HouseTakenOver(CasaTomada)byJulioCortzar TranslatedbyPaulBlackburn We liked the house because, apart from its being old and spacious (in a day

y when old houses go down for a profitable auction of their construction materials), it kept the memories of greatgrandparents, our paternal grandfather,ourparentsandthewholeofchildhood. IreneandIgotusedtostayinginthehousebyourselves,whichwascrazy,eightpeoplecouldhavelivedinthat placeandnothavegottenineachother'sway.Weroseatseveninthemorningandgotthecleaningdone,and about eleven I left Irene to finish off whatever rooms and went to the kitchen. We lunched at noon precisely; then therewasnothing left to do but afewdirty plates. Itwaspleasant to takelunch and commune with the greathollow,silenthouse,anditwasenoughforusjusttokeepitclean.Weendedupthinking,attimes,that that was what had kept us from marrying. Irene turned down two suitors for no particular reason, and Maria Estherwentanddiedonmebeforewecouldmanagetogetengaged.Wewereeasingintoourfortieswiththe unvoiced concept that the quiet, simple marriage of sister and brother was the indispensable end to a line establishedinthishousebyourgrandparents.Wewoulddieheresomeday,obscureanddistantcousinswould inherittheplace,haveittorndown,sellthebricksandgetrichonthebuildingplot;ormorejustlyandbetteryet, wewouldtoppleitourselvesbeforeitwastoolate. Ireneneverbotheredanyone.Oncethemorninghouseworkwasfinished,shespenttherestofthedayonthe sofainherbedroom,knitting.Icouldn'ttellyouwhysheknittedsomuch;Ithinkwomenknitwhentheydiscover thatit'safatexcusetodonothingatall.ButIrenewasnotlikethat,shealwaysknittednecessities,sweatersfor winter,socksforme,handymorningrobesandbedjacketsforherself.Sometimesshewoulddoajacket,then unravelitthenextmomentbecausetherewassomethingthatdidn'tpleaseher;itwaspleasanttoseeapileof tangledwoolinherknittingbasketfightingalosingbattleforafewhourstoretainitsshape.SaturdaysIwent downtowntobuywool;Irenehadfaithinmygoodtaste,waspleasedwiththecolorsandneveraskeinhadtobe returned.Itookadvantageofthesetripstomaketheroundsofthebookstores,uselesslyaskingiftheyhad anythingnewinFrenchliterature.NothingworthwhilehadarrivedinArgentinasince1939. Butit'sthehouseIwanttotalkabout,thehouseandIrene,I'mnotveryimportant.IwonderwhatIrenewould havedonewithoutherknitting.Onecanrereadabook,butonceapulloverisfinishedyoucan'tdoitoveragain, it's some kind of disgrace. One day I found that the drawer at the bottom of the chiffonier, replete with mothballs,wasfilledwithshawls,white,green,lilac.Stackedamidagreatsmellofcamphoritwaslikeashop;I didnthavethenervetoaskherwhatsheplannedtodowiththem.Wedidnthavetoearnourliving,therewas plentycominginfromthefarmseachmonth,evenpilingup.ButIrenewasonlyinterestedintheknittingand showedawonderfuldexterity,andformethehoursslippedawaywatchingher,herhandslikesilverseaurchins, needlesflashing,andoneortwoknittingbasketsonthefloor,theballsofyarnjumpingabout.Itwaslovely. Hownottorememberthelayoutofthathouse.Thedinningroom,alivingroomwithtapestries,thelibrary,and threelargebedroomsinthesectionmostrecessed,theonethatfacedtowardRodriguezPena.Onlyacorridor withitsmassiveoakdoorseparatedthatpartfromthefrontwing,wheretherewasabath,thekitchen,our bedroomsandthehall.Oneenteredthehousethroughavestibulewithenameledtiles,andawroughtiron gateddooropenedontothelivingroom.Youhadtocomeinthroughthevestibuleandopenthegatetogointo thelivingroom;thedoorstoourbedroomswereoneithersideofthis,andoppositewasthecorridorleadingto thebacksection;goingdownthepassage,oneswungopentheoakdoorbeyondwhichwastheotherpartofthe house;orjustbeforethedoor,onecouldturntotheleftandgodownanarrowerpassagewaywhichledtothe kitchenandthebath.Whenthedoorwasopen,youbecameawareofthesizeofthehouse;whenitwasclosed, youhadtheimpressionofanapartment,liketheonestheybuildtoday,withbarelyenoughroomtomove aroundin.IreneandIalwayslivedinthispartofthehouseandhardlyeverwentbeyondtheoakdoorexceptto

dothecleaning.Incrediblehowmuchdustcollectedonthefurniture.ItmaybeBuenosAiresisacleancity,but sheowesittoherpopulationandnothingelse.There'stoomuchdustintheair,theslightestbreezeandit'sback onthemarbleconsoletopsandinthediamondpatternsofthetooledleatherdeskset.It'salotofworktogetit offwithafeatherduster;themotesriseandhangintheair,andsettleagainaminutelateronthepianosandthe furniture. I'llalwayshaveaclearmemoryofitbecauseithappenedsosimplyandwithoutfuss.Irenewasknittinginher bedroom,itwaseightatnight,andIsuddenlydecidedtoputthewaterupformate.Iwentdownthecorridoras farastheoakdoor,whichwasajar,thenturnedintothehalltowardthekitchen,whenIheardsomethinginthe libraryorthediningroom.Thesoundcamethroughmutedandindistinct,achairbeingknockedoverontothe carpetorthemuffledbuzzingofaconversation.Atthesametime,orasecondlater,Ihearditattheendofthe passagewhichledfromthosetworoomstowardthedoor.Ihurledmyselfagainstthedoorbeforeitwastoolate andshutit,leanedonitwiththeweightofmybody;luckily,thekeywasonourside;moreover,Iranthegreat boltintoplace,justtobesafe. Iwentdowntothekitchen,heatedthekettle,andwhenIgotbackwiththetrayofmate,ItoldIrene:"Ihadto shutthedoortothepassage.Theyvetakenoverthebackpart." Sheletherknittingfallandlookedatmewithhertired,seriouseyes."You'resure?" Inodded. "Inthatcase,"shesaid,pickingupherknittingagain,"we'llhavetoliveonthisside." Isippedatthemateverycarefully,butshetookhertimestartingherworkagain.Irememberitwasagrayvest shewasknitting.Ilikedthatvest. The first few days were painful, since we'd both left so many things in the part that had been taken over. My collectionofFrenchliterature,forexample,wasstillinthelibrary.Irenehadleftseveralfoliosofstationeryanda pairofslippersthatsheusedalotinthewinter.Imissedmybriarpipe,andIrene,Ithink,regrettedthelossofan ancientbottleofHesperidinsIthappenedrepeatedly(butonlyinthefirstfewdays)thatwewouldclosesome drawerorcabinetandlookatoneanothersadly. "It'snothere." Onethingmoreamongthemanylostontheothersideofthehouse. Buttherewereadvantages,too.Thecleaningwassomuchsimplifiedthat,evenwhenwegotuplate,ninethirty forinstance,byelevenweweresittingaroundwithourarmsfolded.Irenegotintothehabitofcomingtothe kitchenwithmetohelpgetlunch.Wethoughtaboutitanddecidedonthis:whileIpreparedthelunch,Irene wouldcookupdishesthatcouldbeeatencoldintheevening.Wewerehappywiththearrangementbecauseit wasalwayssuchabothertohavetoleaveourbedroomsintheeveningandstarttocook.Nowwemadedowith thetableinIrene'sroomandplattersofcoldsupper. Sinceitlefthermoretimeforknitting,Irenewascontent.Iwasalittlelostwithoutmybooks,butsoasnotto inflictmyselfonmysister,Isetaboutreorderingpapa'sstampcollection;thatkilledsometime.Weamused ourselvessufficiently,eachwithhisownthing,almostalwaysgettingtogetherinIrene'sbedroom,whichwasthe morecomfortable.Everyonceinawhile,Irenemightsay:"LookatthispatternIjustfiguredout,doesn'titlook likeclover?"

 AfterabititwasI,pushingasmallsquareofpaperinfrontofhersothatshecouldseetheexcellenceofsome stamporanotherfromEupenetMalmedy.Wewerefine,andlittlebylittlewestoppedthinking.Youcanlive withoutthinking.

(Whenever Irene talked in her sleep, I woke up immediately and stayed awake. I never could get used to this voicefromastatueoraparrot,avoicethatcameoutofthedreams,notfromathroat.Irenesaidthatinmy sleepIflailedabouterroneouslyandshooktheblanketsoff.Wehadthelivingroombetweenus,butatnightyou could hear everything in the house. We heard each other breathing, coughing, could even feel each other reachingforthelightswitchwhen,ashappenedfrequently,neitherofuscouldfallasleep. Asidefromournocturnalrumblings,everythingwasquietinthehouse.Duringthedaytherewerethehousehold sounds,themetallicclickofknittingneedles,therustleofstampalbumpagesturning.Theoakdoorwasmassive, IthinkIsaidthat.Inthekitchenorthebath,whichadjoinedthepartthatwastakenover,wemanagedtotalk loudly,orIrenesanglullabies.Inakitchenthere'salwaystoomuchnoise,theplatesandglasses,fortheretobe interruptions from other sounds. We seldom allowed ourselves silence there, but when we went back to our roomsortothelivingroom,thenthehousegrewquiet,halflit,weendedbysteppingaroundmoreslowlysoas nottodisturboneanother.IthinkitwasbecauseofthisthatIwokeupirremediablyandatoncewhenIrenebe gantotalkinhersleep.) Exceptfortheconsequences,it'snearlyamatterofrepeatingthesamesceneoveragain.Iwasthirstythatnight, andbeforewewenttosleep,ItoldIrenethatIwasgoingtothekitchenforaglassofwater.Fromthedoorofthe bedroom(shewasknitting)Iheardthenoiseinthekitchen;ifnotthekitchen,thenthebath,thepassageoffat thatangledulledthesound.IrenenoticedhowbrusquelyIhadpaused,andcameupbesidemewithoutaword. Westoodlisteningtothenoises,growingmoreandmoresurethattheywereonoursideoftheoakdoor,ifnot thekitchenthenthebath,orinthehallitselfattheturn,almostnexttous. Wedidn'twaittolookatoneanother.ItookIrene'sarmandforcedhertorunwithmetothewroughtirondoor, notwaitingtolookback.Youcouldhearthenoises,stillmuffledbutlouder,justbehindus.Islammedthegrating andwestoppedinthevestibule.Nowtherewasnothingtobeheard. "They'vetakenoveroursection,"Irenesaid.Theknittinghadreeledofffromherhandsandtheyarnranback toward the door and disappeared under it. When she saw that the balls of yarn were on the other side, she droppedtheknittingwithoutlookingatit. "Didyouhavetimetobringanything?"Iaskedhopelessly. "No,Nothing. Wehadwhatwehadon.Irememberedfifteenthousandpesosinthewardrobeinmybedroom. Toolatenow. Istillhadmywristwatchonandsawthatitwas11P.M..ItookIrenearoundthewaist(Ithinkshewascrying) and that was how we went into the street. Before we left, I felt terrible; I locked the front door up tight and tossedthekeydownthesewer.Itwouldn'tdotohavesomepoordevildecidetogoinandrobthehouse,atthat hourandthedifferencewiththehousetakenover.