Then I spoke harshly of that stupid girl who hadn't taken the trouble to answer the phone
herself. Suddenly I decided it was my fault for calling too soon. The man with the booming
voice had answered so quickly, the telephone must be within reach, maybe even on his
desk. That's why he'd said, "We're working folks."
And what about me? Everybody worked, that wasn't so special. I tried to picture him,
giving him awful features: he was fat, florid, perspiring, and potbellied.
This stentorian-voiced fellow had served me an unconditional defeat by telephone. I felt
a bit depressed and wanting vengeance.
Afterward I returned to the balcony, resolved to ask the young woman what her name
was. She wasn't there. "Of course," I deduced optimistically, "she's standing by the phone
waiting anxiously for me to call.
With my spirits somewhat renewed, but also with trepidation, I dialed the seven
numbers. I heard a ring; I heard:
"Helloooowww!!"
Terrified, I hung up.
I thought: "This troglodyte can tyrannize me just because I'm lacking one thing: the name
of the person with whom I want to speak. I must obtain it."
Then I reasoned: "In the Green Guide there's a section where it's possible to use the
telephone number to find out someone's name. I don't have a Green Guide. Large
companies have the guide. Banks are large companies. Therefore banks have the guide. My
friend Balbón works in a bank. Banks open at noon."
I waited until 12:30 and called Balbón.
"Oh, dear Fernando," he answered, "I'm overjoyed and comforted to hear your voice . . ."
"Thanks, Balbón. But listen . . ."
" . . . that voice of a young man with no cares or obligations, duties or responsibilities.
Lucky you, dear Fernando, drifting along on the happy tide of life, not allowing external
events to disturb your peace. Lucky you . . ."
I can't prove it, but I beg to be believed: I swear Balbón exists and that, indeed, he talks
like that and says that kind of thing.
After having endowed me with such imaginary charms, he proceeded to portray himself
— without giving me a chance to talk — as a sort of victim:
Then I spoke harshly of that stupid girl who hadn't taken the trouble to answer the phoneherself. Suddenly I decided it was my fault for calling too soon. The man with the boomingvoice had answered so quickly, the telephone must be within reach, maybe even on hisdesk. That's why he'd said, "We're working folks." And what about me? Everybody worked, that wasn't so special. I tried to picture him,giving him awful features: he was fat, florid, perspiring, and potbellied. This stentorian-voiced fellow had served me an unconditional defeat by telephone. I felta bit depressed and wanting vengeance. Afterward I returned to the balcony, resolved to ask the young woman what her namewas. She wasn't there. "Of course," I deduced optimistically, "she's standing by the phonewaiting anxiously for me to call. With my spirits somewhat renewed, but also with trepidation, I dialed the sevennumbers. I heard a ring; I heard: "Helloooowww!!" Terrified, I hung up. I thought: "This troglodyte can tyrannize me just because I'm lacking one thing: the nameof the person with whom I want to speak. I must obtain it." Then I reasoned: "In the Green Guide there's a section where it's possible to use thetelephone number to find out someone's name. I don't have a Green Guide. Largecompanies have the guide. Banks are large companies. Therefore banks have the guide. Myfriend Balbón works in a bank. Banks open at noon." I waited until 12:30 and called Balbón. "Oh, dear Fernando," he answered, "I'm overjoyed and comforted to hear your voice . . ." "Thanks, Balbón. But listen . . ." " . . . that voice of a young man with no cares or obligations, duties or responsibilities.Lucky you, dear Fernando, drifting along on the happy tide of life, not allowing externalevents to disturb your peace. Lucky you . . ." I can't prove it, but I beg to be believed: I swear Balbón exists and that, indeed, he talkslike that and says that kind of thing. After having endowed me with such imaginary charms, he proceeded to portray himself— without giving me a chance to talk — as a sort of victim:
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