TE19 Iberian Adventure

Four by Four

hard, metallic eyes.

It’s the first cool morning after a relentless summer that stretched on interminably. Today, all the students are wearing long sleeves except for him. He crosses his muscular arms on the desk and presses his lips tightly together, his face turned. He barely opens his mouth the whole morning, not even to answer the teachers’ questions. He insists on an obstinate and continual I don’t know, I don’t remember, no . Stubborn, difficult. A fist. His nails, turned white from holding his tongue. What’s he got inside? Ignacio wonders. Why did he look at me yesterday, only at me, why did he turn around and choose me, and why is he still staring, staring so hard? Ignacio believes in telepathy. He believes it is a purer form of communication than verbal language. The words that reach us are tainted; there is interference, always. Two minds that speak honestly, cleanly, across broad and efficient channels, free of weeds, like a highway: this is his ideal language. Meanwhile, the whispers under the tables start to lose their strength. Queer, fucking fag . They travel from desk to desk, but more tenuously, without conviction. Ignacio floats above his seat, his neck hot from being watched. • 79 He attempts to establish telepathic communication—to no avail.