By Night in Chile

published studies and explications of the work of Blest Gana, Augusto D’Halmar and Salvador Reyes. And I decided, or perhaps I had already decided, probably I had, it is all so vague and mixed up now, in any case I felt I needed a pseudonym for the critical articles, so that I could retain my real name for my poetical efforts. So I adopted the name of H. Ibacache. And little by little the reputation of H. Ibacache outstripped that of Sebastián Urrutia Lacroix, to my surprise, and to my satisfaction, since Urrutia Lacroix was preparing a body of poetic work for posterity, an oeuvre of canonical ambition, which would take shape gradually as the years went by, in a meter that nobody was using in Chile any more, what am I saying, a meter that nobody had ever used in Chile, while Ibacache read other people’s books and explained them to the public, just as Farewell had done before him, endeavoring to elucidate our literature, a
    reasonable endeavor, a civilized endeavor, an endeavor pursued in a measured, conciliatory tone, like a humble lighthouse on the fatal shore. And Ibacache’s purity — clothed as it was in the simple garments of critical prose, yet none the less admirable, since it was perfectly clear, whether reading between the lines or viewing the full sweep of the enterprise, that Ibacache was engaged in an ongoing exercise in dispassionate analysis and rationality, that is to say in civic virtue — Ibacache’s purity would be able to illuminate far more powerfully than any other strategy the body of work taking shape verse by verse in the diamond-pure mind of his double: Urrutia Lacroix. And speaking of purity or while I’m on the subject of purity, one evening, when I was at the house of Don Salvador Reyes, with five or six other guests, Farewell among them, Don Salvador said that one of the purest men he had met in Europe was the German writer Ernst Jünger. And Farewell, who no doubt knew the story already, but wanted me to hear it from Don Salvador himself, asked him how and in what circumstances he had come to meet Jünger, and Don Salvador settled into an armchair with gilded trim and said that it had happened many years before, during the Second World War, in Paris, when he was on a diplomatic posting at the Chilean embassy. And then he told us about a party, I don’t remember if it was at the Chilean embassy, or the German or Italian one, and he spoke of a very beautiful woman who asked if he would like to be introduced to the well-known German writer. And Don Salvador, who at that time must have been less than fifty years old according to my estimate, that is to say considerably younger and more vigorous than I am now, said, Yes, I would be delighted, please do, Giovanna, and the Italian woman, the Italian duchess or countess who was so fond of our eminent writer and diplomat, led him through various salons, each opening on to the next like mystical roses, and in the last salon there was a group of officers of the Wehrmacht and several civilians and the center of attention for all present was Captain Jünger, the First World War hero, author of
Storm of Steel, African Games, On the Marble Cliffs
and
Heliopolis
, and after listening to several of the great German writer’s aphorisms, the Italian princess proceeded to introduce him to the Chilean diplomat, whereupon they exchanged views, in French naturally, and then Jünger, moved by a generous impulse, asked our writer if any of his works were available in French translation, to which the Chilean replied in a trice and the affirmative, yes indeed, a book of his had been translated into French, if Jünger would like to read it he would be delighted to present him with a copy, to which Jünger replied with a satisfied smile and they exchanged their cards and made a date to have dinner or lunch or breakfast together since Jünger’s diary was crammed with inescapable engagements, not to mention the things that came up each day, inevitably upsetting the schedule of prior
    obligations, in any case they made a tentative date to meet for supper, a good Chilean supper, said Don Salvador, so Jünger could see for himself how well we live in Chile, in case he thought that over here we were still walking around wearing feathers, and then Don Salvador took his leave of Jünger and returned with the countess or the duchess or the princess through the series of salons opening one on to another like the mystical rose that opens its petals to reveal a