The Missing Year Of Juan Salvatierra - Plot & Excerpts
A short time later, Luis and I were able to leave our affairs in Buenos Aires behind and return to Barrancales. Luis had no difficulty escaping from his notary office. I was divorced and my only son was living in Barcelona, so all I had to do was close the real estate office for a few days—I was doing hardly any business anyway. We installed ourselves in our parents’ last house, which was still for sale. It was close to the river, five blocks from my father’s shed. With Aldo’s help, we spent our days lowering and raising the rolls of canvas, using the system of pulleys and an apparatus for lifting engines that Salvatierra had found in a former car repair shop. We calculated that each roll must weigh around a hundred kilos. Luis said we were getting old, and we laughed because the simple act of rolling up our sleeves to do some physical work put us in a better mood. When each canvas was lowered to the ground, we unrolled it and Luis took photos of different fragments. His idea was to send the images with a letter to the provincial authorities insisting they come up with the promised subsidy, or if that failed, to ask for support from a foundation or museum interested in backing an exhibition.
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