Papelucho's Diary

What's happening is terrible. So terrible that I couldn't sleep last night thinking about it. It's one of those things you can't talk about because the words just won't come. And I know that I shan't be able to sleep until I've told someone about it. I asked Domitila what she did when she had a terrible secret.

— I tell it to someone else — she answered.

— But what if it‘s something you can‘t tell to anyone?

— Then I write it in a letter.

— You don‘t understand — I told her — . This is something that no one must know about.

— Then write it to nobody — she said, and burst out laughing.

It's night time again and I ought to be asleep. Thinking about what Domitila said, I decided to write to "nobody", as she suggested, which is what other people call their "diary". Once it's written, I won't have to keep on thinking,

In my lab I had a jar with an invention in it. It was made of lots of things, including two boxes of match-heads, some washing powder, honey, a bit of oil, face cream and gunpowder. My idea was to see what happened and that's why I put the mixture in a sandwich for some greedy rat to eat.

I left it on my bedside table, but when I got back it had gone. And Domitila told me that she'd eaten it. Naturally I couldn't tell her it was poisoned. But I asked her what she would do if she knew she was going to die.

— I'd do a somersault — she said — because death is happiness for the poor.

— And what else would you do?

— I'd give myself a party and spend a thousand pesos on eating...

— Here — I said to her — I'll give you all the money in my piggy bank (thirty-two pesos). Have something nice to eat, but you'd better go to confession first.

(Illustration by Yola, 1947, first edition. Coloured by Marta Carrasco)

She looked at me with a lizard-like expression and asked me:

— Why do you think I'm going to die?

— Because death comes when you least expect it — I answered and locked myself in my room to think. I thought it might be a good thing if she took a purgative but then I thought it might make things worse. I thought I ought to tell her what was going on, but then I thought she might die of a heart attack. Because it's not certain she'll die of the poison.

What's quite clear is that, if she does die, I shall have to give myself up to the police. I'll write a letter to my parents and then give myself up, and once I've served my sentence I shan't be guilty any more.

While I'm in prison I shall be able to study to be an inventor because I'll have plenty of free time for it. And maybe, when I've invented what I'm going to invent, they'll acquit me and everything.

That thought makes me feel calmer. But this business of waiting for death to happen is terrible. There are times when I wish she'd die quickly, so I can sort my things out once and for all.

At tea time I thought she looked a bit pale and I felt cold in my stomach. I asked her what was the matter with her and she burst out laughing.

— You seem to be going out of your mind — she said. — You keep asking me such things.. and you stare at me with such a look in your eyes... — It's a good thing Domitila has no children, and she says she's not really necessary to anybody. That's very reassuring.

Now I'm wondering if perhaps it isn't true that she ate the sandwich, and that she's been teasing me. I'd like to believe, since she's such a liar, that she's lied again. With this thought in mind, I think I'll be able to sleep.

January 1st

Domitila still hasn't died. ...

(First pages of "Papelucho".)