[h2]The dust of the ground, seeking to mingle with the crevices of our bare feet, guided us separately through the four elements. One by one, without knowing why, we began to arrive at the cabin. We spoke little, almost without words. None of us seemed to understand why we were barefoot. The darkness wouldn’t let us see each other’s faces until the following morning.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]The next day, without asking one another anything, some of us gathered to explore the coast. Another group ventured into the countryside, carving a path through the dust and shrubs. The ground that greeted both groups was generous to the bare soles of our feet. Peace found us wherever we went, in the form of waves, sunlight, and meadows. There was no refuge from it. Little happened. Between conversations and strolls, we began shedding the anxiety of living without anxieties.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]We ate corn from the garden for a week until we found fishing gear in a shed and expanded the menu. I quickly became a skilled fisherman. At night, we kept warm with firewood and each other’s closeness. Beds and sofas cushioned the movements of our intertwined bodies.[/h2] [h2]I don’t know if it was the same for the others, but I soon forgot my name and everyone else’s too. I also forgot the circumstances that had brought me here and how long I had planned to stay. Lacking any benefit in keeping track, I lost all sense of time, though it seemed we weren’t ageing. To avoid disturbing the group’s mystique, I kept my doubts a secret. At first, this unsettled me, but not for long. From a few knowing glances, I suspected the others were experiencing the same.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]Those days at the cabin offered nothing to fear, nothing to miss, nothing to long for. The only tangible threat here was that one day, by accident, we might stumble upon a pair of shoes.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]Years or days passed—how could I know?—until the night Alex’s stiletto heels scratched the wooden floorboards at the entrance. She was wearing a shiny party dress that shifted colours like a chameleon. The sharpness of her heels, her dress, and her name shattered the routine of the cabin’s inhabitants, persistently reminding us of the world we had left behind.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]Alex was a great conversationalist, always demonstrating a genuine interest in the lives of others.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]“Where are you from? Are you married? What do you do for a living? Are your parents alive? Have you ever been in love? What’s your star sign? Do you believe in God? Who do you dream about? Are you happy? What are you afraid of? Do you enjoy running? Can you cook? What do you miss? What’s your name?”[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]To my surprise, all her questions were easy to answer. Everything I thought I’d forgotten sprang from my mouth with the speed of a reflex. Before long, I remembered my Volkswagen and my flat in Caballito. I remembered my childhood friends and my work desk. I remembered Mum’s cannelloni and my trip to Mendoza. I remembered how to measure the passage of time and how to read calendars. The colour of Alex’s dress shifted with every answer I gave.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]The same thing happened to the others. Contact with Alex mercilessly broke the seals of everyone’s forgetfulness. We regained memories of childhoods, grudges, responsibilities, loves, friendships, and our own names. Her questions unleashed all kinds of recollections from our past lives. Shortly after her arrival, I began to notice absences in the group. Marcelo—now I knew his name—failed to show up one morning for our regular fishing trips. Juliana didn’t come to repair the roof as she’d promised. One day, we ran out of water because Sergio didn’t return from his walk to the well. This behaviour was unprecedented; no one had ever considered leaving. I realised that Alex’s conversations had restored what we didn’t know we’d lost, making our stays at the cabin feel purposeless.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]The exodus continued at a steady pace. In the mornings, I no longer found Vilma writing stories in her notebook. Nor did I come across the afternoon running group. Everyone left the cabin in silence, without goodbyes, abandoning their belongings. Eventually, only two inhabitants remained: Alex and me.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]I still don’t remember my name. It never came up in my conversations with Alex. I don’t know why she left me for last. I’m convinced it’s the only thing I need to know in order to feel ready to leave. An unexpected anxiety accompanies me as I wait for my turn. Fear of the unknown plays its part. For a week now, I’ve been avoiding her. Like a mischievous child, I sneak between trees and dunes, sleeping outdoors. I don’t blame those who left. How could they not feel confused? What is our home? It’s better to forgive them than to consider the possibility that they never existed—that I imagined them. Soon, I convince myself that returning is inevitable; I don’t have the strength to keep avoiding my fate. I return to the cabin, calling her name. My smile declares that I’m ready to leave.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]The sound of an empty house is my reply. Alex is gone. Her dress and shoes, now empty of her, lie neatly in the front garden. I wander through the rooms and find all the beds perfectly made. Vilma’s notebook sits abandoned on her bedside table. With no other company, I open it and read the first sentence:[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]“The dust of the ground, seeking to mingle with the crevices of our bare feet, guided us separately through the four elements.”[/h2] [h2]I slowly follow the trail of ink Vilma left until I reach the first blank page. I pick up a pen and, after a sigh, begin to write every name I can think of, hoping to recognise my own.[/h2]
