(and even if I resisted in the end I could not evade that vision of a white whale sprawling on the beach of its unemployment under the spectral beacon of TV newscasts). Nor did I take issue with the fire alarm floating over the lintel of my door like the red sun of the Japanese flag and accidentally going off every now and then, calling us to run from a fire that had yet to arrive (or perhaps the alarm went off to summon a fire it secretly wanted? Like the Roberto Matta painting: “Here, Sir Fire, Eat!�). None of that mattered. Hotel Hastings had greeted me with a brotherly hug and a pat on the head. I began making friends in no time.
—Translation: Eduardo Padilla
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