In the kitchen while a fire crackles in the living room under the faint sounds of Scriabin


Come in, please. I don’t want you to get cold out there.

It’s been too long, hasn’t it? I don’t think we’ve seen each other since my father passed. 5 years, then. Really? That long? Well it’s great to see you as always, even if you’re just passing through town. What’s this conference about up in Montreal? Ah…but you said you were speaking there, right? Congratulations, really. That must be exciting!

Me? You know, not much really since coming back from Santa Rosa. I ended up spending almost a year there with mama, helping her out after papa was taken from us. At first it was tough – she was lost, Rosario and I were lost. We weren’t really sure what to do with ourselves. But she too is strong, like my father was, and eventually it just became a question of me reassuring myself whether or not she could go on by herself. Yes, she still paints but it took a moment for her to amass the mental energy needed to get back into it. I now strongly feel that her painting has become a truly important and powerful outlet for her. So…I have faith in mama that she will overcome our loss. It will always stay with her, with all of us, but we also all know how to persevere and move on.

After that I stayed in New York for a couple more years helping out with Gloria’s exhibitions and various projects. Also tried to get some things published and well, that didn’t quite work out as you can tell! I then realized that I needed to really sit down with something and work on it for a longer period of time. And New York isn’t great for that, I think. Too much life in that city, too many activities, too many fleeting things to take up and then grow bored with. It’s a special place and I certainly miss it, especially the people, but I felt like I deserved a break. No…Gloria and I don’t really speak anymore. It’s for the better, trust me. She has her life going on and I must respect that. I think she’ll continue to do just fine in that city, though. Do you know what I mean? Yes…yes I remember when I first introduced you two. Well, I’m glad you seem to understand where I’m coming from with this.

Things have been slow with me up here but I’ve been enjoying the quiet, rural life. Maybe not the winters so much, as you can see right now all around you, but the Spring and especially the Fall here are remarkable. And I’ve finally started on this story I’ve been meaning to write for a while now. It’s about home, of course, about the era of the regime. It’s also mainly about someone I knew, who went missing during that period but managed to come back. His story is a frightful one but also powerful, inspiring. I’d like to see him again and discuss these things, given that they aren’t too painful, but I don’t really know how to get ahold of him. This book might take a while then, for I want to convey his story properly. I don’t know…I’m still figuring it all out.

Did you hear what Carlos Menem did today? I don’t even have the words for it but I think the absurdity and outrage here are quite clear. But news stories like these remind me, you know, that these things are still ongoing. It may feel like a while ago but the wounds are still there. They’ve just been temporarily covered up, with band-aids, if you will. And now they’re starting to peel off. No doubt there’ll be people on the streets in reaction to this. We are people who are still healing and trying to bring justice against that period of our history. And sometimes there’ll be roadblocks, bumps in the road as we can see today. Pardoning those ‘leaders’ doesn’t really help anyone here, let alone Menem himself. Not really sure what that fool is trying to achieve now.

But forwards, my old friend, we must look and propel ourselves forwards through time! The past has already happened and there is no use in always looking back, in dwelling, for the farther we get away from it, the more cemented the past becomes. And there is nothing we can truly do but come to terms with it. So that’s what I’m doing here. At least trying to do. Reflecting and using any realization I might have to move forward. Whether that’s healthy or not, whether this is all too idealist of a mantra or not, I don’t really care. I hope a similar mindset can be adapted by others. I think that would be nice, don’t you?

1 thought on “In the kitchen while a fire crackles in the living room under the faint sounds of Scriabin

  1. ssvolk says:

    So sorry to hear about your father, Ignacio. So now you’re by yourself listening to Scriabin? Don’t you miss the excitement of New York, or Buenos Aires, for that matter. The cultural scene in BA is really exciting these days, you should see for yourself. And Menem? I can hardly contain myself. I never trusted that gasbag pretending he was still 20 years old. Peronist tricks again and again. But this is the worst.

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