At the age of thirteen, Mario got a job in a store in the neighborhood of Patronato. He traveled there every day, conquering a new territory. Little by little the game board got bigger, and, as in Monopoly, the city was traversed and colonized by the siblings and by the game of secrets. One of Mario’s brothers worked as a parking lot attendant at the National Stadium, so they were able to move their playing pieces to Ñuñoa. Then they worked as vendors in open-air markets in different districts. Then they moved to La Cisterna. Then they left La Cisterna. Then they moved to Conchalí. Then they went their separate ways and Mario ended up at a parish house in El Salto where he was taken in by a Spanish priest. Then other houses. Other neighborhoods. Other neighbors. Other friends. And so on from square to square, level to level, life to life.
As I write this, my son is celebrating his fifteenth birthday with some friends. They’re in the dining room, eating and laughing. I can hear them from here. They’ve known each other since they were five years old. They’ve grown up together, gone to school together, lost their baby teeth, seen each other’s pimples appear, gotten into music, sports, girls, city life, and because of all that, and other things, too, they call themselves friends now. An unbroken thread of history runs through their relationship. I’m sure there are many zones in each of them that are unknown to my son, but I have no doubt that their names are their names, their parents their parents, their houses their houses, and their lives their lives.
Mario moved into 5707 Janequeo early in 1983. The house was located across from a clinic. It was an old terraced house of adobe and brick, with two inner yards where fruit trees grew. Here they shared the game board with new players. Uncle José, whose real name was Hugo, and who wasn’t really Mario’s uncle; and Uncle José’s wife and three children, who weren’t really his cousins, though he had to treat them as if they were. Suddenly they were all living on top of each other. There were so many pieces of the game to coordinate that life in Janequeo was more fun. There were lots of kids and that summer they enjoyed the fruit trees, the plaza across the way, the pickup games in the street, the hose-offs in the yard, the big lunches at the dining room table. The old house was full of life. But despite the high spirits of the children on Janequeo, the times outside were complicated, with protests and pot-banging, and while the gang played, an unlicensed taxi parked on the corner every week to spy. Mario spotted it on his daily rounds and dutifully conveyed the information to his parents. And so, before summer was over, it was decided to attempt a strategic play. The aunt who wasn’t his aunt and her three children who weren’t his cousins would leave the country for Cuba, for their safety. Then, in May, a few months later, yet another new twist was introduced in the game. Mario’s mother, the only real thing he had left, would leave the country. A valuable piece had to be protected and the only way to do it was to take her off the game board. His mother traveled to Cuba and his siblings followed a few months later. Mario watched them leave with their bags and suitcases, and as he did, he felt the hole they left in that big old house, which wasn’t his house but a fake house, the house of a fake family with a fake life. There would be no more big lunches cooked for everyone by Uncle José, no more afternoons in front of the TV, or pickup games in the street, or hose-offs in the back yard. The game board was beginning to empty. For some reason, Mario didn’t leave. He stayed behind at 5707 Janequeo with Hugo, alias Uncle José, and Alejandro, alias his father Raúl, far from his real mother and his real siblings, carrying on the role-playing game, continuing the performance every day, until this very moment, at the table after dinner on September 7, 1983.
At 16:30 the first important move of the afternoon is made: Alejandro, alias Raúl, Mario’s father-not-father, kisses him goodbye on the forehead and leaves the house. He’ll be back later, he says.
At 16:35, Hugo, alias Uncle José, sits down with Mario in the living room and talks to him about his life as a student in Argentina, where he’s from. It’s a nice moment, but at 17:00, Mario goes to his room to try to study, because in this life of performances, trying to be a good student helps a lot.
At 18:00, Mario closes his books and thinks that Alejandro, alias Raúl, his father who isn’t his father, has been gone for an awfully long time.
At 19:50, Mario is hungry and leaves his room.
At 19:55, Mario runs into Hugo, alias Uncle José, in the kitchen, making banana shakes.
At 20:00, Hugo, alias Uncle José, says he’s worried that Alejandro, alias Raúl, has been out too long, as he pours two banana shakes.
At 20:05, Mario and Hugo, alias Uncle José, sit down to watch the TV news.
At 20:10, Mario gets up because the news is boring and goes to his room to listen to music.
At 20:15, Mario puts a Los Jaivas tape on his cassette player and starts to listen to Gato Alquinta singing one of his songs.
At 20:30, Mario hears shots in the neighborhood. He doesn’t turn down the volume or turn off the music. Gunshots, helicopters, and bomb blasts are something he’s heard occasionally in every neighborhood where he’s lived in previous lives, so there’s no reason to worry this time.
At 20:35, Mario hears shouts.
At
