Beginning in a small lifeless town in the barren Patagonia, the local denizens honour tradition by repeating the same limited number of gestures: the loitering at the back of the pharmacy, the sprawl on the bench in the square. The citizens travel along their invisible tracks all day, all the while passively observing the travels of others. Everyone notices a change of tracks, or a late arrival. A modest old car drives down the main street. It stops in front of the post office. A man gets out of the car and tries the door of the building. It is locked. He is early, or late, or the clerk is out for lunch. He drinks an espresso and a small glass of mineral water outside a cafe. Some old local faces stare. He watches the chess players in the square across the way. He is back at the post office; it is open. The clerk greets him:
“Ah, my dear Mr Sand. How are you this fine afternoon?”
“The zenith of bliss, Sanchez. The siesta ran a bit long today, eh?”
“I am sorry about the time. My witchdoctor prescribes rest.”
“Ah yes, how’s the gut?”
“It goes in and out like the tide. I was expecting you yesterday.”
“I was delayed in Chubut.”
“It happens to the best of men.”
“I make no such claim. Any mail this month?”
“Indeed. I put it aside as I was expecting you.”
“As you always do.”
“Here is your usual: another love letter from your 3rd wife’s solicitor”
“2nd.”
“I thought you were… well, I guess you should know… er, your electricity bill for $10,000…”
“You know you say that every time.”
“It amuses you, no?”
“Not really.”
“Ah, now you joke with me! Some bureaucratic-looking envelopes… no doubt associated with your romantic occupation.”
“The usual reports, thanks…”
“Before you resign yourself to thinking this month is the same as all months, I save the best for last: a letter from America!”
“That is a surprise. But I don’t know anyone in America… It’s addressed to my job… it’s not as personal as all that…”
“I am guilty of spicing the soup.”
“You, Sanchez?”
“I confess.”
“Save it for your padre. He needs the business.”
“Not in these parts.”
“Well, keep up the good work, Sanchez.”
“Before you go, Mr Sand, I was wondering about that letter of yours, from America. Did you notice the stamp?”
“It is an image of a lighthouse. An attentive touch, I’ll admit.”
“It is true, but I was looking at the date stamp. It was mailed only five days ago, from New York.”
“That is very efficient service, Sanchez. You must have been off that day.”
“My contribution notwithstanding, that is unusually speedy.”
“You should choose a hobby that doesn’t involve gin.”
“I like chess.”
“It is a good game.”
“It is.”
“Be seeing you, Sanchez.”
“Ah, before you go, Mr Sand… Perhaps I could indulge upon your philatelic philanthropy.”
“You want the stamp?”
“My collection would be so enriched with such an exotic specimen.”
“Will it now, indeed.”
“Many happy revolutions, Mr Sand.”
©Michael Mills 2007
