His name was Domingo Millón. Such a happy name – Sunday is a pleasant day, and a million would make anyone pretty contented. And yet there was no joy in his heart. When you spoke to him, instead of looking you in the eye, he'd stare at the ground in embarrassment. I suppose he hadn't been very popular as a child. But then I imagine it's the same story for any fat kid...
He worked in town, and went back to his mother's at weekends. He'd take a plane each Friday, coming back on Sunday night. One day, as he waited for his plane at the departure gate, flicking through a newspaper and enjoying a bar of chocolate, a woman came and sat down next to him. It wasn't the first time I'd seen this girl. Frizzy hair, large breasts, and a false air of confusion that wouldn't fool anyone. She always wanders this way and that before sitting herself down beside a solitary man. I greeted her once. It was raining, and I said: Miserable day for a flight. I was only trying to be friendly. She didn't even reply. But when she wanted to seem likable, she had no equal. Just ask Domingo. That day it was him she sat beside.
– Good afternoon, she said.
– Good afternoon.
She watched him, as if waiting for something.
– You're not going to ask me the question?
– What question?
– Why did I sit down next to you?
Imagine poor, nervous Domingo, not knowing at all how to act with this woman. Paralyzed by a kind of fear, due to his lack of experience in relating to others. His mother spoonfed him as a kid, sure she was the best mum in the world. Now there he was, mute, trembling, frozen to the spot. Lacking all social skills.
– There are lots of free places, but I sat down next to you. You don't want to ask why?
– Why did you pick this seat?
– Because you remind me of a teacher I had at school. He taught history. He was the best teacher I ever had, by far. You're not a teacher, are you?
– No, and I don't know much history either.
– Oh, I adore history. It's crazy how much a teacher can influence your personality. If it was the music teacher I liked, I'd probably play the flute. Do you know which year the Trojans annexed Armenia?
– Er, no.
– 177 AD. And when did the Mongols execute the last Abbasid Caliph? 1055. Ask me a question and you'll see.
– I don't know what to ask.
– Anything.
– I don't know...
– Ask me when Lenin died.
– When did Lenin die?
– 1924.
Domingo, though outwardly stammering, was leaping for joy inside. Here he was, talking with a really pretty girl! He couldn't believe it. When was the last time this happened? He couldn't even remember.
Continues in issue 19. Order now.
Translated by Mark Reynolds
