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it’ll make you friendlier. It’s Cuban rum, you know. If you want to dance with me you’ll have to drink some, like any self-respecting young revolutionary.”
    â€œI don’t want to dance with you.” As if to justify her lack of humor, she added: “I don’t even know who you are.”
    He jumped up, gave a bow, and, after ceremoniously kissing her hand, said, “My name is Theodoro d’Uccello—Theo to friends—and I am henceforth eternally at your service.”
    Julia couldn’t help cracking up. Theo had just won the first round.
    He pulled Julia into the living room and they began to dance, roaring with laughter, heedless of the other couples they kept bumping into. Julia’s mother wasn’t exactly pleased with her daughter’s behavior. In the end she got her husband to come in and restore order. Julia’s father made a conspicuous entrance into the living room. The young guests looked on apprehensively, stepping back to let him pass. Grim faced, he walked slowly toward the boy who had his younger daughter mesmerized.
    â€œI’m going to have to put my mask on,” Theo whispered, winking at Julia, as the head of the household approached.
    Julia watched him, alert for the slightest faux pas. But Theo surprised her. He had morphed seamlessly into an adult: her father’s equal. He apologized for his childish behavior, then proceeded to take the lead in the conversation, proving to be remarkably intelligent. He spoke about politics, happy to discuss the latest events in national life. He openly declared that he was a Peronist and was confident the general would make a triumphant return, because the military would eventually have to give in to pressure from the people. Julia’s father, who made no secret of his support for the old leader, couldn’t have been more pleased with Theo’s politics.
    Everyone knew Perón would soon be visiting Argentina for the first time since being forced into exile. But hardly anyone, not even his most loyal supporters, dared to envisage a general election that would see his definitive return to the presidency, as Theo maintained. And to tell the truth, Julia couldn’t have cared less.
    She went back outside and sat down, leaning against the garden railing. Being with the others had exhausted her and she needed to get away. She stared down the deserted, ill-lit street. Though the sidewalks were fairly narrow, space had been left to plant trees. Now they had to fight against the invasion of electricity poles and streetlights, half of which didn’t work. The large, faded houses, the slender windows decorated with elegant wrought-iron balconies, and the crenellated roofsbore witness to a more glorious past. There was something fragile about it all that appealed to her.
    The party began to wind down, and one by one the young people took their leave. The house fell silent and Theo, one of the last to leave, kept his mask on to the end. He bade Julia a polite good night and walked off. He could be so respectable! She followed him with her gaze until he had turned the corner.
    â€”
    She shakes her head as she does her hair, as if to chase away these memories, then combs it into place with her fingers. He brings his mask out to hide something, as a last resort when he is feeling trapped. Julia pretends she hasn’t noticed. She doesn’t want to put him on his guard. Yes, she wants to go out. She is set on it now. She insists, as if acting on a whim. But she’s shaken.
    They take the car, avoiding each other’s gaze, and scour the streets in search of some action. Julia affects a cheerful, casual air. But they’re driving through a ghost town: all the bars are closed. They scour the streets near the station, venture down to the marina, around the shopping mall. Nothing. They are almost secretly relieved. On the way back home, they are suddenly blinded by some roadside neon signs just