Guardian, More or Less by Mario Benedetti The first person who spoke to her about the angel was Uncle Sebastián — a long time before the angel ever appeared. The first person who denied the angel’s existence was Uncle Eduardo. But Ana María was at an age when she believed in angels, so she allowed Uncle Sebastián to convince her that in addition to being an uncle on her mother’s side, he was a priest on God, the father’s side. And so she simply began to wait for the angel. Sebastián would say that she should call him Angel de la Guard, but Ana María would drop his last name, and just call him Angel, period. Perhaps she did this because the grocery store owner on the corner was named Manolo de la Guard, and she couldn’t accept that an angel could be related to that pot-bellied man. According to Sebastián, every man and woman, but above all every boy and girl, could have their own Angel de la Guard, or that is to say, a protective presence which would often warn them about some risk or remove them from the path of danger. But as the years went by and they stopped being children, men and women were becoming egoistic, sordid, and losing their genuineness and generosity, while their respective guardians were remaining on the path, as confused as they were forgotten. “Nonsense,” the atheistic and materialistic Uncle Eduardo would say, “only a dolt like Sebastián could believe in that foolishness. Actually, I care very little that he’s active in that sub-world of the pious and sanctimonious, but yes, I am angry that he’s taken advantage of my niece’s naiveté to fill her head with such silliness.” And Eduardo would speak to his brother Agustín, Ana María’s father. But Agustín had too many major tribulations with which to occupy himself besides such a dispensable topic like the status of angels. As for Sebastián, he would speak to his sister Ester, Ana María’s mother, and warn her against the ominous influence that her brother-in-law Eduardo could exert over his ten-year-old niece, thereby luring her away from her natural religious vocation. But Ester wasn’t taking sides either. In reality, it wasn’t a religious vocation that was leading Ana María to wait for her angel. Ana María would have waited for a Martian or a werewolf with the same expectation. It was just that Sebastián’s sermons made the presence of the angel more likely, a presence which for her didn’t have any religious meaning, but was more like the joyful coalescence of a beautiful dream. So that when the angel finally made his presence known, and Ana María, who that Monday was headed to school with her bulging knapsack on her back, saw him walking alongside her, she didn’t burst out in little, precociously hysterical screams, remain with her mouth open, or perform three forward rolls. Even though his green eyes did in fact light up, she simply said: “Good morning, angel.” He was dressed like an ordinary being — jeans, white shirt, blue heavy-knit sweater — but it didn’t matter, she knew it was an angel. Apparently, he also sympathized with her, because from that Monday on he accompanied her every morning on her route to school. On Sundays and holidays the angel didn’t appear, probably because there were no classes, or because angels rest too. In any case, Ana María kept the secret. She didn’t confide in any of her friends for fear that they would make fun of her, like when she told them that she talked to her grandfather’s dog, and although Trifón, for obvious reasons, wouldn’t reply with words, he would indeed smile at her, give her complicit winks or nod his head in agreement. She didn’t even talk to her Uncle Sebastián, the priest, about the angel’s presence, simply because she intuited that he in turn was going to pester Uncle Eduardo daily with the impertinence of his victory. This wasn’t what she was looking for, since, angelic subject aside, she truly loved her Uncle Eduardo and even felt a little sorry for him because he wasn’t capable of believing in angels. The truth was that Ana María was having a very good time with her new companion. He didn’t talk, and limited himself to observing with eyes that, like the sky, on some occasions were cloudy and on other occasions clear. She talked to him about her entire school day and also about everyday incidents. On certain occasions the angel smiled and Ana María then felt fully rewarded and happy. Still, life at home was less peaceful. Uncle Eduardo had vanished into thin air and no one mentioned him. Whenever Ana María asked about him, her mother would reproach her with a look. She was finally able to find out what the mystery was about. Uncle Eduardo was in prison. Curiously, Uncle Sebastián thought it was good that he was in prison and that’s why the subject couldn’t be discussed during breakfast, lunch, or even dinner, and above all when Uncle Sebastián was present, since Agustín wasn’t completely in agreement with his brother-in-law’s opinion and the discussion made the potato chips and the fried breaded cutlets indigestible. Uncle Eduardo was accused of a number of horrible things, but Ana María never believed them, and so she told the angel, whose look was affectionate and approving. One morning, Ana María’s parents pulled her aside and informed her that the three of them were going to leave the country. When? Tomorrow. Ana María didn’t ask the reason for this explosive news, first because she didn’t care very much and then because her first thought was for the angel. Being separated was going to be very sad for both of them. She dared to insinuate that she could stay with her grandparents so she wouldn’t miss the school year. But neither Agustín nor Ester allowed any excuses. It was already decided: The three of them would travel together. Ana María went out into the street for a moment. She didn’t have any hope of encountering the angel, but he was there nevertheless, as if he had known that she was bidding farewell. Almost crying, she gave him the bad news, and the angel’s eyes, as expected, became cloudy. Ana María had wanted to caress him, like she did with Trifón, but it’s well known that angels aren’t caressable. She confined herself to asking him if it wouldn’t be possible for him to travel with them too, and even added that Uncle Sebastián had told her that guardian angels followed their wards to wherever they relocated. The angel’s eyes became even cloudier and he shook his head with unexpected resignation. She felt a little disappointed; she thought he was more daring, more determined, more in accord. For Ana María the break was traumatic. When she was in Europe months or years later and her parents and friends of her parents would arrive from the street with winter on their shoulders and have a strong drink to warm up, no sooner did they stop trembling than they started to talk about their distant country. Streets, people, sun, books, classrooms, beaches, young women, pines, plazas, tangos, rainfalls, fog — everything was representative of nostalgia. Whereas for Ana María the country was the angel. He was her long morning walks. He was that transparent look that welcomed secrets and then become cloudy. Many nights she heard her parents and friends of her parents complain that exile was difficult. At that point she understood that that was essentially true. The first six months had been a hardship and they even went a little bit hungry. Not now. They were better off now; the father worked, and the mother too. Ana María herself had quickly learned the new language and didn’t have any problems in school. Little by little they adapted to the situation. Despite this, exile continued to be more difficult for Ana María than for the rest, simply because the angel wasn’t there. Even so, the unexpected reappearance of Uncle Eduardo was good news. She never dared to ask him if he had been released or had simply escaped. She preferred to think that he had escaped and, just like in a television series, he had submerged into the river and breathed through a small piece of hollow cane in order to save himself from the enormous dogs that were pursuing him. Uncle Eduardo was happy to see her. She too, but she saw that he was tired and unsteady, almost as if he was ill. On one occasion Ester asked him if he had heard from Sebastián and Uncle Eduardo seemed to become animated or perhaps flare up with rancor when he responded that he preferred not to talk about that subject. And then finally he revealed it: he had been an informer. Without much conviction Ester said that she couldn’t believe that about her brother. Ana María missed the angel: how much she would have wanted to tell him that impressive piece of news. Nevertheless, months later when autumn had finally arrived and Ana María walked along deep in thought beneath the chestnut trees of a very wide and crowded avenue, she felt overcome by a strange sense of well-being, as if suddenly that city had the same aroma as the old college street on the other side of the ocean. Before she saw him, she already knew it was him. Sitting on the bench was the angel, a little fatter and less pale, but luckily his eyes were now clear. Ana María couldn’t restrain a scream of joy and quickly started to relay every detail of her two years of exile, and also asked him a hundred questions. The angel listened to her patiently, but he undoubtedly became distracted from time to time. On one occasion during which Ana María took a breath, he had the opportunity to say: “I was in prison.” After her initial astonishment, she asked him if he had been a political prisoner. “Not exactly,” said the angel, “you left and I ended up without a job because I wasn’t authorized to follow you — I never knew why — and then, as a temporary mission, I was entrusted with the guardianship of a political prisoner.” Ana María almost couldn’t believe that the angel could speak. But it was true, he had spoken with a voice that had the same transparency as his eyes when they weren’t cloudy. She asked him what jail was like, and he said: “Horrible.” And since she had heard her parents’ litany about that subject many times, Ana María dared to ask him if he had been tortured. “Yes and no. Even though they’re specialists, in my case they couldn’t punish a body, but instead they hurt my memories, my love, my laughter. I’ll never forget the night my faith was ripped apart from top to bottom. I still haven’t healed.” Ana María asked him if he had been in the same prison as her Uncle Eduardo. “Yes, the same one. He doesn’t believe in me. You’ve already told me that he doesn’t believe in me, but I do believe in him; he’s an admirable guy.” Ana María was very pleased that the angel was offering Uncle Eduardo praise, but she liked that the angel was speaking even more. A talking angel: wasn’t it marvelous? Now, yes, exile was worth it. Even so, she was surprised that the angel, unlike her Uncle Eduardo, wasn’t impaired or nervous; he only seemed to be afraid of the shouts, the toots, and even the chestnuts that sometimes dropped from the upper branches. On the other hand, on those few occasions when the angel’s eyes became cloudy, Ana María seemed to notice a certain halo of cruelty. But it would be corrected immediately: it must be the logical resentment for having suffered. He never had wings, or at least they hadn’t been visible, but Ana María, who hadn’t noticed that professional deficiency earlier, only now found him to be anxious. The very fact that he could speak meant something, of that she was certain, but she couldn’t understand what that was. Nonetheless, even with those allowances she was satisfied, almost happy. A Europe with the angel was much more pleasant than a dull Europe without him. Just in case, she began to make plans. She was determined to save money to travel with the angel. At present she didn’t have any opportunity to save, because her parents earned little and no one in the family had permission to dream about trips and vacations, nor even an inexpensive bicycle. But she would work, she would find a way to earn a little money and save accordingly. Accompanying the angel to the mountains or the beach, entering some amusement park with him — one of those that are so spectacular that they are popular around here — all of this formed a future that had become attainable. Regardless, she had to admit that her communication with the angel wasn’t as free-flowing here as it had been during her earlier walks. Sometimes a week would go by without the angel making an appearance. Ana María lived in a state of constant expectation, and when the angel would finally appear she would force herself to hide her anxiety. She figured out that if the angel realized how much he was loved and missed, he could become vain, spoiled, pretentious; well, exactly the way it happens with infants, and especially little infants of flesh and bone. That is to say, Ana María proposed to watch over the angel’s education, to be somewhat of a guardian for her guardian. When he would finally appear, Ana María would pose discreet questions aimed at finding out what happened during his trips, but the angel had become strangely reserved. He only expressed some interest when she asked him questions about Uncle Eduardo: what was he doing now, was he working, where did he live. Otherwise, the angel listened to Ana María’s stories, perhaps less coherent than those of the year before, given that now she couldn’t overcome the fear of boring him. And when the angel would yawn without the slightest pretense, she felt that she was failing and her heart was being squeezed. She was in fact losing weight due to so much anxiety, and that was finally noticed by Agustin and Ester, who, since they continued to ignore the existence of the angel, could think of nothing better than to take her to the doctor, a fellow countryman, of course, because the others charge an enormous fee. The doctor looked at her not like someone who looks at a child who is completing its infancy, but rather how one looks at a flower vase without flowers. He caressed her head and started to ask her very silly questions about why she ate so little at home, whether she didn’t gobble down pastries too quickly during recess, and finally — winking at her mother — if she wasn’t in love. A big final guffaw. Ana María disregarded him so deeply that she didn’t even blush. However, when they went out into the street and Ester asked her how she felt, Ana María said she felt fine. The truth was that she was asking herself if, as the doctor had said, she wasn’t in love. In love with the angel, of course. She continued to think about that until they arrived at home, and there she ate abundantly, feigning a voracious appetite, just so that they would leave her in peace. This time the angel didn’t appear for ten days. Sometimes, Ana María would go walking with Uncle Eduardo, but they never talked about the angel. Yet on one occasion it was Uncle Eduardo who brought up the subject. He asked her if she was still preoccupied by that fantasy of Sebastián’s. She noticed that he said fantasy and not stupidity or foolishness, for no other reason than he didn’t want to offend her. Ana María only smiled and reminded him that she had always liked angels, so who knows. Uncle Eduardo laughed openly and commented that she was becoming very pretty and that soon he knew what kind of angels were going to court her. She didn’t dare tell him that her angel didn’t have wings. Furthermore, she suddenly felt a certain apprehension that the angel might appear at this very moment, while she was walking with her uncle, and that the angel’s presence would frighten her uncle. But not even a trace. Instead, he appeared the next day when she was walking alone, once again along the avenue with chestnut trees. Ana María had the impression that he was waiting for her this time also. She wanted to tell him about her appointment with the doctor, but the angel started talking first; he had been very talkative recently. “I was waiting for you because I wanted to tell you something, something important.” Initially, Ana María felt a chill, and then a strange warmth on her cheeks. She leaned against a tree to listen to his revelation: “I’m not coming anymore.” Ana María thought she hadn’t heard correctly. But he repeated: “I’m not coming around here anymore.” And since she remained silent, the angel felt compelled to add: “I can’t be your guardian angel anymore.” Ana María’s “Why?” sounded like a moan. “Because now I’m someone else’s guardian.” She took a deep breath before asking: “Another girl?” “No, another woman.” Ana María was overcome with quiet desperation. She felt capable of competing with another girl but not with a woman. To make matters worse, the angel’s eyes were gloriously clear, while on the other hand, her eyes became cloudy. “That means that I’ve been promoted,” said the angel, “being the guardian of a woman is a big responsibility.” “I congratulate you,” said Ana María, and managed to add: “But you’ll come by sometime, won’t you? Even if only to visit me?” “No, it’s prohibited,” said the angel, without the slightest hint of sadness. The next question was barely a stammer: “And what is the woman like?” “Beautiful, very beautiful.” It was at that precise moment that it seemed to Ana María that the angel now had wings. Not exactly on his back but in his look. He had the look of those who fly. Now that was too much. She had no other choice but to say good-bye and run off. She cried steadily for four days, although always in secret. On the fifth day, she was struck by the fear that so much anguish would make her thinner and that as a result she would once again be taken to the doctor who asked foolish questions. So she radically decided to stop crying. On the sixth day, already quite recuperated, she went out for a walk with her Uncle Eduardo. They didn’t go to the avenue with the chestnut trees. She suggested a different route, so they browsed through some street directories at the sidewalk stalls. Afterwards they entered a café. It was a pleasant, sunny day. The people looked optimistic and elegant. The sirens of the fire trucks were magnificent and sentimental waltzes. After urinating on the tree of their dreams, the bourgeois dogs emitted little barks of happiness before returning to their masters’ shiny boots. Even the police officers felt compelled to smile. Uncle Eduardo requested a beer and Ana María, lemon ice cream. “Do you know something, uncle?” said Ana María. “I think you were right all along. They don’t exist.”