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City Of Glass - New York Trilogy #1, City of Glass - 02

City of Glass - 02

Even before he became William Wilson, Quinn had been a devoted reader of mystery novels. He knew that most of them were poorly written, that most could not stand up to even the vaguest sort of examination, but still, it was the form that appealed to him, and it was the rare, unspeakably bad mystery that he would refuse to read. Whereas his taste in other books was rigorous, demanding to the point of narrow-mindedness, with these works he showed almost no discrimination whatsoever. When he was in the right mood, he had little trouble reading ten or twelve of them in a row. It was a kind of hunger that took hold of him, a craving for a special food, and he would not stop until he had eaten his fill.

What he liked about these books was their sense of plenitude and economy. In the good mystery there is nothing wasted, no sentence, no word that is not significant. And even if it is not significant, it has the potential to be so—which amounts to the same thing. The world of the book comes to life, seething with possibilities, with secrets and contradictions. Since everything seen or said, even the slightest, most trivial thing, can bear a connection to the outcome of the story, nothing must be overlooked. Everything becomes essence; the center of the book shifts with each event that propels it forward. The center, then, is everywhere, and no circumference can be drawn until the book has come to its end.

The detective is one who looks, who listens, who moves through this morass of objects and events in search of the thought, the idea that will pull all these things together and make sense of them. In effect, the writer, and the detective are interchangeable. The reader sees the world through the detective's eyes, experiencing the proliferation of its details as if for the first time. He has become awake to the things around him, as if they might speak to him, as if, because of the attentiveness he now brings to them, they might begin to carry a meaning other than the simple fact of their existence. Private eye. The term held a triple meaning for Quinn. Not only was it the letter “i,” standing for “investigator, it was “I” in the upper case, the tiny life-bud buried in the body of the breathing self. At the same time, it was also the physical eye of the writer, the eye of the man who looks out from himself into the world and demands that the world reveal itself to him. For five years now, Quinn had been living in the grip of this pun.

He had, of course, long ago stopped thinking of himself as real. If he lived now in the world at all, it was only at one remove, through the imaginary person of Max Work. His detective necessarily had to be real. The nature of the books demanded it. If Quinn had allowed himself to vanish, to withdraw into the confines of a strange and hermetic life, Work continued to live in .the world of others, and the more Quinn seemed to vanish, the more persistent Work's presence in that world became. Whereas Quinn tended to feel out of place in his own skin, Work was aggressive, quick-tongued, at home in whatever spot he happened to find himself. The very things that caused problems for Quinn, Work took for granted, and he walked through the mayhem of his adventures with an ease and indifference that never failed to impress his creator. It was not precisely that Quinn wanted to be Work, or even to be like him, but it reassured him to pretend to be Work as he was writing his books, to know that he had it in him to be Work if he ever chose to be, even if only in his mind.

That night, as he at last drifted off to sleep, Quinn tried to imagine what Work would have said to the stranger on the phone. In his dream, which he later forgot, he found himself alone in a room, firing a pistol into a bare white wall.

The following night, Quinn was caught off guard. He had thought the incident, was over and was not expecting the stranger to call again. As it happened, he was sitting on the toilet, in the act of expelling a turd, when the telephone rang. It was somewhat later than the previous night, perhaps ten or twelve minutes before one. Quinn had just reached the chapter that tells of Marco Polo's journey from Peking to Amoy, and the book was open on his lap as he went about his business in the tiny bathroom. The ringing of the telephone came as a distinct irritation. To answer it promptly would mean getting up without wiping himself, and he was loath to walk across the apartment in that state. On the other hand, if he finished what he was doing at his normal speed, he would not make it to the phone in time. In spite of this, Quinn found himself reluctant to move. The telephone was not his favorite object, and more than once he had considered getting rid of his. What he disliked most of all was its tyranny. Not only did it have the power to interrupt him against his will, but inevitably he would give in to its command. This time, he decided to resist. By the third ring, his bowels were empty. By the fourth ring, he had succeeded in wiping himself By the fifth ring, he had pulled up his pants, left the bathroom, and was walking calmly across the apartment. He answered the phone on the sixth ring, but there was no one at the other end. The caller had hung up.

The next night, he was ready. Sprawled out on his bed, perusing the pages of The Sporting News,_ he waited for the stranger to call a third time. Every now and then, when his nerves got the better of him, he would stand up and pace about the apartment. He put on a record—Haydn's opera Il Mondo della_ Luna—_and listened to it from start to finish. He waited and waited. At two-thirty, he finally gave up and went to sleep.

He waited the next night, and the night after that as well. Just as he was about to abandon his scheme, realizing that he had been wrong in all his assumptions, the telephone rang again. It was May nineteenth. He would remember the date because it was his parents' anniversary—or would have been, had his parents been alive—and his mother had once told him that he had been conceived on her wedding night. This fact had always appealed to him—being able to pinpoint the first moment of his existence and over the years he had privately celebrated his birthday on that day. This time it was somewhat earlier than on the other two nights—not yet eleven o'clock—and as he reached for the phone he assumed it was someone else.

“Hello?” he said.

Again, there was a silence on the other end. Quinn knew at once that it was the stranger.

“Hello?” he said again. “What can I do for you?”

“Yes,” said the voice at last. The same mechanical whisper, the same desperate tone. “Yes. It is needed now. Without delay.”

“What is needed?”

“To speak. Right now. To speak right now. Yes.”

“And who do you want to speak to?”

“Always the same man. Auster. The one who, calls himself Paul Auster.”

This time Quinn did not hesitate. He knew what he was going to do, and now that the time had come, he did it.

“Speaking,” he said. “This is Auster speaking.”

“At last. At last I've found you.” He could hear the relief in the voice, the tangible calm that suddenly seemed to overtake it.

“That's right,” said Quinn. “At last.” He paused for a moment to let the words sink in, as much for himself as for the other. “What can I do for you?”

“I need help,” said the voice. “There is great danger. They say you are the best one to do these things.”

“It depends on what things you mean.”

“I mean death. I mean death and murder.”

“That's not exactly my line,” said Quinn. “I don't go around killing people.”

“No,” said the voice petulantly. “I mean the reverse.”

“Someone is going to kill you?”

“Yes, kill me. That's right. I am going to be murdered.”

“And you want me to protect you?”

“To protect me, yes. And to find the man who is, going to do it.”

“You don't know who it is?”

“I know, yes. Of course I know. But I don't know where he is.”

“Can you tell me about it?”

“Not now. Not on the phone. There is great danger. You must come here.”

“How about tomorrow?”

“Good. Tomorrow. Early tomorrow. In the morning.”

“Ten o'clock?”

“Good. Ten o'clock.” The voice gave an address on East 69th Street. “Don't forget, Mr. Auster. You must come.”

“Don't ‘worry,” said Quinn. “I'll be there.”

2 The next morning, Quinn woke up earlier than he had in several weeks. As he drank his coffee, buttered his toast, and read through the baseball scores in the paper (the Mets had lost again, two to one, on a ninth inning error), it did not occur to him that he was going to show up for his appointment. Even that locution, his appointment, seemed odd to him. It wasn't his appointment, it was Paul Auster's. And who that person was he had no idea. Nevertheless, as time wore on he found himself doing a good imitation of a man preparing to go out. He cleared the table of the breakfast dishes, tossed the newspaper on the couch, went into the bathroom, showered, shaved, went on to the bedroom wrapped in two towels, opened the closet, and picked out his clothes for the day. He found himself tending toward a jacket and tie. Quinn had not worn a tie since the funerals of his wife and son, and he could not even remember if he still owned one. But there it was, hanging amidst the debris of his wardrobe. He dismissed a white shirt as too formal, however, and instead chose a gray and red check affair to go with the gray tie. He put them on in a kind of trance. It was not until he had his hand on the doorknob that he began to suspect what he was doing. “I seem to be going out,” he said to himself. “But if I am going out, where exactly am I going?” An hour later, as he climbed from the number 4 bus at 70th Street and Fifth Avenue, he still had not answered the question. To one side of him was the park, green in the morning sun, with sharp, fleeting shadows;



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City of Glass - 02

Even before he became William Wilson, Quinn had been a devoted reader of mystery novels. Incluso antes de convertirse en William Wilson, Quinn había sido un devoto lector de novelas de misterio. He knew that most of them were poorly written, that most could not stand up to even the vaguest sort of examination, but still, it was the form that appealed to him, and it was the rare, unspeakably bad mystery that he would refuse to read. Sabía que la mayoría de ellos estaban mal escritos, que la mayoría no podía resistir ni siquiera el tipo de examen más vago, pero aun así, era la forma lo que le atraía, y era el misterio raro e indescriptiblemente malo que se negaría a resolver. leer. Whereas his taste in other books was rigorous, demanding to the point of narrow-mindedness, with these works he showed almost no discrimination whatsoever. Mientras que su gusto en otros libros era riguroso, exigente hasta el punto de la estrechez de miras, con estos trabajos casi no mostró discriminación alguna. When he was in the right mood, he had little trouble reading ten or twelve of them in a row. Cuando estaba de buen humor, no tenía problemas para leer diez o doce de ellos seguidos. It was a kind of hunger that took hold of him, a craving for a special food, and he would not stop until he had eaten his fill. Fue una especie de hambre lo que se apoderó de él, un anhelo por un alimento especial, y no paraba hasta saciarse.

What he liked about these books was their sense of plenitude and economy. Lo que le gustaba de estos libros era su sentido de plenitud y economía. In the good mystery there is nothing wasted, no sentence, no word that is not significant. En el buen misterio no hay desperdicio, ni frase, ni palabra que no sea significativa. And even if it is not significant, it has the potential to be so—which amounts to the same thing. E incluso si no es significativo, tiene el potencial de serlo, lo que equivale a lo mismo. The world of the book comes to life, seething with possibilities, with secrets and contradictions. El mundo del libro cobra vida, lleno de posibilidades, de secretos y contradicciones. Since everything seen or said, even the slightest, most trivial thing, can bear a connection to the outcome of the story, nothing must be overlooked. Dado que todo lo que se ve o se dice, incluso la cosa más insignificante y trivial, puede tener una conexión con el desenlace de la historia, nada debe pasarse por alto. Everything becomes essence; the center of the book shifts with each event that propels it forward. Todo se vuelve esencia; el centro del libro cambia con cada evento que lo impulsa hacia adelante. The center, then, is everywhere, and no circumference can be drawn until the book has come to its end. El centro, pues, está en todas partes, y no se puede trazar ninguna circunferencia hasta que el libro haya llegado a su fin.

The detective is one who looks, who listens, who moves through this morass of objects and events in search of the thought, the idea that will pull all these things together and make sense of them. El detective es alguien que mira, que escucha, que se mueve a través de este pantano de objetos y eventos en busca del pensamiento, la idea que unirá todas estas cosas y les dará sentido. In effect, the writer, and the detective are interchangeable. En efecto, el escritor y el detective son intercambiables. The reader sees the world through the detective's eyes, experiencing the proliferation of its details as if for the first time. El lector ve el mundo a través de los ojos del detective, experimentando la proliferación de sus detalles como si fuera la primera vez. He has become awake to the things around him, as if they might speak to him, as if, because of the attentiveness he now brings to them, they might begin to carry a meaning other than the simple fact of their existence. Se ha vuelto consciente de las cosas que lo rodean, como si pudieran hablarle, como si, debido a la atención que ahora les brinda, pudieran comenzar a tener un significado diferente al simple hecho de su existencia. Private eye. Detective privado. The term held a triple meaning for Quinn. El término tenía un triple significado para Quinn. Not only was it the letter “i,” standing for “investigator, it was “I” in the upper case, the tiny life-bud buried in the body of the breathing self. No solo era la letra "i", que significa "investigador", era "I" en mayúsculas, el pequeño brote de vida enterrado en el cuerpo del yo que respira. At the same time, it was also the physical eye of the writer, the eye of the man who looks out from himself into the world and demands that the world reveal itself to him. Al mismo tiempo, era también el ojo físico del escritor, el ojo del hombre que mira desde sí mismo al mundo y exige que el mundo se le revele. For five years now, Quinn had been living in the grip of this pun. Durante cinco años, Quinn había estado viviendo bajo las garras de este juego de palabras.

He had, of course, long ago stopped thinking of himself as real. Por supuesto, hacía mucho tiempo que había dejado de pensar en sí mismo como real. If he lived now in the world at all, it was only at one remove, through the imaginary person of Max Work. Si vivía ahora en el mundo, era sólo a una distancia, a través de la persona imaginaria de Max Work. His detective necessarily had to be real. Su detective necesariamente tenía que ser real. The nature of the books demanded it. La naturaleza de los libros lo exigía. If Quinn had allowed himself to vanish, to withdraw into the confines of a strange and hermetic life, Work continued to live in .the world of others, and the more Quinn seemed to vanish, the more persistent Work's presence in that world became. Si Quinn se había permitido desaparecer, retirarse a los confines de una vida extraña y hermética, Work seguía viviendo en el mundo de los demás, y cuanto más parecía desaparecer Quinn, más persistente se volvía la presencia de Work en ese mundo. Whereas Quinn tended to feel out of place in his own skin, Work was aggressive, quick-tongued, at home in whatever spot he happened to find himself. Mientras que Quinn tendía a sentirse fuera de lugar en su propia piel, Work era agresivo, de lengua rápida, y se sentía cómodo en cualquier lugar en el que se encontrara. The very things that caused problems for Quinn, Work took for granted, and he walked through the mayhem of his adventures with an ease and indifference that never failed to impress his creator. Las mismas cosas que le causaron problemas a Quinn, Work las dio por sentadas, y caminó a través del caos de sus aventuras con una facilidad e indiferencia que nunca dejó de impresionar a su creador. It was not precisely that Quinn wanted to be Work, or even to be like him, but it reassured him to pretend to be Work as he was writing his books, to know that he had it in him to be Work if he ever chose to be, even if only in his mind. No era precisamente que Quinn quisiera ser Trabajo, o incluso ser como él, pero le tranquilizaba fingir ser Trabajo mientras escribía sus libros, saber que tenía la capacidad de ser Trabajo si alguna vez decidía hacerlo. ser, aunque sólo sea en su mente.

That night, as he at last drifted off to sleep, Quinn tried to imagine what Work would have said to the stranger on the phone. Esa noche, cuando finalmente se quedó dormido, Quinn trató de imaginar qué le habría dicho Work al extraño por teléfono. In his dream, which he later forgot, he found himself alone in a room, firing a pistol into a bare white wall. En su sueño, que luego olvidó, se encontraba solo en una habitación, disparando una pistola contra una pared blanca y desnuda.

The following night, Quinn was caught off guard. La noche siguiente, Quinn fue tomado por sorpresa. He had thought the incident, was over and was not expecting the stranger to call again. Había pensado que el incidente había terminado y no esperaba que el extraño volviera a llamar. As it happened, he was sitting on the toilet, in the act of expelling a turd, when the telephone rang. Dio la casualidad de que estaba sentado en el inodoro, en el acto de expulsar una mierda, cuando sonó el teléfono. It was somewhat later than the previous night, perhaps ten or twelve minutes before one. Era algo más tarde que la noche anterior, tal vez diez o doce minutos antes de la una. Quinn had just reached the chapter that tells of Marco Polo's journey from Peking to Amoy, and the book was open on his lap as he went about his business in the tiny bathroom. Quinn acababa de llegar al capítulo que cuenta el viaje de Marco Polo desde Pekín a Amoy, y el libro estaba abierto en su regazo mientras se ocupaba de sus asuntos en el diminuto baño. The ringing of the telephone came as a distinct irritation. El timbre del teléfono llegó como una clara irritación. To answer it promptly would mean getting up without wiping himself, and he was loath to walk across the apartment in that state. Contestar con prontitud significaría levantarse sin limpiarse, y detestaba caminar por el apartamento en ese estado. On the other hand, if he finished what he was doing at his normal speed, he would not make it to the phone in time. Por otro lado, si terminaba lo que estaba haciendo a su velocidad normal, no llegaría al teléfono a tiempo. In spite of this, Quinn found himself reluctant to move. A pesar de esto, Quinn se mostró reacio a moverse. The telephone was not his favorite object, and more than once he had considered getting rid of his. El teléfono no era su objeto favorito, y más de una vez se había planteado deshacerse del suyo. What he disliked most of all was its tyranny. Lo que más le disgustaba de todo era su tiranía. Not only did it have the power to interrupt him against his will, but inevitably he would give in to its command. No solo tenía el poder de interrumpirlo en contra de su voluntad, sino que inevitablemente cedería a sus órdenes. This time, he decided to resist. Esta vez, decidió resistir. By the third ring, his bowels were empty. Al tercer timbre, sus entrañas estaban vacías. By the fourth ring, he had succeeded in wiping himself By the fifth ring, he had pulled up his pants, left the bathroom, and was walking calmly across the apartment. Al cuarto timbrazo, había logrado limpiarse. Al quinto timbrazo, se había subido los pantalones, salió del baño y caminaba tranquilamente por el apartamento. He answered the phone on the sixth ring, but there was no one at the other end. Contestó el teléfono al sexto timbre, pero no había nadie al otro lado. The caller had hung up. La persona que llamó había colgado.

The next night, he was ready. A la noche siguiente, estaba listo. Sprawled out on his bed, perusing the pages of The Sporting News,_ he waited for the stranger to call a third time. Tumbado en su cama, hojeando las páginas de The Sporting News, esperó a que el desconocido llamara por tercera vez. Every now and then, when his nerves got the better of him, he would stand up and pace about the apartment. De vez en cuando, cuando los nervios lo superaban, se ponía de pie y paseaba por el apartamento. He put on a record—Haydn's opera Il Mondo della_ Luna—_and listened to it from start to finish. Puso un disco, la ópera Il Mondo della_Luna de Haydn, y lo escuchó de principio a fin. He waited and waited. Esperó y esperó. At two-thirty, he finally gave up and went to sleep. A las dos y media, finalmente se dio por vencido y se fue a dormir.

He waited the next night, and the night after that as well. Esperó la noche siguiente, y la noche siguiente también. Just as he was about to abandon his scheme, realizing that he had been wrong in all his assumptions, the telephone rang again. Justo cuando estaba a punto de abandonar su plan, al darse cuenta de que se había equivocado en todas sus suposiciones, volvió a sonar el teléfono. It was May nineteenth. Era el diecinueve de mayo. He would remember the date because it was his parents' anniversary—or would have been, had his parents been alive—and his mother had once told him that he had been conceived on her wedding night. Recordaría la fecha porque era el aniversario de sus padres, o lo habría sido, si sus padres hubieran estado vivos, y su madre le había dicho una vez que había sido concebido en su noche de bodas. This fact had always appealed to him—being able to pinpoint the first moment of his existence and over the years he had privately celebrated his birthday on that day. Este hecho siempre lo había atraído: poder señalar el primer momento de su existencia y, a lo largo de los años, había celebrado en privado su cumpleaños ese día. This time it was somewhat earlier than on the other two nights—not yet eleven o'clock—and as he reached for the phone he assumed it was someone else. Esta vez era un poco más temprano que las otras dos noches —todavía no eran las once— y cuando cogió el teléfono supuso que era otra persona.

“Hello?” he said. "¿Hola?" él dijo.

Again, there was a silence on the other end. Nuevamente, hubo un silencio en el otro extremo. Quinn knew at once that it was the stranger. Quinn supo de inmediato que era el extraño.

“Hello?” he said again. "¿Hola?" dijo de nuevo. “What can I do for you?” "¿Qué puedo hacer por ti?"

“Yes,” said the voice at last. "Sí", dijo la voz al fin. The same mechanical whisper, the same desperate tone. El mismo susurro mecánico, el mismo tono desesperado. “Yes. It is needed now. Se necesita ahora. Without delay.” Sin retraso."

“What is needed?” "¿Qué se necesita?"

“To speak. "Hablar. Right now. Ahora mismo. To speak right now. Para hablar ahora mismo. Yes.”

“And who do you want to speak to?” “¿Y con quién quieres hablar?”

“Always the same man. “Siempre el mismo hombre. Auster. austero. The one who, calls himself Paul Auster.” El que se hace llamar Paul Auster”.

This time Quinn did not hesitate. Esta vez Quinn no dudó. He knew what he was going to do, and now that the time had come, he did it. Sabía lo que iba a hacer, y ahora que había llegado el momento, lo hizo.

“Speaking,” he said. “This is Auster speaking.”

“At last. "Al final. At last I've found you.” He could hear the relief in the voice, the tangible calm that suddenly seemed to overtake it. Por fin te he encontrado. Podía oír el alivio en la voz, la tangible calma que de repente pareció apoderarse de ella.

“That's right,” said Quinn. "Así es", dijo Quinn. “At last.” He paused for a moment to let the words sink in, as much for himself as for the other. "Al final." Hizo una pausa por un momento para dejar que las palabras penetraran, tanto para él como para el otro. “What can I do for you?” "¿Qué puedo hacer por ti?"

“I need help,” said the voice. “Necesito ayuda”, dijo la voz. “There is great danger. “Hay un gran peligro. They say you are the best one to do these things.” Dicen que eres el mejor para hacer estas cosas.

“It depends on what things you mean.”

“I mean death. Me refiero a la muerte. I mean death and murder.” Me refiero a la muerte y el asesinato.

“That's not exactly my line,” said Quinn. "Esa no es exactamente mi línea", dijo Quinn. “I don't go around killing people.” “Yo no ando matando gente”.

“No,” said the voice petulantly. —No —dijo la voz con petulancia. “I mean the reverse.” "Quiero decir al revés".

“Someone is going to kill you?” "¿Alguien te va a matar?"

“Yes, kill me. “Sí, mátame. That's right. Así es. I am going to be murdered.” Voy a ser asesinado.

“And you want me to protect you?” "¿Y quieres que te proteja?"

“To protect me, yes. “Para protegerme, sí. And to find the man who is, going to do it.” Y encontrar al hombre que lo va a hacer”.

“You don't know who it is?” "¿No sabes quién es?"

“I know, yes. "Yo sé que sí. Of course I know. Por supuesto que lo sé. But I don't know where he is.” Pero no sé dónde está”.

“Can you tell me about it?” "¿Me puedes decir al respecto?"

“Not now. "No ahora. Not on the phone. No por teléfono. There is great danger. Hay un gran peligro. You must come here.” Debes venir aquí."

“How about tomorrow?” "¿Qué tal mañana?"

“Good. "Bueno. Tomorrow. Mañana. Early tomorrow. Mañana temprano. In the morning.”

“Ten o'clock?”

“Good. Ten o'clock.” The voice gave an address on East 69th Street. Diez." La voz dio una dirección en East 69th Street. “Don't forget, Mr. Auster. No lo olvide, señor Auster. You must come.”

“Don't ‘worry,” said Quinn. “No te preocupes”, dijo Quinn. “I'll be there.” "Estaré allí."

2 The next morning, Quinn woke up earlier than he had in several weeks. As he drank his coffee, buttered his toast, and read through the baseball scores in the paper (the Mets had lost again, two to one, on a ninth inning error), it did not occur to him that he was going to show up for his appointment. Mientras bebía su café, untaba mantequilla en su tostada y leía los resultados de béisbol en el periódico (los Mets habían vuelto a perder, dos a uno, en un error en la novena entrada), no se le ocurrió que iba a aparecer. por su nombramiento. Even that locution, his appointment, seemed odd to him. Incluso esa locución, su nombramiento, le pareció extraño. It wasn't his appointment, it was Paul Auster's. No fue su nombramiento, fue el de Paul Auster. And who that person was he had no idea. Y quién era esa persona no tenía idea. Nevertheless, as time wore on he found himself doing a good imitation of a man preparing to go out. Sin embargo, con el paso del tiempo se encontró haciendo una buena imitación de un hombre que se prepara para salir. He cleared the table of the breakfast dishes, tossed the newspaper on the couch, went into the bathroom, showered, shaved, went on to the bedroom wrapped in two towels, opened the closet, and picked out his clothes for the day. Recogió los platos del desayuno de la mesa, tiró el periódico en el sofá, fue al baño, se duchó, se afeitó, pasó al dormitorio envuelto en dos toallas, abrió el armario y escogió su ropa del día. He found himself tending toward a jacket and tie. Se encontró tendiendo hacia una chaqueta y una corbata. Quinn had not worn a tie since the funerals of his wife and son, and he could not even remember if he still owned one. Quinn no había usado corbata desde los funerales de su esposa e hijo, y ni siquiera podía recordar si todavía tenía una. But there it was, hanging amidst the debris of his wardrobe. Pero allí estaba, colgando entre los escombros de su guardarropa. He dismissed a white shirt as too formal, however, and instead chose a gray and red check affair to go with the gray tie. Sin embargo, descartó una camisa blanca por ser demasiado formal y, en su lugar, eligió una de cuadros grises y rojos para combinar con la corbata gris. He put them on in a kind of trance. Se los puso en una especie de trance. It was not until he had his hand on the doorknob that he began to suspect what he was doing. No fue hasta que tuvo la mano en el pomo de la puerta que comenzó a sospechar lo que estaba haciendo. “I seem to be going out,” he said to himself. “Parece que voy a salir”, se dijo a sí mismo. “But if I am going out, where exactly am I going?” An hour later, as he climbed from the number 4 bus at 70th Street and Fifth Avenue, he still had not answered the question. “Pero si voy a salir, ¿adónde voy exactamente?” Una hora más tarde, mientras bajaba del autobús número 4 en la calle 70 y la Quinta Avenida, todavía no había respondido a la pregunta. To one side of him was the park, green in the morning sun, with sharp, fleeting shadows; A un lado de él estaba el parque, verde bajo el sol de la mañana, con sombras nítidas y fugaces;

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