Arguing with women is beyond my capacity, especially in the state of psychological inferiority in which I then found myself. Nevertheless, I tried to explain to her quickly what was happening to me. I don't know whether she didn't understand me or refused to hear me out. The last thing she said before hanging up was: "I'm nobody's plaything."
I now had to carry out a second series of useless, illogical actions.
Then I called the bank, in the hope that some fellow employee could come and open the door. Bad luck; it fell to my lot to talk to Enzo Paredes, a dimwitted joker whom I detested: "So you can't get out of your house?" he exclaimed abominably. "You just never run out of excuses not to come to work!"
I was seized by something akin to a homicidal urge. I hung up, called again, and asked for Michelangelo Laporta, who was a little brighter. Sure enough, he seemed interested in finding a solution: "Tell me, was it the key or the lock that broke?"
"The key."
"And it was left inside the lock?"
"Half of it was left inside," I replied, already somewhat exasperated by this interrogation, "and the other half outside."
"Didn't you try to get out the little piece that's stuck inside with a screwdriver?"
"Yes, of course I tried, but it's impossible."
"Oh. Well then, you're going to have to call a locksmith."
"I already called," I retorted, suppressing the rage that was choking me, "but they want payment in advance."
"So, pay him and there you are."
"But, don't you see, I haven't got any money."
Then he grew bored: "Man, Skinny, you sure have your problems!"
I couldn't come up with a quick reply. I should have asked him for some money, but his remark left me baffled, and I couldn't think of anything.
And so ended that day.
The next day I got up early to start making more phone calls. But - something quite frequent - I found the telephone out of order. Another insoluble problem: how to request the repair service without a telephone to place the call?
I went out onto the balcony and began to shout to people walking along Santa Fe Avenue. The street noise was deafening; who could hear someone yelling from a tenth floor? At most, an occasional person would raise his head distractedly and then continue on his way.