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The Mole says: name, and I answer I waited for him at the indicated location and he picked me up in the Peugeot that I’m now driving We’ve just met He doesn’t look at me, they say he never looks anyone in the eyes Age, he says, 42 I say, and when he says that I’m old I think that he’s definitely older He wears little black sunglasses and this must be why they call him the Mole He tells me to drive to the closest square, settles into his seat and relaxes The test is easy but it’s very important to pass and for this reason I’m nervous If I don’t do a good job, I’m not in, and if I’m not in there’s no money, there’s no other reason to join Beating a dog to death in the port of Buenos Aires is the test to find out whether you’re willing to do something worse They say: something worse, and look away, as if we, those on the outside, don’t know that it’s worse to kill a person, to beat a person to death When the avenue splits into two streets I choose the less busy one A line of stoplights changes from red to green, one after another, and lets us advance quickly until a dark, green space emerges from between the buildings I think that maybe there are no dogs in this square, and the Mole orders me to stop You didn’t bring a club, he says No, I say But you’re not going to beat a dog to death if you don’t have anything to beat it with I look at him but don’t answer, I know he’s going to say something, because now I know him, it’s easy to figure him out But he enjoys the silence, he enjoys thinking that each word that he says is a point against me Then he gulps and seems to think: he’s not going to kill anyone And finally he says: today there’s a shovel in the trunk, you can use it And no doubt, behind