Veteranas de guerra

“Veteranas de guerra” es uno de los cuentos de mi primer libro: “Mi familia y otros bárbaros”. Ésta es una traducción propia. Me llena de alegría que mis simples escritos se presenten en tres idiomas.

Veterans of War

At the beginning of the eighties we were almost completely reorganized*(1). Several chimneys were cleaner – due to industry stagnation and thanks to massive imports. “I´ll have two o´ ´em!”, together with other famous sayings, had been indelibly engraved in our middle class population, part of which flew to the States and on returning made planes arch with weight, as Luis Landriscina says in one of his greatest tales.
And as we were marching quite straight along the straight road of the order imposed, our strategists, in a nationalist paroxysm, had no better idea than resume the just cause of Malvinas*(2), and resume the possession of Malvinas, too!
The recapture was unanimously celebrated, though years later several voices were raised that claimed their timely vehement opposition to the military operation. Too late for unsaying!
Popular support was immediate, with demonstrations and moneyboxes in the streets, so that our soldiers would have all they needed. We honestly believed it was a heroic deed.
In addition, the media kept us well informed of how events were taking place: of how we were winning a hard battle. And as fighting intensified in the far south, we learnt Rio Gallegos would likely be bombarded, since it was our troops´ supply centre as well as the take-off point for the fighters that so badly damaged the pirate fleet*(3).
Considering such a threat, a preventive official campaign was launched in Patagonia, so that our fellow citizens would be well prepared. It included blackouts and mock attacks among other measures.
In Buenos Aires, they tried to create awareness of the necessity for cutting down on electricity consumption – a measure taken quite often, as if that were the solution to all the crises in our country –, and there were slogans everywhere fostering patriotism: “Together, to victory”; “Everyone on their own, defending our common cause”, just to quote a few examples.
News of the potential attack to the Continent spread like wildfire, soon becoming an unavoidable issue everywhere: at offices and restaurants, at factories and churches, and especially at those centres of aesthetic and ethical erudition, i.e. at hairdressing salons.
Many people tried to rise to the occasion, and even toyed with the idea of an air attack, as though this had never happened in the metropolis before*(4).
I´d specially like to focus on hairdressing salons because of the funny effect the case had on the middle-class mentality of some ladies who visit them. And more precisely, on that one in which one May afternoon in 1982 the affair was being discussed with theoretical enthusiasm, with the subconscious peacefulness of knowing the bombs, if the attack took place, would be dropped almost 3.000 km away.
The propaganda had soaked deep into the ladies who crammed the salon that afternoon. A feeling of security and trust in the regime´s initiatives could be sensed.
And regarding the imaginary bombardment on the metropolis, impassively argued a robust woman in her sixties, who was being coiffured, about the convenience of getting tables and beds strong enough to bear the weight of debris. Another younger woman, who had three children and was expecting, added it would not be farfetched to gather supplies for several days. A third woman, who was being manicured, contributed that she had overheard from a good source anti-aircraft guns were being located at Punta Indio, or Punta Lara. A spinster whose head was packed with small rollers stated that schoolchildren ought to be taught how to proceed in an emergency. An elderly woman, who briefly stuck her head out of a conical hair-dryer, asserted that, no matter how many bombs were dropped, nobody would dare to disembark after what happened in 1807*(5). A police superintendent´s wife, who had just been dabbed with a pot of reddish dye, emphasized that it was essential to keep calm and maintain discipline all the time.
Some of them said a lot; others said less, but all of them took part. And the stylists eagerly voiced their consent, and their confidence in the achievement of national grandeur, in peace and order, especially if that was what everybody thought, because “the customer is always right”.
But it sometimes happens that fate puts people on trial. While these good ladies were chatting placidly, at the back of the salon an assistant threw away a match, which she thought extinguished after lighting a calofier, and it landed on a towel that, with so many comings and goings, had been neglected on a gas container – gas mains had not reached the area yet.
The same assistant smelt her carelessness shortly afterwards, when little fire tongues threatened to spread and cause an explosion. And it was she who led the flight, shouting “Fire!” “Gas!” on getting to the exit. It is difficult to illustrate what followed. It resembled hooligans entering or leaving a stadium. Or perhaps, a cattle stampede during a rodeo. Or even perhaps, the pushings and tramplings seen years later when our cities were looted*(6).
Calm turned into nervousness; quietness, into despair; security, into panic. The survival instinct burst out, enervating even the most peaceful soul. And the flight turned out to be an extraordinary event. The second woman to reach the street was the police superintendent´s wife, who shoved her way through the door against one of the hairdressers, having chucked the expectant mother on the floor among rollers. The robust woman in her sixties strove to gain meters to gravity. The elderly woman, who had not taken the deafening helmet off her head yet, astonishedly asked if the bombardment had already started. A young woman nimbly jumped on one leg out of the chiropodist´s room, her other foot bare and adorned with little pieces of cotton between her toes. All of them jammed at the door, but jostling finally reached the street.
While the ladies behind pushed their way, those ahead cried out for help from the firemen or at least from someone with a fire extinguisher, waving towels and running to and fro on the pavement. Collective hysteria, however, roused more on-lookers than volunteers.
Among the latter, approached don Francisco, a figaro at the barber´s nearby, surprised but ready to help. He was shaken by the arms, with wild warnings that the block would blow into pieces.
Knowing how exaggerated some women can be, he was not intimidated, and little by little he pushed his way through the remains of the mob and into the shop. The towel was still burning, sending out quite a lot of smoke, so he turned off the valve to the gas container, threw the towel on the floor and put the fire out by stamping on it.
Then he came back into the street, where a bunch of anguished ladies were waiting for him; they were certainly better prepared for an English attack than for a little fire in a hairdressing salon.



Translator´s Notes:

1- It refers to the National Reorganization Process, name of the de facto government that took over power in 1976, after a coup d´e-tat against democratic president María Estela Martínez de Perón.
2-Name of the Argentine islands usurped by the British in 1833.
3-Term used in the past to refer to robbers of the sea. Here it refers to the British Navy – robbers of our land.
4-In 1954, the Argentine Air Force and Navy bombarded the heart of B.A. in an attempt to kill democratic president Juan Domingo Perón. Over 300 civilians were killed in the attack.
5-British troops invaded Argentina in 1806 and again in 1807, controlling B.A. for a while, but in the end they were defeated.
6-In 1989 hyperinflation led to social turmoil. Hundreds of shops in various cities were looted by starving mobs, but also by thieves who took advantage of the situation.