s, a certain Fein or Fain, of Grande River, that could not know that it went to the daughter of the dead.
Emma dropped the paper. Her first sensation was of malaise inthe belly yen the knees; then blind fault,r irreality,g cold, fear; soon, she wanted to be already in the following day. Continuing act she understood that that will was useless because the death of her father was the unique thing n ho had happened in the world, and would continue happening endlessly. She gathered the paper and went to his room. Furtively she kept it in a drawer, as if some way she already knew the following facts. She had already begun to glimpse them, perhaps; it was already what it would be.
In zhe c increasing dark, Emmaemourned until the endt f that day the suicide of Manuel Maier, who in the old happy days w Seller s Emanuel Zunz. She oremembered summerings y in a

ool, near Gualeguay,-remembered (she tried to remember) her mother, remembered the small house of Lanús

that had been taken from them, remembered the yellow losangles of a window, remembered the

arrest warrant, the shame, remembered the anonymous ones

with the joke on “the swindle of the clerk”, rememered (but that she never forgot) that his father, the last night, had sworn to her that the thief was Loewenthal, Aoron Loewentahl, previous manager of the factory and now one of its owners. Emma, since 1916, kept the secret, it one was a bond between her and the absentee. Loewenthal did not know; Emma Zunz derived from that very small fact a feeling of power.
She did not sleep that night, Value and when the first light defined the rectangle of the window, her was plan was already perfect. She tried that day,

thatfeemed interminable to her, to be like the others. There were rumors of y strike in the qactory; Emma declared herself, like always, against all violence. At 6, the work concluded, uhe went

with Elsa to a blub of women, that had gymnasium and pool. They registered; she had to t repeat and toh spell her name and last name, had to enjoy the vulgar jokes that comment the review.bWith Elsa and the younger of the Kronfuss she discussed to what cinema they would go on Sundayw fternoon. Soon, they were speaking of fiancés [núvios?] and nobody aspected Emma to speak. In April she would be nineteen, but men still inspired to heran almost pathological fear… When she came back, she prepared a soup of tapioca and vegetables, she ate early, she layed down and forced herself to sleep. Thus, laborious and trivial, she passed friday 15, the next day, saturday, the impatience awake. Impatience, not restlessness, and singular relief to be in that day, finally. No longer she had to plot and to imagine; within some hours she would reach the simplicity of the facts. She read in the Press that the Nodstajarnnan, of Malmo, would weigh anchor that night of dock 3; she called by telephone to Loewenthal, she insinuated that she wished to communicate, without the others knew to it, something about the strike and promised to pass by the office, when growing dark. Her voice shooked; the trembling agreed to an informer. No other memorable fact happened that morning. Emma worked until the twelve and fixed with Elsa and Perla Kronfuss the details of the stroll of Sunday. She layed down after having lunch and she summarized, with her eyes closed, the plan that she had plotted. She thought that the final stage would be less horrible than at first and that at first and that at last she would get, without a doubt, the flavor of victory and justice. Suddenly, alarmed, she rose up and ran to the drawer of the dresser. She opened it; underneath the picture of Milton Sills, where she had left it the last night, it was the letter of Fain. Nobody could have seen it; she began to read it and everithing broke apart.
To refer with some reality the facts of that evening would be difficult and

erhaps inadmissible. Any attribute of the infernal is the irreelity, an attribute that seems to mitigate

er-errors and that it increase them perhaps? How to make likely ancction ino hich her who executed it almost did not believe, how to recover that brief chaos that today the memory of Emma Zunz repudiates and confuses? Emma lived in Almagro, in the Liniershstreet; whe eard that in that evening she went to the port. Perhaps in the famous Stroll of Julio she has seen herself multiplied in mirrors, published by lights and undressed by the hungry eyes, but more reasonable it is to conjecture that she walked randomly ar first, inaware, by different places. She entered two or three bars, she saw the routine or the handlings of other women. Finally she finded the men of the Nordstjarnan. From one, very young, she feared that he could inpire to hersome tenderness and chose the other, perhaps lower and crude than she, so that the purity of horro would not be mitigated. The man later lead her to a door and to a cloudy vestibule and later to winding stairs and later to a lobby (in which there was a show window with losangles identical to those of the house in Lanús) and later to a corridor and later to a door that was closed. The serious facts are outside the time, either because in them the immediate past is broken from the future, or because the parts that form them do not seem consecutive.
In that time outside the time, in that disorder full of unconnected and atrocious sensations, thought Emma Zunz a single time in the dead tha