Texto en español en Breves no tan breves: "Sólo Andrea".
Traducido al inglés por Judith Aronson.
Only one person knew what had become of Horace Meller when it was Friday, May 14 without having to report to work all week. She had no proof or stated, had long shared with him the same office of the municipality, eight hours a day, five days a week. The friendship between them had grown hopelessly. Andrea and Horace were similar: quiet and complex. At first, only related during work hours, then with the passage of time and the fall of inhibitions, encouraged to go to the movies, theater, dinner, invite to their homes. Together they became talkative.
He was electric. Walked at a rate unattainable. Save water to negligible levels, so that when shampooing head, shut the faucet and open it again to rinse. His face remained serious most of the time, but has sharp humor. Worked for survival and read, always read tirelessly. Consumed books as if his live depended on it.
She was moody and changeable. Laughed and cried with the same intensity. Listened music even when sleeping and watched her figure with a cheat system: if one day she ate a lot, the other nothing. Work was a way of ordering her life and served to relieve stress.
Once forged friendship, Horace had been recommending to Andrea selected readings of what he had most enjoyed. Sometimes he lent copies of his personal library, others were bought and given as gifts. She accepted the suggestions and read as an obedient pupil.
For a long time neither one questioned anything beyond friendship. Until Horace vanished. Without warning, without a telegram of resignation, without a signal or warning. On Wednesday 12 May, she was worried about his absence and felt, for the first time, the need for him, for knowing of him. She began to wonder what might have happened. The answers channeled her toward the books that Horace had given her as gifts: Our Lady of Solitude, The Book of Illusions, The Invention of Morel, Martin Eidan, Leviathan. Thursday she was reviewing all those titles that passed through her mind like ghosts doom. By early Friday, Andrea discovered the invisible thread between the books: all narrated disappearances. Then she felt a clear relief: Horace had begun writing his own novel.