Part 12: Cuentos Completos 3

The driest wind in the world.
Salt mountains, desert, and an infinite horizon of red and brown.
A highway without an end.

Literary Critic: It looks like they were right all along. I really am a fool.

Literary Critic: Lise couldn't take it anymore and walked off. She left me, left the car, just walked into the desert without looking back. I couldn't stop her. I couldn't even explain. I don't even know if there was anything I could say. All I know is that the desert isn't a safe place for someone to go walking around all on their own.

Literary Critic: She had every reason to be angry. Why did I turn around? I let a stack of paper, a manuscript that might never even be published, destroy her perfect day.

Literary Critic: I can't even decipher these manuscripts. The writing, the literature-none of it speaks to me.

Literary Critic: Where is Archimboldi? Four chapters in, and not a trace of him. He's the book's most important character, so why has he disappeared from his own narrative?

Literary Critic: Why is Comala full of nothing but restless spirits? And why is it that the dead can talk to the living?

Literary Critic: What compelled Pierre Menard to rewrite Don Quixote? How can one man produce a text identical to another's, word for word?

Literary Critic: Why must the narrative unfold through these fragmented dialogues? Flashbacks, always with the flashbacks ... Where did Santiago and Ambrosio actually meet, if they ever met at all?

Literary Critic: Can you give me an answer, Mr. Aleph? Why is the world of words like this?

Literary Critic: Perhaps I've been looking for meaning where there is none ...

Literary Critic: I guess this was never the right job for me. I see that now. The publishing house is barely scraping by. And honestly, who still has the luxury of reading these days?

Literary Critic: It won't be long before the Antofagasta branch shuts its doors for good, and I can't do a damn thing to stop it. I don't even understand what I'm supposed to be doing! We all keep at it, but what's the point?

Aleph: If nothing about this place has meaning to you, then the simplest solution is to let it go.

Literary Critic: That's it? Yes ... I see. Thank you, sir ... You're-you're absolutely right!

Sunset. A crimson radiance spills across the boundless sands.
With a heavy sigh, Monique slumps against the car, burying her face in her hands. Footsteps crunch through the sand behind her, then the sound of leather soles on loose stones. She lifts her head in disbelief.

Lise: I'm so sorry, Monique. I shouldn't have left you alone. I ... I just needed a moment to pull myself together.

Lise: Come on, let's head back. You were right. There's still time to make it.

Lise: We'll still have time for dinner, and as an added bonus, you won't get fired! This isn't exactly the best time to be unemployed.

Monique: No. I'm the one that should be saying sorry, mi corazón.

Monique: Forget the publishing house. I'm done with that place.

Monique grabs the manuscript and, with firm conviction, tears it to shreds.

Lise: Wait, Monique! What are you doing ?!

Monique: To hell with these stories. To hell with everything else. Today's your birthday, Lise. All that matters to me is you.

Monique: Let's go. We'll follow this road, no matter where it takes us. Even if we lose our way, even if we never find our destination-I can't think of anything more romantic, can you?

Lise: Monique ... I ...

Monique: Hop in! I'm gonna give you a birthday we'll never forget!

Monique: You only turn 27 once!

Lise: Mi amor. This is already the most wonderful birthday gift I could've wished for.

Lise: This day belongs to just you and me. I'll remember it for the rest of my life.

The engine rumbles as the car starts up again.
The desert wind lifts the scattered manuscript scraps. Their torn fragments dance on the breeze, momentarily revealing their title-The Rise and Fall of Sanity, Recoleta. Then, as swiftly as it rose, the wind subsides, and the manuscript, the words, and the mysterious phone number on its back are consumed beneath shifting red sands.
A red sedan speeds down an unknown highway, shrinking from sight until it ultimately vanishes into the horizon.