Ghost Story

“Men of Reason will define a Ghost as nothing more otherworldly than a wrong unrighted, which like an uneasy spirit cannot move on, -- needing help we cannot usually give, -- nor always find the people it needs to see, -- or who need to see it.”

--Thomas Pynchon, Mason & Dixon

I was eating a late dinner at Bar 61 with Eliana and her boyfriend Leo. It was a typically pleasant summer night in Montevideo. The Pampero was blowing stiff and cool from the south, roaring off the great, lonely plains of Argentina and over the River Plate, past fishing boats and cargo liners before funnelling into the wide, shady lanes of that city by the sea. We sat at a sidewalk table watching groups of people pass by on evening walks, mothers and daughters strolling arm in arm, young couples pushing prams and friends sharing warm mate.
I think she invited me out more out of pity than anything else. Uruguayans are like that – they can’t stand the idea of someone being alone, find it almost grotesque. So she invited me to come eat with her and her boyfriend on a Friday night. It was awkward and even more so because he and I had hated each other since shaking hands, but she was beautiful and I didn’t know many people.
“How did you choose Uruguay?” Leo asked, sceptically, as he tore a roll in two and used his end to pick a bite-sized piece of meet off the parilla sampler we were all sharing.
I had answered that question so many times that I recited my response as if I were reading it out of a book. Eliana looked on politely, smiling encouragingly and pushing a few strands of long brown hair away from her clear blue eyes. When I finished, I changed the subject and asked how long they had been together.
“Three years,” came Leo’s response, popping another piece of meat into this mouth and reaching down to rub her leg.
I reached over and took a sip of watery beer, more out of nervous habit than desire. When Leo didn’t offer any more, Eliana began to tell the story of how they met. It was another one that had been told many times. Leo stared off into space, not bothering to conceal his boredom. I liked how expressive her face was, how it changed and morphed according to what she was saying or which character in the story was talking. I could watch her face all night, I thought.
Unexpectedly, a shadow moved over it, darkening her eyes, stealing her smile, knitting her brow into a slight frown. From behind me, a dark, scrawny boy, or something that looked very much like one appeared next to our table with its hand out. I hadn’t heard it approach and was startled to find it right next to me, smelling faintly of mould and old shoes. It was a tiny, young thing, maybe eight or nine with an oversized head that looked like it had been shaved violently, in the dark. More than anything its gaze held my attention, or rather, didn’t hold my attention. The eyes were unnervingly dim, the stare vacant like an empty masoleum, rusted door creaking back and forth in the lonely wind that blows through the graveyard.
It looked toward us, but not exactly at us. Instead, staring at a space just in front of our noses so that I wouldn’t have been able to meet its gaze even if I had wanted to.
“Good evening. I come from a family of 10 and although my mother and father work all day we often don’t have enough money for food and clothes…” voice monotone, eyes flicking back and forth, no pauses for breathing or thinking because this had all been said one thousand, maybe one hundred thousand times before. But no one’s keeping track. The words had no meaning– they were just sounds being repeated with no more comprehension than a parrot, or a robot at Disneyland. “Me and my brothers and sisters work everyday in order to make enough money for our school supplies and milk for the young ones. Thank you for your time and God bless you”
Leo looked down at his food and my hand went instinctively to my pocket.
“What’s your name?” Eliana said with a big smile that, if it were fake, I couldn’t tell.
“Oh, for God’s sake, not now, Eliana,” Leo whispered.
She ignored him and asked again.
“Maicol,” The homunculus replied distantly as if speaking in a dream.
“I’m Eliana, Maicol, and I work with La Paloma. Have you ever heard of that?”
Silence, then a slight shake of the head.
“Well, we work with kids in this neighborhood who work in the street like you. On Mondays and Wednesdays, we come with books and games and balls and jump ropes and we do different activities. Does that sound like something you might like to do?”
There was a tiny glint in those dull, drossy eyes. They flickered up to brush her gaze for the briefest of moments. She was wearing eye-liner and her cerulean smile seemed to sparkle in the night. But the darkness rushed back in, extinguishing whatever it was I thought I saw and leaving only a dead, hollow stare like a high tide line on the sand that plummeted back to the ground, unwilling or perhaps unable to respond.
Eliana sighed to herself and grabbed a napkin. She quickly filled it with a few pieces of meat and a roll, then offered it to the skinny thing. It considered the food mutely for a few interminable moments then asked again:
“Do you have any money?”
“No, we don’t have any money,” Leo said.
Without saying another word, it flitted off to the other tables, leaving Eliana with her arm outstretched, grease beginning to soak through the bundled napkin in little patches.
“Do you follow fútbol?” Leo asked, popping some more meat into his mouth and continuing as though there had been no interruption. “I don’t mean American football, I mean real fútbol,” Eliana stared off into space, hundreds of miles away.
I gave another stock answer as I watched the wraith drift away like a dry leaf on the wind. It paused briefly at each table to stick out a filthy hand and repeat the same rapid-fire, robotic pitch over and over and over like a penance. Some people dug into pockets or purses to give him money, others dropped their eyes and shook their heads, as if refusing their food. I looked down at our own table and took a sip of watery beer, more out of habit than desire. When I looked back up, the boy, if that’s what it was, had faded away into the darkness.




I was eating a late dinner at Bar 61 with Eliana and her boyfriend Leo. It was a typically pleasant summer night in Montevideo. The Pampero was blowing stiff and cool from the south, roaring off the great, lonely plains of Argentina and over the River Plate, past fishing boats and cargo liners before funnelling into the wide, shady lanes of that city by the sea. We sat at a sidewalk table watching groups of people pass by on evening walks, mothers and daughters strolling arm in arm, young couples pushing prams and friends sharing warm mate.
I think she invited me out more out of pity than anything else. Uruguayans are like that – they can’t stand the idea of someone being alone, find it almost grotesque. So she invited me to come eat with her and her boyfriend on a Friday night. It was awkward and even more so because he and I had hated each other since shaking hands, but she was beautiful and I didn’t know many people.
“How did you choose Uruguay?” Leo asked, sceptically, as he tore a roll in two and used his end to pick a bite-sized piece of meet off the parilla sampler we were all sharing.
I had answered that question so many times that I recited my response as if I were reading it out of a book. Eliana looked on politely, smiling encouragingly and pushing a few strands of long brown hair away from her clear blue eyes. When I finished, I changed the subject and asked how long they had been together.
“Three years,” came Leo’s response, popping another piece of meat into this mouth and reaching down to rub her leg.
I reached over and took a sip of watery beer, more out of nervous habit than desire. When Leo didn’t offer any more, Eliana began to tell the story of how they met. It was another one that had been told many times. Leo stared off into space, not bothering to conceal his boredom. I liked how expressive her face was, how it changed and morphed according to what she was saying or which character in the story was talking. I could watch her face all night, I thought.
Unexpectedly, a shadow moved over it, darkening her eyes, stealing her smile, knitting her brow into a slight frown. From behind me, a dark, scrawny boy, or something that looked very much like one appeared next to our table with its hand out. I hadn’t heard it approach and was startled to find it right next to me, smelling faintly of mould and old shoes. It was a tiny, young thing, maybe eight or nine with an oversized head that looked like it had been shaved violently, in the dark. More than anything its gaze held my attention, or rather, didn’t hold my attention. The eyes were unnervingly dim, the stare vacant like an empty masoleum, rusted door creaking back and forth in the lonely wind that blows through the graveyard.
It looked toward us, but not exactly at us. Instead, staring at a space just in front of our noses so that I wouldn’t have been able to meet its gaze even if I had wanted to.
“Good evening. I come from a family of 10 and although my mother and father work all day we often don’t have enough money for food and clothes…” voice monotone, eyes flicking back and forth, no pauses for breathing or thinking because this had all been said one thousand, maybe one hundred thousand times before. But no one’s keeping track. The words had no meaning– they were just sounds being repeated with no more comprehension than a parrot, or a robot at Disneyland. “Me and my brothers and sisters work everyday in order to make enough money for our school supplies and milk for the young ones. Thank you for your time and God bless you”
Leo looked down at his food and my hand went instinctively to my pocket.
“What’s your name?” Eliana said with a big smile that, if it were fake, I couldn’t tell.
“Oh, for God’s sake, not now, Eliana,” Leo whispered.
She ignored him and asked again.
“Maicol,” The homunculus replied distantly as if speaking in a dream.
“I’m Eliana, Maicol, and I work with La Paloma. Have you ever heard of that?”
Silence, then a slight shake of the head.
“Well, we work with kids in this neighborhood who work in the street like you. On Mondays and Wednesdays, we come with books and games and balls and jump ropes and we do different activities. Does that sound like something you might like to do?”
There was a tiny glint in those dull, drossy eyes. They flickered up to brush her gaze for the briefest of moments. She was wearing eye-liner and her cerulean smile seemed to sparkle in the night. But the darkness rushed back in, extinguishing whatever it was I thought I saw and leaving only a dead, hollow stare like a high tide line on the sand that plummeted back to the ground, unwilling or perhaps unable to respond.
Eliana sighed to herself and grabbed a napkin. She quickly filled it with a few pieces of meat and a roll, then offered it to the skinny thing. It considered the food mutely for a few interminable moments then asked again:
“Do you have any money?”
“No, we don’t have any money,” Leo said.
Without saying another word, it flitted off to the other tables, leaving Eliana with her arm outstretched, grease beginning to soak through the bundled napkin in little patches.
“Do you follow fútbol?” Leo asked, popping some more meat into his mouth and continuing as though there had been no interruption. “I don’t mean American football, I mean real fútbol,” Eliana stared off into space, hundreds of miles away.
I gave another stock answer as I watched the wraith drift away like a dry leaf on the wind. It paused briefly at each table to stick out a filthy hand and repeat the same rapid-fire, robotic pitch over and over and over like a penance. Some people dug into pockets or purses to give him money, others dropped their eyes and shook their heads, as if refusing their food. I looked down at our own table and took a sip of watery beer, more out of habit than desire. When I looked back up, the boy, if that’s what it was, had faded away into the darkness.