A Drama of Our Time part 4/4

A Drama of Our Time part 4/4

by Fernando Sorrentino

Translated from the Spanish by Michele Aynesworth

     "Oh, gweat! Dat's you, se๑or Castewussi . . . How you dooing, se๑or Castewussi?"

     "No, no, se๑or! Listen to me, se๑or!" He was about to blow a fuse. "The Castellucis haven't lived here for at least seven years, se๑or!"

     "You dooing OK, se๑or Castewussi?" I cordially insisted. "And da wife? And your widdle ones? Don't you wemember me, se๑or Castewussi?"

     "But who are you, se๑or?" In addition to being terrible, the monster was curious.

     "Dis is Bawwie, se๑or Castewussi."

     "Barrie?" he repeated, disgustedly. "Barrie who?"

     "Bawwie, se๑or Castewussi, da qwerk in da wibwawy."

     "What?! The library?!" He hadn't understood me very well: it was all I could do to keep from laughing.

     "Bawwie, se๑or Castewussi, Bawwie Wudder."

     "Barrie Rudder? What Barrie Rudder?"

     "Bawwie Wudder, da one dat got one eye cwossed and can't see wit dee udder, se๑or Castewussi."

     He exploded like an atom bomb: "Do me a favor and get lost, you idiot! Why don't you just shoot yourself, clown!?"

     "I can't, se๑or Castewussi. My aim is cwuddy, se๑or Castewussi. Da wast time I wanted to shoot myself in da head I accidentawwy killed a penguin dat was in da Antawktic, se๑or Castewussi."

     There was a moment of silence, as if, having gone raving mad, he was breathing in all the oxygen in the atmosphere so as not to die of apoplexy.

     Patiently, I waited.

     Then, at the peak of fury and strangling on his own rage, the fiend launched his heavy artillery at me, screaming, hurling the words so fast they were tripping over each other:

     "Go to hell, you siphilitic, blennorrhagic piece of Siberian shit, you mental misfit, you crusty pie-faced wanker, you parasite, you useless imbecilic son of a whore-faced loon!!!!"

     "I am so gwateful for dose compwements, se๑or Castewussi, muchas gwacias, se๑or Castewussi."

     He slammed the phone down with a violent bang. A pity, for I was enjoying his insults. It was delicious to imagine my enemy: red in the face, perspiring, tearing his hair and biting his knuckles . . . maybe even the telephone had been damaged by being banged so hard.

     I felt something close to happiness. It no longer mattered that couldn't talk to the girl on the balcony.

A Drama of Our Time part 1/4

A Drama of Our Time part 2/4

A Drama of Our Time part 3/4