The Invention of Morel - Adolfo Bioy Casares

With my hairy face, and standing above her, I must
have appeared more hideous than I actually am.
I imagine they will be coming to get me any moment
now. I have not prepared an explanation. I am not
afraid.
This woman is not just a gypsy. Her aplomb
astounded me, for she gave no indication that she had
seen me. She did not blink an eye, or make the
slightest movement of any kind.
The sun was still above the horizon, hovering as a
kind of mirage. I hurried down to the rocks. I saw her:
the bright scarf, her hands clasped on one knee, her
glance, enlarging my little world. My breathing became
uncontrollable. The rocks, the sea, everything seemed
tremulous.
As I watched her, I could hear the ocean with its
sounds of movement and fatigue close at hand, as if it
had moved to my side. My agitation diminished
somewhat. And I began to doubt that she could hear
my breathing.
Then, while waiting to speak to her, I was reminded
of an old psychological law. It was preferable to
address her from a high place,- that would make her
look up to me. The elevation would compensate, at
least in part, for my defects.
I climbed higher on the rocks. The effort made me
feel weak. Other things that made me weak were:
My haste: I felt obliged to speak to her that very day.
If I wanted to keep her from feeling afraid of me—we
were in a lonely place and it was growing dark—I could
not wait a minute longer.
The sight of her: As if she were posing for an
invisible photographer, she surpassed the calm of the
sunset. And I did not wish to interrupt that.