The encounter.

• Author: Tripodi, Carlos
• Position: Short story - Latitudes

It was that time of day when lazy shadows begin their promenade along the river. With the same smooth cadence of the gentle breeze along the bank, they flowed silently up the walls, then dipped to the path below and rippled among the paving stones. Dim light from a lantern set into the wall played itself out between the forged iron grillwork and the wooden panels of a shuttered window. Unfettered, the shadows swirled down the block, causing a honeysuckle vine spilling over crumbling adobe to sway back and forth. Its flowery perfume defined the shapeless hour, filling the crannies of light and of shade and providing continuity to the slow street motions. Nearby, the still black water reflected no quiver from darting fish traveling their zigzag paths to the infinite abyss, while, overhead, the curving half-moon reposed languidly against the raveled shreds of a tipsy cloud. Millions of blinking eyes stared into the dreamlike night, awed by the new miracle that was taking place one more time. For every night is the same, with a sameness comparable to the infinite variations of each second of endless time. The differences repeat themselves over and over in a blind cycle staggering wearily along the heavy path of life.

Steps echoed in the ageless dust, disturbing the sleep of dreams. Startled motes spiraled upward in a cloud, clinging to the indifferent leaves of a twisted willow tree. The echo flung them again into the translucent air. The steps were slow and measured, bearing the full weight of all the generations of mankind. I tried to see between the shifting shadows, to make out some shape from the lurking darkness of the street. A frenetic bird's symmetrical screeches repeated themselves at intervals in some hidden recess of the ear. The steps drew nearer, their ping-pong echo making them appear to come from all sides. The black moss spread its velvet across the bare bricks, which submitted...