Nineteen by Mario Benedetti Captain Farias?” “Yes.” “Don’t you remember me?” “Frankly, no.” “Doesn’t the number 19 mean anything to you?” “Nineteen?” “Prisoner number 19.” “Ah.” “Do you remember now?” “There were so many.” “Not always. There were only a few of us in the airplane.” “But you....” “Am I officially dead?” “I didn’t say that.” “But you think it. For your information, I can tell you I’m not a ghost. As you can see, I’m alive.” “I don’t understand any of this.” “Yes, it’s difficult to understand. And know that I’m not going to tell you how I survived. It seems impossible, right? You people work conscientiously and with every guarantee. But a flight is a flight and the sea is the sea. There are a number of seas in the world, but there are a number of worlds in the sea.” “Don’t talk nonsense. This can’t be.” “Indeed, it can.” “Why did you come? What do you want?” Farias was lying down on the ring surrounding his little garden. Number 19 was standing barely four feet away. “Nothing in particular. I only wanted you to see me. I thought: suddenly I’ll remove a weight from his conscience. One less dead, what do you think? Although you must have a few others who haven’t acquired the vice of resuscitation yet.” “Is it money you’re after?” “No, it isn’t money.” “Then what?” “To meet your family. Your wife, for example, who happens to be from Tucuman, like me. And your kids, too.” “That, never.” “Why not? I’m not going to tell them anything.” “Listen, don’t force me to get violent. It wouldn’t be good for you or me.” “For me? Why? There is nothing more violent than entering the sea like I did.” “I’m telling you, don’t force me.” “No one is forcing you. Was what you did before, so many years ago, carried out because of an obligation, systematic training, or was it spontaneous loyalty?” “I don’t have to give explanations. Not to you or anyone.” “Personally, I don’t need them. You did it for a not very strange reason: You didn’t have the balls to refuse.” “How easy it is to say that when it’s someone else’s balls.” “Well, well. I admit that’s a good line.” The other man loosened up a little bit; especially the tightness in his neck. “Aren’t you going to invite me into your ‘home sweet home’? I’ve already told you that I’m not going to tell your family about ‘our thing,’ and I usually keep my promises.” For the first time, Farias looked at him with a certain alarm. He saw something in the eyes of number 19. “Well, come on.” “That’s the way I like it. I’m not unaware that this gesture includes some anger.” Suddenly, number 19 found himself in an unpretentious living room arranged modestly, but also in bad taste. Farias called out: “Elvira!” And Elvira appeared, a woman who was still young and had a certain attractiveness. “This friend,” said Farias, more or less confused, “is a fellow countryman of yours.” “Ah, really?” said the woman, her face becoming slightly happy. “Are you from Tucuman?” “Yes, madam.” “And where do you know each other from?” “Well,” said Farias, “we haven’t seen each other in a long time.” “Yes, a number of years,” said number 19. They made meaningless small talk. The kids came in. Number 19 distributed kisses and asked them the ritual questions. “Are you married?” she asked. “Widower.” “Oh, God, I’m sorry.” “It’s been five years since my wife died. She drowned.” “How terrible! At the beach?” “Near a beach.” A cold silence followed. Farias found an escape route. “Let’s go kids! Time to do your chores, it’s already late.” “And do you live alone?” asked Elvira. “Yes, of course.” She didn’t ask him if he had children, fearing that they had also died. With an almost mechanical move, and solely to do something, number 19 brushed off the bottom of his pants with his hand. “Well, I don’t want to disturb you two. Besides, I have to be at Plaza Italia at 7:00.” When number 19 shook Elvira’s hand, he felt a strange sensation. Then she drew closer and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m very sorry about your wife.” “Let’s go!” said Farias, about to explode with anger. “Yes, let’s go,” added number 19, calmly. Farias accompanied him to the iron gate. There, he stared at number 19, and then suddenly, without any warning, burst out crying. It was an uncontainable, convulsive weeping. Number 19 didn’t know what to do. That deluge hadn’t figured in his plan. Suddenly, the weeping stopped, and practically shouting and directly addressing number 19, Farias said: “You’re a ghost! A ghost! That’s what you are!” Number 19 smiled understandingly, ready to make concessions, and then joined in Farias’ shouting. “Of course, young man. I’m a ghost. You’ve finally convinced me. Now wipe away your mucus and go cry on your little wife’s shoulder. But don’t tell her I’m a ghost, because she’s not going to believe it.”