19 December 2007. High sunny morning sky, phalanx of fleece bits--a widening V to the west, but otherwise, as they say, clear... Claro qué sí, dice el diccionario de modismos Argentinos. No simplemente las palabras vos, o che, sino frases enteras--la pucha, vamos a morfar, qué querés?
Following Mansilla: the gaucho--a man with an open visage, high cheekbones and a narrow, somewhat aquiline nose (algo aguileño). Thick brows, straight across, with pronounced vertical lines in between--dark brown eyes behind heavy lashes, and a face burned black by the sun--el sol del desierto y el aire frio. Narrow hands, strong, with the flesh separated well from the bone... Translating aloud, late at night, flat on my back in a narrow bed, white upstairs room, paintings on flaps of loose canvas all around, also whitish, with brushy touches of white again, distributed in an even but irregular pattern over unbound folds: las pampas, perhaps, the beginnings of snow...
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