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The shutters were drawn to stave off imaginary dangers, throwing the space into darkness. I entered one fine day and detected his presence with my nose more than anything else. His murky shape was alongside a narrow window, keeping watch over the floating nursery the island had become. Light from the chink in the wall outlined his eye sockets like a carnival mask. It was not a bedroom, it was a cave. “They are nothing more than children, Gruner. Children do not kill, they play,” I said, half in and half out of the trapdoor. The fellow did not even glance in my direction. He put a finger to his lips in reply, demanding silence. I also experienced a certain uneasiness. The creatures were otherworldly and inscrutable. They waged wars on us, only to send their children out onto the battlefield. Perhaps they considered us to be a sort of venereal disease, a malady only harmful to adults. Regardless, it did not take a genius to see the connection between the shotgun in the sand and the children’s arrival. What sort of mentality was at work? Were they grand strategists or utterly irresponsible? How would they make their wishes known to us? Our rifles had always been thwarted by naked flesh. I had called for a truce with a useless weapon and they sent us a bevy of innocent bodies. Was this the most perverse or the most perfect logic of all? The little ones quickly realised that I would cause them no harm. They began to step on dry land over the days that followed, while still keeping a distance. Although I did my best to appear serious, I often could not help smiling. The little ones observed me fixedly, doing nothing but stare and stare. Their disproportionately large eyes and open mouths seemed to be under the spell of a fairground hypnotist. I penetrated deep into the forest one morning. A fur coat padded my shoulders, bulky trousers kept out the fallen snow, and I warmed my chest with crossed arms. It was not exactly a restful nap. My eyelashes batted open at the sound of a murmur close by. There were approximately fifteen or twenty of them. They hung from the branches at varying heights, peering at me. The watchful state I was in made everything seem unreal. The trees were not their natural habitat and they clambered up them awkwardly. Their bodies were so fragile, so vulnerable, that I gave in to their curiosity. I feared they would be startled if I got up, and might get injured while running away. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. “Away with you,” I said, striving not to raise my voice. “Go back to the water.” They made no move. I was encircled by a troop of midget spies. The majority were still and silent. Some whispered, while others wrestled one another in amicable dispute. None of them took their eyes off me. I could not resist touching the feet of the one closest by. He was seated on a thick branch, swinging his legs. The vegetation came alive with a collective giggle when my fingers grazed his foot. It did not take long to gain their trust. So much so that the children became a genuine annoyance. Small bald-headed figures ranged all about me everywhere I went. They were just like the flocks of pigeons that throng the plazas of every great city. My waist was often hemmed in by a mass of heads. I would make a brusque gesture to shoo them away, but they only sidled a few paces back. The boldest creatures nipped at my knees and elbows, retreated only to charge again in a barrage of gooselike honking. All bedlam let loose if I ever attempted to sit down. Countless fingers fought over hanks of hair on my head, sideburns and chin. I slapped a few here and there. But I felt the sting of punishment more than they did. In truth, I grew accustomed to their attentions in a matter of days. We sported about the lighthouse from morning till night. The only precaution I took was to always keep the lighthouse door fastened. The creatures would scrounge around otherwise. They crept inside as soon as the door was left open, taking the most diverse objects from the storeroom: candles, cups, pencils, paper, pipes, combs, axes and bottles. I once caught a little thief loaded down like an ant with an accordion twice his size. Another day it was a cartridge of dynamite. Who knows where they found it. I caught them, to my horror, playing a game quite similar to rugby using the cartridge as a ball. All the same, it would be unfair to brand them thieves. The concept of stealing meant nothing to them. The fact that an object existed was enough reason for them to appropriate it. They were indifferent to my scolding. They seemed to be saying that those things were there for the taking and belonged to no one. All my attempts at pedagogy, whether with feigned threats or affection, were useless. Shutting the door kept them out of the storeroom, but the exterior defences suffered for it. The cracks in the wall were resplendent with bottle shards in gaudy tones of yellow, green and red, mottled by salt water. The children yanked them out of the wall to fashion costume jewelry for their games. It was a black day when they discovered that the network of tins and string was an ideal toy. They dragged the clanking mass of rope and metal behind them while they ran. As everyone knows, children’s crazes are even more contagious than adults’. I spent half the day repairing the damage. I roared like a dragon whenever I caught them being naughty. Since I was known to be harmless, they pulled their ears at me with two fingers. I began to view the children as canaries in a coal mine. The Sitauca would never attack as long as their children were in our midst. I was more concerned about the young ones’ safety than my own. I did not like to think how Gruner would react if the little band dared to open the trapdoor to his quarters. The most mischievous of them all had the look of an extremely unsightly triangle. A pair of broad shoulders angled sharply down to narrow, almost feminine thighs, as though nature had not yet determined the monster’s gender. He could twist his face into a rogues’ gallery of grotesque grimaces. The others would come near me only in packs, finding safety in numbers. Not him. The fellow often paced back and forth in front of me. He took firm steps, lifting up his elbows and knees with a martial petulance. I ignored him. He responded to my disdain by ranting directly in my ear. In those cases, the best thing was to take him by the shoulders and rotate his body 180 degrees. The little fellow retraced his steps, just like a windup toy. But on one occasion he went too far. I was sitting on a rock as the sun was setting one day, trying to mend an already ragged jersey. The children had gone beneath the waves for the evening. All but the Triangle. He was the first to appear every morning and the last to leave at night. The little creature came up to me and began to bellow directly in my ear. I was not skilled with a needle and those strident cries were an added nuisance. Suddenly I realised he was clinging to me. Hands and feet circled my chest and waist. Not only that, he caught my ear in his mouth and began sucking on the lobe. He received a sharp whack of course. My Lord, how the creature sobbed. The little Triangle darted about, crying and screeching horribly all the while. At first, I could not help laughing, but then regretted it immediately. One could easily see that this creature was different from the others. He ran tearfully toward the north coast, stopping short where the waves struck the sand. It was as if, all of a sudden, he remembered that no solace was to be found beneath those waves. Without a pause, he headed weeping toward the south shore. This time, the creature did not dare touch the tide. His tears were mixed with disconsolate shudders. The Triangle roamed as aimlessly as a spinning top. Sometimes compassion takes us by surprise, like an unexpected vista through the trees. I asked myself if that submarine world was so very much different from ours; they must have fathers and mothers. The Triangle was proof that they also had orphans. Unable to stand his sobs, I threw the creature over my shoulder like a sack and brought him back to the rock. I carried on with my sewing. He latched onto my body once more and fell asleep while sucking on my ear. I pretended not to notice.