The conclusion to a story ("In memory of Paulina") by this native of Buenos Aires. You can read the original here.
The evening I arrived from Europe, my thoughts returned to Paulina. There lurked the fear that the memories of her might be too vivid once I was home. When I entered my room I was beset by emotion, and I stopped respectfully to commemorate the past and the extremes of happiness and grief which I had known. Then I had an embarrassing revelation: it was not the secret monuments to our love that moved me as they manifested themselves suddenly in the most intimate vales of my memory, but the emphatic light entering through the window, the light of Buenos Aires.
At around four o’clock I went to the corner shop and bought a kilo of coffee. In the bakery I was recognized by the owner who greeted me with loud cordiality and told me that for a while now, for at least six months, I hadn’t been paying my tab. After these niceties, I asked him meekly for half a kilo of bread. He asked me, as he always had:
“Toasted or white?”
And I answered, as always:
I returned home. It was a day as clear as crystal and very cold.
While I prepared my coffee, I thought of Paulina. We would always drink a cup of black coffee towards the end of the afternoon.
Just as in a dream, I soon abandoned my affable and even−tempered indifference in favor of the emotion and madness stirred up in me by her appearance. Upon seeing her I fell to my knees, sank my face into my hands and, for the first time, sobbed out all the pain of having lost her.
Her arrival occurred thus: there were three knocks on the door; I asked myself who could be the intruder; I thought that this intruder would be to blame for my coffee getting cold; and, distracted by all these thoughts, I opened the door.
Понятно, почему она не хотела верить ни одному его слову. Он почувствовал, как вокруг него выросла стена, и понял, что ему не удастся выпутаться из этой ситуации, по крайней мере своевременно.
И он в отчаянии прошептал ей на ухо: - Сьюзан… Стратмор убил Чатрукьяна. - Отпусти ее, - спокойно сказал Стратмор. - Она тебе все равно не поверит.