Across from my house is a corner with a shuttered convenience store, whose doors and windows are bricked up to keep occupiers out; a young woman lives in front of it with her son. Things We Lost in the Fire is an astonishing collection of short stories set in modern day Argentina, a country shaped by its history of civil and political violence, which very much informs Enríquezâs writing. I know that on Friday nights, if I go down to Plaza Garay, I might end up caught in a fight between several possible adversaries: the mininarcos from Calle Ceballos who defend their territory from other occupants and chase down the endless people who owe them money; the addicts who, brain- dead as they are, get offended at anything and react violently, lashing out with broken bottles; the drunk and tired transvestites who have their own patches of pavement to defend. A woman named Nora, who had come to the morgue with a newborn baby in her arms and accompanied by some other family members. The director of University of Cape Town Libraries, Ujala Satgoor, has confirmed that some valuable collections have been lost but that the fire detection system in the building triggered the fire shutters and many works were saved. As "Things We Lost in the Fire" opens, Audrey was married for 11 years to Brian Burke (David Duchovny, seen in several flashbacks), and they were happy years, giving her two children, now 10 and 6, and a big house in an upscale suburb. Those seconds of doubt were enough for me to block her escape, to stop in front of her, force her to talk. She crossed Plaza Garay like a cat and I went after her, but when the traffic started moving on the avenue, she managed to dodge the cars and make it across and I didn’t. You have to know the neighborhood to learn these strategies. By then I knew how to handle myself again. And then she caressed her belly with both hands and said, clearly, loudly: “This one too. That night I came home late because, after the office, I’d gone to a colleague’s birthday party. You’ve sure got a vocabulary on you. Back there, you often see shrines to saints a little less friendly than Gauchito Gil. There are certain tricks to being able to move easily in this neighborhood and I’ve mastered them perfectly, though sure, something unexpected can always happen. Coincidence. In spite of the photos, in spite of the evidence—even the pictures of the corpse, which one newspaper had published to the false outrage and horror of a public that bought up all the copies of several editions with the decapitated boy on the front page—I still believed it was the dirty kid who had died. She mixed it with Coca- Cola and stirred it with a finger. Now no one was flip- ping through magazines or painting their nails or sending text messages while they waited their turn in Lala’s chair. This book is a Christmas gift, and it arrived very promptly. From the street came the sound of a sleepy cumbia rhythm. I sat him down on a kitchen chair and I put a little chicken and rice into the oven. When I came back from work, my feet swollen from the heat, dreaming only of the coolness of my house with its high ceilings and large rooms that not even the most hellish summer could heat up entirely, I found the whole block gone crazy. It was impossible to make out what she was shouting. No, I hadn’t heard anything. Ungrateful little brat, I thought, and I took off running. I decided to skip work so I could go straight to the DA and report everything I knew about the dirty kid. She doesn’t move from the corner; she stays there and begs for money in a gloomy and monotonous voice. She was so close that I could see every one of her teeth. Who lived on the street because now he’s dead, decapitated! I didn’t know any- thing about her. The police let teenage muggers rob on the avenue as far as the highway bridge—three free blocks—in exchange for favors. The heat seemed more intense with the fan on; it only stirred the hot air and drowned out the noise from outside. Now it was the TV’s moment. Little by little, some of the neighborhood’s sounds were coming back: the drunk fighting, the music, the motorcycles with their rattling exhaust pipes— the local kids liked to loosen them so they’d make a lot of noise. After a while, I went up to the second floor and looked out from the balcony. . Sarita was telling how once, in Chaco, where she was from, a similar thing had happened, only with a little girl. Silence first, in case any of the people involved in the crime deserved loyalty. In 1887, the aristocratic families fled to the northern part of the city to escape the yellow fever. [Intro] Em C D Things we lost to the flame Em C Am D Things we'll never see again Em C D All that we've amassed Em C Am D Sits before us, shattered into ash [Chorus] Em D These are the things, the things we lost Bm C The things we lost in the fire fire fire Em D These are the things, the things we lost Bm C The things we lost in the fire fire fire [Verse] Em D We sat and made a list Bm ⦠Wonderful writing style, compelling tales with a Latina perspective. The gaucho brings luck, he cures people, he helps them and doesn’t ask them for much in return, just these tributes and sometimes a little alcohol. This he did drink greedily, and then he asked for more. I work as a graphic designer. The story starts on the day of the funeral, with Brian appearing in flashbacks. I heard her turn on the shower and I knew she’d be in there at least an hour. He’d been crying; you could tell from the clean streaks down his grimy face. There are street kids in the neighborhood, yes. Did that make her a satanic killer? Like all addicts she had no notion of temperature, and she was wearing a thick coat with the hood up, as if it were raining. Reviewed in the United Kingdom on July 27, 2020. “You’re crazy, how could they show a decapitated boy! The movie begins at a funeral for Duchovnyâs character, Brian. At least not during the day. They get worse and worse. In spite of the apparent good intentions, the detectives didn’t entirely believe the consternation around the neighborhood. âThings We Lost in the Fireâ 2007 â 1hr 58min. “Bye, neighbor,” he said. It’s better that way. "—Glennon Doyle. I pushed her against the tree and held her there. I listened to her. “He’s a saint that can do bad things if people ask him to, but most people don’t ask him for evil things; they ask for protection. I don’t know if she felt pain, but I drove my nails into her. I have a big old beautiful tub and I barely ever use it, I just take quick showers, and only every once in a while do I enjoy an actual bath . I got up to open my windows facing the Table Mountain range, a view I look forward to each morning. It’s not him, Lala, but he knew.” Lala kneeled in front of me and stared at me with her big dark eyes. I asked him some dumb questions, his age, his name; he didn’t answer. “There are skeletons back there.” Around the neighborhood, “back there” always means the other side of the station, past the platforms, where the tracks and the embankment disappear southward.
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