Zaragoza
When I say that the world is nothing but a series of interlocking boxes, it isn’t an attempt at metaphysical abstraction; rather, this is what actually happens in the brain. This is a way of organizing the world. There is no outside. You are the world. David said this to me. David said, I do not know what you are doing in my home : You are the world, you are visitors. What is a visitor? A person who has been everywhere, but not to its end. I have been everywhere. The world is flat, I have sailed all over. David sailed to Cádiz. David sailed to the Indes. When she was fourteen, my mother played with explosives. When she was fourteen, my father played with his sister. My father was a tyrant, my mother said. My mother said that of my father.It was in the city of Zaragoza that I realized I was a foreigner in my own language. I had been visiting the city for several years, and each time there was something new to discover. One year, I came across a sculpture by Juan de Zurbarra that had been newly rediscovered; another time it was discovering an atlas printed in 1622 and depicting the world as flat. I knew that such a thing was possible, but it still came as something of surprise to me when discovering the map. I understood that my knowledge of certain things could be incomplete, and it gave me great pleasure to realize this in an unfamiliar place.
I realized I was a stranger when one night, after drinking too much wine and having talked for hours in the taverns with certain people who were knowledgeable about history or unusual things that had happened over time (and whose opinions agreed on many subjects), my compatriots noticed this new side to me: "Where are you really from?" they would ask me. "What do you mean? Where should I be from? You know, Zaragoza is like any other town. Have another drink." Sometimes, to show that Zaragoza is just like all other cities I would add: "Zaragocrooked."
This way I had established myself in the city of my momentary abode. One evening I was sitting at a table, and there he came: an English traveler. I asked him where he was going.
"To Zaragoza," he answered.
"And you think that a town like this is something to see?"
"No, this is a place to go through."
I thought, with amusement: "The English traveler thinks that he is discovering the world." But I remained silent and continued listening to him, even though the subject wasn't of much interest. I hadn't heard many travelers speak of places as they did: it was clear that, for them to travel is just an interlude before getting home again; you never know what's going on the other side.