Chapter 38 encounter

For Suzanne Bombal Those who browse the newspapers every morning either forget them or find something to talk about that afternoon. Therefore, no one remembers the famous Maneco Uriarte and Duncan cases that were discussed at that time. As in a dream, this situation is not surprising; besides, it happened in 1910, when the comet appeared and the centenary of independence. After that, we have experienced and forgotten too many things.The hero of the incident is dead; witnesses have solemnly sworn to remain silent.I was only a teenager at the time, and I also raised my hand to swear, feeling the importance of that romantic and solemn ceremony.I don't know if people notice my promises; I don't know if they keep their promises.In any case, the following is what happened. Due to the long time and the quality of the words, it is inevitable that there are some discrepancies with the truth.

That afternoon, my cousin Rafinur took me to a barbecue at Laurel.I can't remember the topography of the manor; I just vaguely feel that it is a quiet town with lush trees in the north. The terrain slopes gently towards the river, which is completely different from cities or grasslands. I think the train journey is annoying, but We all know that children always feel that time passes too slowly.It was getting dark when we entered the gates of the manor.Find the old and basic things there: the smell of barbecue, trees, dogs, dry branches, fires that gather people around. There were a dozen or so guests; all adults.I later learned that the oldest one was under thirty years old.I also discovered that they were familiar with things I didn't: horse racing, fashion, cars, luxurious women.I stayed timidly aside, no one bothered, and no one paid attention.A hired hand roasted the lamb slowly and carefully while we waited patiently in the long dining room.There was a guitar; I remember as if it was my cousin who played the decaline to Elias Regules and the Gaucho, and the poor slang of the day, the poem It was about a duel with a knife in the Rue de Junin.Coffee and cigars were served.Nobody mentioned anything about going home.I felt the fear of "too late" (in Lugones).I don't want to look at the clock.To conceal the child's loneliness among grown-ups, I had a quick drink or two.Uriart clamored to play poker with Duncan.Some people objected that that kind of gameplay is boring, and it is better to play with four people.Duncan agreed, but Uriarte insisted on one-on-one with a stubbornness I didn't understand and didn't want to.I have always disliked card games, except for drawing three cards to pass the time and thinking alone to pass the level.I slipped out and no one noticed.A large, strange and dark house (lighted only in the dining-room) is more mysterious to a child than a strange place is to a traveler.I explored the rooms one by one; I remember a billiards room, a cloister with rectangular and rhombus glass, two hanging chairs, a window looking out onto a gazebo.I got lost in the dark; the owner of the estate—after all these years, I forgot his last name was Acevedo or Acebar—found me at last.Out of concern or collector's vanity, he led me to a glass case.When the lamps were lit, I saw that inside the cabinets were displayed white-bladed weapons, some famously used swords.He told me that he had a real estate near Pergamino, and he usually traveled between the two places and collected those things one after another.He opened the glass cabinet and introduced the history of each weapon without looking at the description of the card. It was basically the same, but the location and date were a little different.I asked him if among those weapons there was the dagger of Moreira, who was at the time a representative of the gaucho, as Martin Fierro and Don Segundo Sombola would later be.He had to admit no, but he could show me a dagger that was exactly the same, that is, with a U-shaped handle.At this moment, an angry yell interrupted him.He immediately closed the cabinet door, and I followed him out of the room.

Uriarte yelled that his opponent had cheated.The partners stood around the pair.In my impression, Dun Kan was taller than others, with thick arms and round waist, blond hair that was pale and pale, and an expressionless face.Maneco Uriarte was restless, bronze-tanned, with a haughty, sparse beard.Everyone obviously had too much to drink; I'm not sure if there are two or three bottles on the floor; maybe I have seen too many movies, and I seem to have this impression.Uriarte swears constantly, in sharp and obscene terms.Duncan didn't seem to hear; at last he grew impatient, stood up and punched Uriarte.Uriarte fell to the ground, shouting that he would never tolerate this insult and that it would be settled by a duel.

Duncan said no, and added as if explaining: "The problem is that I'm afraid of you." Everyone laughed. Uriart got up and said: "I will duel with you, now." Somebody—may God forgive him—suggested that arms were readily available and plentiful. Someone opens the glass case.Maneco Uriarte chose the most conspicuous and longest dagger with a U-shaped handle; Duncan almost casually picked up a wooden handle knife with a small tree engraved on the blade.Another said that Maneko had chosen a sword, which was in keeping with his character.No one was surprised that his hands were shaking at that time; but everyone was surprised that Duncan's hands were trembling too.

According to the custom, people can't duel indoors where they are, but have to go outside, otherwise it is disrespectful to the master.Half serious, half jesting, we went out into the wet garden at night.I am intoxicated, not because of the few drinks I have had, but because of the adventures I will see; I hope that someone who kills will have something to tell and remember later.At that moment, other people may not be much older than me.I also felt a vortex that no one could control, sucking us into it and making us dizzy.They didn't believe Manek's accusation; they thought they had a long-standing grudge, and this time it was nothing more than drinking to vent it.

We passed the gazebo and went into the woods.Uriart and Duncan were in the lead; what struck me was that they were on guard against each other, as if they were afraid of a surprise attack.We came to a lawn.Duncan said with a little dignity: "It's the right place." The two stood in the middle of the lawn hesitantly.Someone shouted at them: "Throw away those iron guys that get in the way, and fight with real skills." But the two have already handed in their hands.Clumsy at first, as if afraid of hurting themselves; they looked first at each other's weapons, then at each other's eyes.Uriarte forgot anger, Duncan forgot indifference or contempt.Danger had disfigured them; now it was not two boys fighting but two adults.In my original imagination, even if the duel was a mess of swords, lights and swords, it should at least be like chess, allowing people to see clearly, or almost clearly see its every move.Although so many years have passed, the scene at that time is still vivid in my memory, and it has not been diluted by the years.How long they fought I can't tell; there are things that are not measured by the usual time.

Instead of wrapping cloaks around their arms for protection, they took blows directly with their forearms.The sleeves were quickly torn into rags and stained crimson with blood.I think it was a wrong estimate to think that those two people were not good at this kind of fighting.I quickly discovered that because of the different weapons, they used different methods.To make up for the disadvantages of short weapons, Duncan wanted to stay as close as possible to the opponent; Uriarte stepped back so that he could stab with longer weapons.The voice that had earlier warned of the weapons in the glass case called out:

"They're murderous. We can't let them fight." No one dared to intervene.Uriart gradually lost the advantage; Duncan rushed forward.The bodies of the two were almost touching.Uriart's weapon was looking for Duncan's face, and suddenly it seemed to be shortened because it had pierced Duncan's chest.Duncan lay on the lawn and said in a low voice: "It's weird. It's like a dream." His eyes were open and he was motionless; I saw one man kill another. Maneco Uriarte looked down at the dead man and begged for forgiveness.He sobbed unabashedly.What he just did was something he never expected.I now know that what he regrets is not his crime, but his recklessness.

I don't want to watch it anymore.What I was looking forward to had happened, and it shocked me.Rafinur later told me that they had a hard time breaking off the dead man's fingers and removing the knife.They talked secretly.Decided to tell the truth as much as possible, except to describe a knife fight as a duel with a sword.Four volunteered to be witnesses, including Asebal.Everything is sorted out in Buenos Aires; friends and acquaintances are always there to help. Cards and banknotes were strewn haphazardly on the mahogany table, and no one wanted to see or touch them. In the years that followed, I wanted to tell a friend more than once about it, but I felt that I was more proud of keeping it a secret than telling it. Around 1929, a chance conversation made me suddenly break my long silence.Don José Olavé, the retired police chief, told me about Rediro's low-society swordsman; Before the duel described by Tierrez, there were few decent duels.I said that I saw it once with my own eyes, and then I talked about the incident many years ago.

He listened to my story with professional interest, and said: "Are you sure Uriarte and the other person have never met before? They may have had some past." "No," I said. "It was clear to everyone that night, everyone was surprised." Olavei said slowly, as if talking to himself: "A dagger with a hilt in the shape of a U. Two of that kind are known: one by Moreira and the other by Juan Almada of Tapagan." I vaguely remembered something; Oraway went on: "You also mentioned a knife with a wooden handle, with the shape of a small tree. There are hundreds of knives of that kind, but there is one..."

He paused for a moment, then added: "Mr. Acevedo owns a property near Pergamino. At the end of the last century, there was a famous swordsman in that area: Juan Almanza. He killed people at the age of fourteen, and he has been using that kind of sword ever since. A short knife, said to bring him good luck. Juan Almanza and Juan Almada had a feud because people often confused them. They sought revenge for years but never met. Later, Juan Almanza died of a stray bullet during a campaign riot. I remember another dying in the hospital in Las Flores." There was no further discussion of the matter that afternoon.We are all thinking. A dozen or so dead people saw what I saw—a man with a long knife in the open, lying in the open—but they saw the end of an even older story.Maneco Uriarte did not kill Duncan; it was the knives that were fighting, not the people.The two weapons sleep side by side in a glass case until awakened by human touch.They may have been very excited when they woke up; so Uriart's hand trembled, and Duncan's also trembled.The two men—not their weapons, but themselves—were good at fighting, and the fight was fierce that night.They searched for each other for many years in the vast world, and finally found each other when their gaucho ancestors had turned into ashes.Men's vendettas sleep in their weapons, watching for opportunities. Objects live longer than people.Who knows if the story ends here, who knows if those objects will meet again.