I mostly feel the profiles of Angel and Naylor in each other's language. Angel said Naylor was like Buenos Aires, the city where he was born, a terrible place where hatred and pain were bred. I always feel that Naylor is very pessimistic on the inside, so he seems to be very indifferent to the things around him, just a body at the mercy of primitive desires, and has a strong desire for possession and control and a little bit of a holy father mentality? . Only with Angel, his emotions seemed to return to his body. Because he couldn't get a sense of control from Angel, and he couldn't if he wanted it, but because of pure obsession and dependence, he gave him all tolerance and restraint. So no matter how he continued to seek love and make love, he couldn't get rid of the pain in his heart that he couldn't understand Angel. To a certain extent, she was pure and steadfast. I like this character very much. Angel...just thought he was very sick. He hated the walking dead in the city who wanted to flee, struggling with love and sin to the point of drowning. And even Naylor, who made him alive, brought him unknown pain. He superstitiously asked the cheating woman in the playground how his love line was, and whether cutting his hand was also a symbol of wanting to destroy himself. Because some of the voices he said on the beach were "he will leave if he goes on like this", "he will find something better", and he is also purely obsessed with and dependent on Naylor. On the surface he seems to indulge in his own paranoid madness, making Naylor give everything for him and get nothing in return, but I think he is out of tune with this different and selfish world. In his frantically struggling and chaotic mind, he always felt that he was going to save Naylor. I also really like this character. I didn't feel the ending was sad at all. They "reconciled", Angel drove away the "voice", and the flames burned coins... It seemed that the pawn of fate was finally at the mercy of them, and they confirmed the meaning and answer in the love they gave to each other. Why wasn't it a relief for Angel, he never wanted to go back, he said he wanted Naylor to leave too, and they got their wish.
Ángel:
The streets are like a prison yard. People move quietly, dryly, Iooking cautiously as if toavoid being wiped out. I wish I never come back. In English "I wish" is said "I wish". "I wish" means "I desire". I desire Nene. I wish he leaves Buenos Aires. He's like his city. He hates himself, he feeds on hate. I want to save him. I can save him.
El Nene:
Ángel's fingers always smell the same. They smell like saw dust, like gunpowder. Like blood, like sex, they remind me of things. The toilets at Constitucion, the jobs, the road, cheap hotels, getting undressed, darkness.
Waiting. Most of the time it's waiting. Waiting for the hit. Waiting until the heat's cool off. Waiting to move the money. Time is exhausting, a lost battle. Like in jail, you wonder how to fill the time. You can' t count on your body: You can't f*ck, you can't cry, they're above you, you only have your head. And you think crap but you think. If I had to explain all I thought while I was inside it'd take the same time I was locked away. You start imagining things: What you lost, what you left behind when you put your life on hold. A robbery, step by step, 1 and 1000 times, like a movie. The building of a house, brick by brick. A woman, every detail of the encounter: Words, movements, colours. bYou live in your head. That's what you become, a head, a skull.
In jail I went queer, drug addict,gambler, peronist. I learned to fight to d eath, to play chess, to smash the face of anyone who looked at me the wrong way. To make little figures out of cigarette paper. To fuck standing up. To lose myself in a book and never come back. And I built houses in my mind only to blow them up again.
With my twin brother. Angel. My only family. He's always after me. He says I look after him. Funny. He knows me, the bastard, as if he'd given birth to me. He knows what I want before I do . He knows what I'm going to do... Now... It's hard for me. He's not an easy guy. Suddenly... Now he's not well. If you talk to him he won't answer. He hears voices, but he's not crazy. The voices talk normally. They guide him. Sometimes I think I'm one of the voices inside him. I'm the asshole, I don't get him. What more could I want? I' d do anything for him. Anything. I'd get myself killed.
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