Hebe Uhart - Animals

M Y FATHER used to enjoy confusing the children. He would sing: Of all the many birds that fly, I like the pig. My response to this song was first suspicion, then annoyance. When I was about six years old, hed take me on walks around the outskirts of Moreno, which already turned to countryside only eight blocks from downtown, and the plumpest cows stood out there behind wire fences. He would tell me:

Say hello.

And I would say:

Hello there, cow.

If one of them mooed, he would tell me:

See? Now shes saying hello.

Around the same period, we used to go over on Sundays to eat at my uncle and aunts retreat in Paso del Rey, where my grandmother lived. The place was enormous but more rustic than my house. There were instructions about which things were off limits: I mustnt chase after the hens, mustnt sit in the chairs on the little patio as they could be rather dirty, mustnt touch Milonga the dog too much. Milonga didnt belong to anyone; he was part of the place and came and went with total autonomy, without anyone sparing him a glance. But I liked to pet him, and Id sit on the ground while he stood by my side, at peace.

Hes a street dog! theyd tell me.

I didnt understand the difference between street dogs and house dogs, just as I didnt understand the difference between wild and cultivated flowers; for me, those tiny flowers that look identical to daisies belonged to the same family; my mother called them flores de bicho colorado, red mite flowers. A few years later, when I was around nine, my mother sent me on a bus to Paso del Rey to visit Aunt Mara, whose house stood next door to my other aunt and uncles holiday home; they used to bring food for her. I brought Mara whatever she asked for from Moreno: Rachel face powder, hairpins, and a wonderful scented soap. Why she requested these things Ill never know; her long white hair hung down past her shoulders, the dress she wore was totally threadbare, and she kept chickens, shut up inside a little room (that felt like a place for storing junk) so that they wouldnt mingle with the chickens from my aunt and uncles coop. Shed only let them out on very rare occasions when she fancied it. When these chickens of hers did get out, they were all crooked and unsteady, unable to walk right. She did bathe a few of them; they were clearly wasting away, but she didnt appear to acknowledge the fact. Id always known she was off her rocker and accepted that, but by age seven or so I wondered how it could be, given her state, that plants sprouted for her just the same as they did for others. She had a nice yard and even kept a sweetbriar rose, but I never caught her watering a thing. The plants there were a little more unkempt than those in other gardens, but I used to think that, since she acted this way, so peculiar, she ought to have plants befitting her condition, weird plants. Rain was common there, and I thought it must have been a different sort of rain to suit her. Going there to bring her the powder and soap was slightly unnerving for me, since she received me warmly sometimes but other times kicked me out, calling me a gossip, which was true, of course, since Id go back to Moreno and tell my mom about all the goings-on around there. I now suspect they were sending me as a spy.

However perplexing this errand was, there was something nice about taking the bus to Paso del Rey on my own. But on the way into Maras house there was a little rustic wooden door, and behind that door lay the southern screamer. A southern screamer is like a kind of giant lapwing with large wing spurs; this one was always idling around by that little door. I took my precautions before passing through the doorway, taking the long way round and never getting too close for fear of setting off its spurs. I know now that they can fly; its a good thing I didnt know back then, or I never wouldve made it through. How the creature came to be there, I couldnt say, for my aunt never gave it a glance or a name, being indifferent to the yard and the plants. In any case, I always thought the southern screamer was a fitting animal for my aunt; such a thing could never have lived at my house. Aunt Mara called Milonga the dog milord, as though exalting his name, and its quite strange to think of her calling him that, as I dont believe she was aware of the existence of lords.

When I was around ten years old, my father was given a pony, but I have scarcely any memory of the animal. We lived in a village house, with a glass outer door and a large patio with a garden all the way around. On the morning after the ponys arrival, a tucutn, tucutn could be heard out beyond the patio. My mother went out to look. The pony had gotten loose because my father had only tied it with sisal twine. Since Moreno was a town whose inhabitants were almost all of rural origins, she said:

But what an idea! Where was this man raised?

She often said things like that. The pony disappeared that very morning.

I cant recall having invoked animals for insults, but all sorts have been called upon in insulting ways. Dog is there in the Iliad; eyes of a dog, they say. They used to call a girl in my sixth-grade class the horse, and hookers cats, and fat women cows. I identify with Felisberto Hernndez in his story rsula, when he says, rsula was fat as a cow and I liked her that way. It takes a bit of courage to say that in Ro de la Plata. Forked tongue is another insult; vulture too. Tigers, lions, and sheep get better press. I quite like the folk sayings from around Buenos Aires, in which all situations, all skills or shortcomings, are illustrated by way of animals. For monotony: Always the same, like a sheeps expression. For seriousness: Formal as a donkey in the corral. For suspicion: Less trusting than a one-eyed horse. For people who talk about things they know nothing about: What does that ass know about candy, hes never owned a candyshop. For people who say hello to everyone in town: He greets you like a lapwing. (Lapwings make a nodding movement with their heads, wobbling as they peer in every direction.) My father used to point out how the old Basques in the country had animal nicknames: Bay horse, Pinto, Blaze.