Strangers in the Park (Parque Lezama)

THIS STORY COULD TAKE PLACE IN THE YEAR 2030,

OR IN 1984,

IN THE YEAR 506, OR IN 2000 TOO.

MAYBE TEN YEARS AGO, OR IN A COUPLE OF DAYS…

OR WHO KNOWS…

IT COULD BE HAPPENING NOW.

You sap, why wander in sorrow

with no real reason at all?

Who told you life is all heartache Only deception, only the fall?

After the blackest night the sun will always shine

And you should mock your fate Just as I mock mine…

What a relief!

How wise of nature

to make something as mundane as eliminating waste from our bodies

feel so pleasurable.

It almost makes me think that the myth of God could be true.

Anyway…

Okay, where were we?

What were we talking about?

I was about to tell you something very important.

What were we talking about?

We weren't talking!

You were talking. I wasn't talking.

-And what was I saying? -I don't know, I wasn't listening.

You were doing it all by yourself.

Why weren't you listening?

Because you're a liar.

I'm not listening to you anymore.

For two days I haven’t been listening.

Stop pretending to read. I know you can't see at all.

This is a big park, you know.

And it has it all.

Children, artisans, vendors…

Why don't you go bother them?

I'm not listening to you anymore.

You can talk to that tree for all I care.

That's a lamppost.

You're always lying.

You talk and talk, and it's all lies.

I demand you substantiate that accusation, sir.

All right.

For example,

are you or are you not

a former officer of the Army for the Liberation of Rwanda?

Of course not.

And your name is not Mobutu. Be honest.

Obviously not.

There it is. See? You lied.

It’s not a lie.

It's called a secret identity.

What? What does that mean?

That in my line of work

you need to have a secret identity.

I'm not at liberty to divulge any more than that.

Are you saying you're a spy?

All I'm saying is that my name is Mobutu

from the Army for the Liberation of Rwanda.

That's a bullshit identity they stuck you with.

You think I didn't tell them?

I said, "How can an 86-year-old Pollack be Mobutu from Rwanda?"

"Tough luck, man. You got Mobutu."

What can you do? It is what it is.

But it’s a living.

And I beg you not ask any more questions.

But let me ask you…

Why did they choose an old man for that job?

Did they tell you? They certainly didn’t tell me.

A year ago, I’m waiting in line at the bank,

a fella comes up to me

and asks me if I want to be a secret agent.

No!

It does make some sense.

They're thinking,

"He's an old man. Nobody's going to notice him."

"He can move around like a ghost and gather information unnoticed."

Well, that's true.

But they did screw up on the secret identity.

-Well-- -But please,

no more questions.

Seriously. I'm not at liberty to answer.

They also gave me a code name.

"Abel."

-Abel? -Abel Goldfarb.

And what's your real name?

Samuel Goldfarb.

Get out! The same last name.

Tell me about it, they're morons.

But what can we do? A man has to make a living.

That's true, I always say that.

Tell me, did you ever gather any information for them?

I spend all day sitting with a guy

who looks at a lamppost and says it's a tree!

What information is that? Are you kidding me? I got nothing.

I need to look into health and pension plans for spies.

Because they told me…

-Son of a bitch. -What?

Son of a bitch, you're bullshitting me again!

I swore I wouldn't fall for it, and you've done it again.

"Abel Goldfarb," he says.

"Health and pension plans for spies." Give me a break.

Come on, it was a good one.

A nice long complicated story…

Nice my ass!

This conversation is over.

No more lies. Move it, get out of here.

This is my spot, I got here first.

-Your spot? -Yes.

How can it be yours?

Show me the deed.

Where does it say that?

You want to see the deed?

Here's the deed. Can you read hands? Read them.

These hands wore Golden Gloves.

I found this spot three years ago, sir.

It's relaxing, nice and quiet…

But you show up a week ago and start driving me crazy.

On the count of three,

you get lost or I'll knock you out.

Sir, I think this merits a brief discussion.

At the sound of the bell, the fighters enter the ring…

How will you hit me if you can't even see me?

Your behavior is embarrassing.

Your face will be embarrassing when I'm done with it.

Sir, with all due respect,

you have a depressing personality

and a terrible attitude.

Here comes the champ!

Hey, mister, don't move. Don't move.

Don't move. Could be you broke something.

I've never fallen before.

Well, don't worry about that.

Oh, it’s nothing. I fall down every morning.

I wake up, I have a coffee, I fall down.

It's the cycle of life.

Two years old, you stand up and start to walk,

and boom, you turn 86 and you fall down again.

Can you lift your head? Show me.

There you go. That's a good sign. Very good.

Now let's check the pelvic area.

Okay, let's see. Let's see here.

If you enjoy this massage, you should know I'm single.

-Get your hands off me, damn it. -Don't worry.

If you broke something, it's fine.

I've got a hip like a teacup.

Broke it twice last year. I just got rid of my walker.

I was also dead for a while.

Six minutes!

Not long enough.

They were doing a bypass

and bam!

They had to jump-start me with cables like I was a car.

Can you move your arms? See if it's possible.

Excellent!

Everything is functional.

Now lie there for five minutes and just get some rest.

The best thing for relaxing is a joke.

Verdaguer, he was the best. You remember him?

Was that bullshit again?

-What? -What do you mean?

The thing about being dead.

-That can't be true. -It was.

-It was the absolute truth. -Absolute truth? Please.

Here, I'll help you.

No, I can manage on my own!

Okay, fine. Here, come on.

There you go. Good thing you can manage.

-Where are you going? -Far away from you.

I'm sick of all your lies.

They're not lies, they're…

alterations.

Sometimes the truth doesn't fit me, it's too snug.

So I take in a little here, let out a little there,

until it fits me like a glove.

The truth? Oh, please.

A triple bypass last year is the truth.

A pension they pay me on the 7th

and is gone on the 8th is the truth.

Going to the bakery to buy day-old bread is the truth.

I tell them it's for the pigeons.

Look at the pigeons.

And dead for six minutes is true.

And ever since then, I have a new policy.

Alterations.

This morning, I told the greengrocer that I am the last of the Comechingones.

He listens to me.

And then I start reminiscing about the old days in La Pampa,

the malones,

my grandfather fighting against General Roca.

And I love it.

If I was one person for 86 years,

why can't I be one hundred different ones in the next five?

Tell me one thing.

The bakery thing…

-What time should I get there to-- -Forget the bakery.

You missed the point.

No, I got the point perfectly fine.

The only point here is you're as crazy as an old goat.

Not just one screw loose,

your whole hardware store is loose.

Oh, how fortunate for me, an expert on mental health!