Marcelo Birmajer’s new story: Six hours

Cabule sat down on the polished parquet floor of the empty apartment. Looking forward to the new refrigerator. All through a stormy love life, I had changed my fridge more times than my ideas. He was told that the refrigerator would arrive between 8am and 2pm. It was noon.

Every time I received a refrigerator I had to wait 6 hours to connect it to the power: they warned the sellers and the manual of the appliance. More than 30 years after the purchase of his first refrigerator, the prescribed time had not changed: he invariably had to wait 6 hours with the refrigerator turned off.

Those six hours were not harmless: the buyer was alert to their disappearance. Sometimes, for whatever reason, the old refrigerator had already been thrown away and the products had to be moved to the new. Or he was moving with certain products in a bag. Or she just couldn’t stop thinking it would be six hours before she got a fridge again.

But this time, Cabule thought, when the intercom rang, he would hold out. I wouldn’t wait six hours. It had already been too many six hours of waiting in his life. It was time to challenge that certaintythat opinion, that unverifiable dogma.

The changarines took the refrigerator and left it in the place indicated by Cabule. He tipped them and asked if they knew why he shouldn’t have plugged in the fridge for six hours after receiving it.

“Some of the internal fluids,” a changarín speculated.

“Mercury, lead, I don’t know,” added the other.

On the cell phone of one of them a calf rang and they left. Cabule waited for the elevator to go away and plugged the refrigerator back in. He feared an explosion, a flash, an extraterrestrial noise. But the refrigerator started with a silent clamor; and when he opened the door the interior lights came on.

Cable took the ice trays out of the freezer and filled them with water; inserted some basic products in the central body. Within hours, the ice cubes sparkled and the water bottle had reached the perfect temperature. He let a day pass before confirming his verdict.

The following noon he wrote to his friend Aparicio: – I put an end to the myth of six hours of rest before plugging in the new refrigerator: we can already call it an outdated 20th century convention.

Although Cabule didn’t even mention it, Aparicio uploaded the discovery to the networks. He had asked Cabule for photos of the inside of his refrigerator and used them to illustrate the news. Soon the challenge spread to thousands of homes, possibly hundreds of thousands. Cabule soon forgot about the matter, it wasn’t even particularly relevant.

A week later, waking up unexpectedly in the morning, the fridge was open. Of course, she remembered closing it before going to sleep. The light from within loomed ominously. Everything was as she had left it, except that open door. Cabule closed it and went back to bed.

In the following days, complaints from users invaded the networks and those of Aparicio in particular. In Agronomy, a refrigerator had moved by itself, about fifty centimeters, during the night. In Pompeii a refrigerator had petrified a cream cheese. Another, in Balvanera, opened and closed the door like the blades of a windmill. They could, of course, be fairy tales, urban myths.

Cable’s refrigerator had stopped working. He was embarrassed to call the brand and admit he hooked it up without waiting the six hours. he left her inside pause while I think about what to do.

He resigned himself to breakfast at the bar, and non-perishable food for lunch and dinner. On the fourth night, before she covered herself, she heard a voice. For a moment he thought the refrigerator was talking to him. But she preferred not to think about it and fell asleep.

When five days passed, however, Cabule ate a snack on his own pride, called the brand, and demanded redress. If he had been asked, he would have told the truth: he had connected it as soon as he received it, disobeying the manual. An apathetic employee, without prior consultation, announced that a technician would visit him shortly.

But At dawn on the sixth day, the refrigerator called him. She had the door open, the light on, and she was whispering in a female voice, like a siren. Cabule woke up to that sensual litany, went to the refrigerator, slammed the door and fell asleep again.

In the morning a woman had made him breakfast and was sitting at the table waiting for him. Toast with jam and cream cheese. The refrigerator was gone.

– Did you open the technicians? Did the brand send it? Cabule asked, perplexed.

“I am me,” he said, throughout the reply. Her beauty was devastating. Cabule drank the coffee but could not eat. Her body had rebelled in unstoppable desire. He opened his arms for the woman to do what she wanted; and she has given herself to that passion.

cable he lived an unknown love until that season of his life. Not the first time, not the best, not the last. She, who refused to say her name, belonged to her in a sweet and definitive way.

A week went by. She accompanied him, cooked for him, filled him. There was no discussion, no regret. Her skin was an unexpected delight. She soon decided she would want her forever. Then the doorbell rang for the electric doorman. It was the two kangaroos. After the time, they told him, there was no repair, but product change.

As they climbed into the elevator, the woman gave him one last kiss, deliberately. The changarines took the refrigerator. Within 48 hours, they would bring the new refrigerator. Cabule sat down on the parquet: he was still shiny.

wd