house
and how we were capable of keeping it clean. Sometimes, we thought that it was the house
itself which didn’t allow us to get married. Irene turned down two suitors for no particular
reason. Maria Esther died before we could get engaged. We were into our forty’s years old,
having the unvoiced idea that our simple and silent sibling’s marriage was a necessary end to a
line established by our grandparents in our house. We would die there some day; lazy and
distant cousins would keep the house and demolish it to get rich by selling the bricks and the
land; or even better, we would demolish it by ourselves before it was too late. Irene was a girl
born to not bothering anyone. Despite her morning routine, she spent the rest of the day
knitting on the sofa in her bedroom. I don’t know why she knitted so much. I think that women
knit when they found in that craft an excuse for doing nothing. Irene was no like that, she
knitted always necessary things; sweaters for winter, socks for me, bed jackets and vests for
her. She knitted a vest sometimes and she unravel it at any time, all because she didn’t like
something about it. It was pleasant to see a pile of tangled wool in the basket, resisting to lose
their shape. I used to buy her wool on Saturdays at the downtown. Irene had faith in my taste,
she was pleased with the colours and I had never returned any skein. I took advantage of their
trips for visiting bookstores and asking vainly if there was news in French literature. Nothing
worthwhile arrived Argentina since 1939.
I went to the kitchen, I heated the pot and when I got back with the mate tray, I told Irene:
- I had to shut the hallway door. The back of the house has been taken. She dropped the
knitting and looked at me with her tired eyes
- Are you sure?
I nodded. Then, she said, picking up the needles:
- We will have to live on this side. I poured the mate very carefully but she took her time to
resume her work. I remember that she was knitting a grey vest. I liked that vest. The first day
were painful to us because we left many things that we wanted in the taken part of the house.
All my French literature books were all in the bookcase, for example. Irene missed some folios,
a par of slippers that keep her warm in winter. I missed my briar pipe and Irene, I thing,
thought about an ancient bottle of Hesperidin. Frequently (but only during the first days) we
close some dresser drawers and look a each other sadly.
- Its not here.
And that was another thing among all we lost in the other side of the house.