write a story begins with 'it was clear that the room was abondened in hurry'.
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LOCATION
On a downtown street lined with modern buildings, we find an old, abandoned house. The front garden contains a white fountain decorated with angels. It's separated from the sidewalk by a wrought-iron fence: a succession of rusted spears joined by two horizontal bars. The faded pink exterior is covered in dirt and greenish grime. The windows are hidden behind dark shutters. This unassuming house holds great interest for the few people, myself among them, who know its secrets and have fallen under its influence.
LITTLE MEN
A piece of pipe sticks out a few centimeters from the wall in one of the rooms. With luck or patience you may be able to see the little men, around eleven centimeters tall, peek their tiny heads out of the pipe. They observe for a moment, like someone seeing the open ocean for the first time through a ship's porthole.
A little man hangs from the edge of the pipe. He gets nervous as he looks down and sees the huge hole in the floor directly below him. Evidently the little men's repeated antics have damaged the already rotten floor.
PICNICS
We discovered by accident that underneath the pink wallpaper in the bedroom, there was another wallpaper pattern. Immediately a team formed, led by Ramirez. He's a quiet guy with a mustache and we didn't suspect that he had any talent whatsoever.
Influenced by the uncovered wallpaper we felt the need to organize Sunday picnics. We got up early and brought baskets and folding chairs. Juancito, who works at a grocery store, got us a Coca-Cola ice chest. There was red wine, a battery-powered record player, kids with nets to catch butterflies, butterflies—provided by an entomologist friend on the condition that they be returned unharmed—brightly-colored dresses, couples, ants, a few small spiders (that we took from the pantry for a little while) and other things.
AN EXCEPTION
One afternoon we had been investigating the superimposed wallpapering in the big bedroom. It was Ramirez, accountant at a fairly important factory, who was able to make out the fifth layer. He correctly deduced the total number of layers, as we proved later upon uncovering five square centimeters of wallpaper. I won't go into detail on the last layer (let me remind you that there are ladies among us) but I can assure you that it was an erotic scene, practically pornographic. This discovery leads us to believe that the abandoned house once functioned as a brothel.
We phoned him repeatedly to invite him to the abandoned house but Ramirez made up excuses not to come. Finally, he explained what had happened and we understood. He says that when the old lady told him about the spider, he didn't have the wherewithal to take off his jacket. He simply fled from the coat's interior and the article of clothing hovered for an instant in the air, empty.
THE HUNT
None of us are able to shake the suspicion that the house must hold an old and fabulous treasure, composed of precious stones and heavy gold coins. There are no maps, nor clues of any kind. I count myself among the most skeptical, although I have often allowed myself to daydream and I even imagine clever unsuspected corners where the treasure might be hidden. The fact that
I thoroughly enjoy these hunts. I lie in a lounge chair that I bring from my house especially for the occasion and I place it in an appropriate location, generally in the main living room. I watch, drinking mate and smoking cigarettes, as they spread out methodically—the women through the house, the men in the basement—and they search.
HURRICANE
There's a shake of ashes and cigarette butts in the dining room fireplace. Then it's best to leave, or lock yourself in the bedroom, or as a last resort, stay pressed into the corner with your head between your knees and your hands over your head.
There is a brusque drop in temperature and the wind blows harder. If the hurricane catches you by surprise you could become trapped in its funnel, twirling round and round, sometimes spit out against a wall, violently, only to bounce back to the center again and again until you die and even after you're dead.
Once calm is restored, I leave the corner and I walk amongst the rubble, the broken vases, the overturned furniture. Everything is beautifully out of place. The dining room seems exhausted, as if after a fit of vomiting. It seems to breathe easier.
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